Lacoste Original EDP: The Rise of Fashionably "Mid" Culture & The New Wave of Mid-Normative Chic

Smells the Way Ella Langley Sounds

It's tempting to say that we're experiencing the "enshittification" of everything, from movies to fashion to music and yes, perfume, but I'm not so blackpilled. Are Christopher Nolan movies the new avant-garde? No, unless you consider a 3-hour movie in which you can't hear the dialogue groundbreaking. Is country music making a comeback? Yes, but Ella Langley is the only real dyed-in-the-wool country singer on the charts today, so her 15 weeks on the Billboard 200 are kinda lonely. Has perfume become universally generic, infiltrated by the same three woody amber materials and sweet synthetic bubblegum effects? Without argument, but every perfume is its own case study in why that has happened. I can say the same for every pop song and movie since 2020. 

The pandemic is to blame, wholesale, for why perfumes are so gut-wrenchingly loud and synthetic (and tenacious) these days. Many, including many industry people, experienced severe losses of taste and smell, including their ability to sense some of the loudest and most chemical things. Those who would get nauseous from the smell of the janitor's floor stripper now pass without noticing a corrosive acid in the air. I don't have hard stats, but a 2021 mass eye/ear NHIS-based study noted that about 4% of Americans have lost their sense of smell, with a commensurate number reporting permanent loss of taste. This isn't a massive number, but it's also not insignificant. Imagine if someone walked into LVMH headquarters and announced that the customer base for perfume had unequivocally shrunk by 4% overnight. Tough pill to swallow.

But nothing is absolute, and even a 95% reduction in smell leaves a small percentage to sense something. Enter perfume: if it's loud enough, thick enough, and enduring enough, traces of it may penetrate the damaged nasal linings of Covid victims. Thus, perfumers are given briefs that are engineered to overcome the new normal of involuntarily insensitive noses. I can only imagine that Lacoste Original EDP, a 2024 release by Anne Flipo and Tanguy Guesnet for Inter Parfums, is the realization of one such brief. It is a study of Amber Xtreme in the context of the classic (now discontinued) unisex EDT from 1984, simply called "Lacoste." The result is a little disorienting, but once you give it a go and consider the situation in its entirety, it makes sense.

I once wore the original Lacoste fragrance, and my thoughts were simple: it was a basic sporty-green nouveau chypre sort of thing, with bergamot, lavender, galbanum, some piney/resinous nuances, and a heap of oakmoss paired with a popular minty musk that was popular in the 1970s, the type found in Jōvan Musk for Men, but dialed back against the moss. It was not animalic. It was fresh, very green, and weirdly basic and nondescript. It smelled great, but forgettable. It lacked distinction. You could spray it on, and you'd smell good for five hours at a low hum, but nobody would compliment you. Lacoste was essentially a continuation of deodorant soap by other means. 

This revival of Lacoste "Original" in EDP concentration is basically the same outcome, but modernized. I get a synthetic grapefruit citrus accord on top, rapidly mixing with intense violet materials that smell sharp and bittersweet for thirty minutes, very harshly. These eventually pare back to a resinous pink peppery accord that smells only incidentally green, with some nuances of pine resin, galbanum, and olibanum, and also a hint of elemi adding sparkly texture. For three hours, this accord both intensifies and expands, growing in measure both stronger and more diffuse. By the 4 hour mark, the fragrance smells closest to the 1984 fragrance, but the Amber Xtreme and Ambroxan carry this organic, soapy-green blob in a way that robs it of its subtlety and naturalness. 

Yet, despite that, it all smells good. It struck me while wearing it that Lacoste Original EDP is merely one click away from something like Creed's Wild Vetiver. The quality of the materials is pretty much the same. The composition is equally dense, almost candle-like, and the woody amber godzillas upholding its resinous structure possess a potency and vibrancy usually only found in pricy niche. Why are people embracing this style across all corners of the perfume industry? I think a reaction to Covid-nose is one factor, but I also think that people want their perfumes to feel solid and immovable, and ironically that sentiment in very "New Wave"—think back to the powerhouses, both feminine and masculine, of the 1980s. People then wanted what people now have. Loudness. Brashness. Back then it was animalic musks and intense neon florals. 

Today it's nuclear-grade woody ambers and bubblegum sweetness. All of these fragrances, many of the new Creeds included, smell very, well, mid. There's nothing special or particularly interesting about them, but most of them smell inarguably good, the same way a new box of Crayons smells good. The fragrance industry has found what some corners of Hollywood and Nashville have also uncovered: a sure thing in the form of a key accord that then gets grafted in not-so-subtle iterations into virtually every mainstream release. For movies, it's the CGI landscapes. For music, it's the 4/4 time signature from a pretty girl. For perfume, it's the sweetened woody amber. 

We live in crazy times, geopolitically and domestically, so getting a handle on normalcy demands a bit of boring compromise that it seems many are willing to accept. Such is the case here; Lacoste offers us a perfume that smells just as citrusy and vaguely green as the true original from 1984 did, but instead of using the then-clichéd tropes of grassy coumarin, cheap galbanum, oakmoss, and sanitized musk, we're instead treated to the now-clichéd motifs of fake grapefruit, weapons-grade pink pepper, nondescript green resins, and woody ambers from a B movie. The formula is different, but the outcome is the same. This is, for better or worse, a comforting thought. 

L.12.12 Red (Lacoste)

I happen to love Red Rooibos tea, iced. This lovely beverage is an herbal tea made from rooibos harvested along South Africa's Fynbos, a belt of shrubland stretching across the country's Western Cape. Rooibos is only found in South Africa, making it rather valuable among tisane connoisseurs, if such folk actually exist. I'm a fan of tisane teas, and alternate between rooibos, peppermint, chamomile, and lemon-ginger. I also love black teas from Ireland and England, and I prefer them all iced. 

The flavor of rooibos tea stands apart from the rest, a smooth, dry, oddly tannin-like essence (despite its extremely low tannin levels), which always reminds me of unsmoked cigarette tobacco. In fact, if one could bag treated tobacco for steeping, I imagine its flavor would be pretty close to that of rooibos tea.

As a fan of this herb, I expected to be wowed by L.12.12 Red. Its pyramid lists rooibos tea, and quite a few people on Fragrantica smell this note, if the votes for it are to be believed. Alas, upon application I was immediately disappointed. Where's the tea? I waited five minutes, shaking my wrists in the air to move the drydown along. Sweet fruit (mango), woody spice (cardamom), the same pickled ginger that I sniffed in L.12.12 Green, a vague woody amber, and a hint of white musk were all I could smell. I re-applied. Still no rooibos. Two hours later, searching in vain, I finally gave up on the tea note in Red. It seems this entry in the "colors" series by Lacoste is simply about warm spiced-fruit notes, your garden-variety woody amber, and not much else. I can't say I'm surprised, but I'm still disappointed; whenever I smell a new Lacoste, I always think, "This is the one that will win me over," but end up feeling entirely "meh."

One day a Lacoste fragrance will lighten my wallet, but Red's semi-functional air-care approach doesn't make the grade. To think they were so close: just one note would have cinched it. Damn those misleading notes pyramids!

L.12.12 White (Lacoste)

White is probably the best of Lacoste's ill-advised color series, and deserves at least a test spritz at a retail counter. The recent standard for masculine fragrance is any combo of grapefruit, ginger, cardamom, some pungent cooking herb, usually rosemary or sage, and several clean laundry musks, stacked a mile high so disinterested noses can detect at least one or two as they smother a wan woody-amber. How does L.12.12 White measure up? All notes are accounted for, and the fragrance smells very generic and fresh. 

Now, you might ask me, "Bryan, why bother reviewing these tedious designer fragrances that, by your own admission, are utterly boring?" I answer you: L.12.12 White is neither boring, nor tedious, and smells good. Its citrus accord, though saddled by the requisite synthetic grapefruit, actually strives for a smoother, sweeter development, not too far removed from that of Eternity for Men (a superior fougère, albeit just as cheap). So it doesn't exactly break down doors, but does sidestep the predictable bitter-fresh effect commonly found in masculines these days.

The herbal mid is green and snappy, and many have commented on the white floral notes, but I think it's disingenuous to speak of them without irony. Yes, there's a hint of tuberose, perhaps a tiny drop of sweet ylang, but nothing really steps out as being blatantly floral. The ingredients are of decent quality, but not blended with great care, so lines are pretty blurred. You can sift under the fizzy, fruity-herbal top accord to find a semi-sweet cleanness with just the vaguest hint of green earthiness, but only if your mind is really set on it. Otherwise you're just smelling soapy-clean freshness that is as pleasant as it is nondescript. Eventually the powdery laundry musks arrive, with a cool blue amber in their wake. White gives a sense of billowing airiness, like clean sheets flapping in a country breeze. Nice, and definitely more on the "Masculine" side than "Unisex," for reasons that are hard to determine. Could be that piercing rosemary note, set against White's prominent citrus, with the feminine elements competing against the underlying amber.

Would I buy this? No, but not because there's anything wrong with it. I prefer Eternity for this sort of smooth-woody theme, but perhaps I'll stumble across White some day at Marshalls and plunk my wallet down for it. I am a lover of fresh fragrances, and would not regret the purchase.

Inspiration (Lacoste)

The further one delves into fine fragrance, the closer he is to realizing that vanilla is an incredibly versatile note. It's useful as a "warming" element to accompany rich amber orientals, but also right at home in fresh bitter-green chypres. Today's variety of "hybrid" fragrances offers several unique variations on multiple scent genres, with "sheer-fruity orientals" as one of the subsets under more traditional products. Inspiration by Lacoste is a good scent to consider from that fruity-fresh realm, as it does a few things very nicely, and rounds everything in its wholesome package out with a fitting name (one could go the extra centimeter and joke the joke to say its name is 'inspiring').

Inspiration's top is chemical and sweet, but if you use your imagination you'll get "pink pepper" and "plum" out of it. What you'll sense overall is a sweeping vanilla note that arches over everything else like a rainbow. The fruity opening rapidly assembles itself into a bouquet of white flowers, with hints of orange and some sort of berry (synthetic pomegranate I guess), but the vanilla remains soft, maintaining Inspiration's friendly soul. At the far end of the drydown is a tentative sandalwood that competently upholds the silky texture of all that came before, adding depth to whatever orientalism there is. 

This isn't the sort of fragrance you spray on and immediately think of as an oriental. Its primary purpose seems to be to smell fruity and bright, and ineffably modern. It's hard to argue with the blinding florals and fruits as being commercial stabs at contemporary hipness. Ironically, its sweetness grounds it, preventing it from becoming air-headed and dull by providing soft contrast against crisper, colder things. I think whoever put this one together succeeded on that front, but more importantly they composed a mature oriental that smells good without demanding a tux or a ball gown to be enjoyed.

L.12.12 Green (Lacoste)

Lacoste's original masculine is an example of how close a fragrance can come to perfection, and still miss the mark. Sure, it smells good, and presents a green chypre in a contemporary mode, but low-grade ingredients and an unimaginative composition sully what could have been a classic. As it stands, Original is just okay, very wearable, and utterly forgettable.

The "L series" Lacostes are a hair better, and Green is my favorite, which is no surprise. It's a fougère with nods to Original and Pino Silvestre, although I prefer Pino. Green opens with aromatic lavender and bergamot, tinged with bitter lemon verbena and heady thyme. Tart herbal citrus notes dominate the opening, until a clean birch note appears, flanked by something I can't quite identify. The mystery note might be an analog of pickled ginger, the kind that garnishes sushi. It's mentholated and fizzy, with a spicy edge. As the hours tick by, lavender reasserts itself, then fades, doing an intermittent tap-dance past the trio of thyme, verbena, and birch. A pine-like effect, reminiscent of Christmas juniper wreath, sends the fragrance to its apex in both strength and projection, before everything slides into a nondescript laundry musk.

Just as the drydown seems destined to join dozens of others in the Contemporary Fragrance Drydown Hall of Shame, otherwise known as the CFDdHoS, an unusual olfactory illusion takes place. From its lofty perch in the pyramid-cap of top notes alights crisp bergamot, seemingly resurrected from the dead. This movement rouses L's birch element, which by now has been infused with sweet ginger, and creates an incense-laden church pew accord. Everything is blended with musk, and the result is very nice.

Some fragrances speak to the sophistication of their wearers, but not by being complex and well-crafted. They achieve stardom by simply being better than the norm for an age demographic that has seen its share of unimaginative garbage. High school kids are drowning in oceans of Acqua di Gio, Curve, and CK One Summer 2012. Calone, laundry musk, and overbearing citrus notes are en vogue. For those who spend their mornings doodling on binders during home room, L.12.12 Green is a big step up. For the rest of us, it's just another pleasant designer scent, of which there are many.

Lacoste Original (Lacoste)

Somewhere between the chemical ginger grass of Adidas Sport Field, and the refined blue sprawl of Geoffrey Beene Bowling Green, is Lacoste's nameless premier masculine aromatic, "Original" Lacoste. Essentially a lime and fresh grass scent, with touches of basil and oakmoss to darken it up, Original's initial burst of juicy citrus is nice, though too brief for my liking. From there, everything rapidly opens into bittersweet grasses of lemon and vetiver. The drydown arrives after a mere twenty minutes, and peels back the darker greens to reveal a woodsy base of sage and cedar. 

It's a good green scent, but nothing tremendous. For the money, I'd rather go with Sport Field, and for something truly wearable at anything other than barbeques, I'd rather wear Bowling Green. It's hard to say when I'd want Lacoste's Original. There's also something deleteriously common in the aromatic effect rendered by Original. With no violet leaf ionones to hide behind, the aroma chemicals of spiced grasses and cool woods smell harsh, naked, conveying a bit of a "bargain perfume" feel. They never resort to the prosaic olfactory excuses found in unapologetically cynical releases like Curve Crush, or Eau de Grey Flannel, but Original feels like the least-inspired grassy '80s fougère in its class. 

Its only true point of distinction is its brightness; the scent's overall character is fresh green, true green, as opposed to oakmoss grey and dark pine green, and therefore is miles away from darker contemporaries like Quorum and Drakkar Noir. Green is an extremely important color in modern masculine perfumery, and if you're attracted to fresh green scents, Original should be tried. Like the game of tennis itself, this scent is best taken in up close, and with all faults accounted for. It can be enjoyed casually, and nowadays it can even be enjoyed formally, although there are better things out there for that.