Creation Thé Vert (Ted Lapidus)

The date for this one looks wrong to me; the frag sites say it was released in 2008, but by that point the IFRA (International Fragrance Association) had already banned a gazillion materials, and had severely restricted the use of Evernia prunastri, otherwise known as oakmoss. Creation Thé Vert contains oakmoss. But I guess brands can choose to adhere to IFRA guidelines, as Pinaud Clubman is like fifty percent oakmoss, and still found everywhere. As far as they're concerned, the IFRA can shove it.

Another thing that doesn't jive is the style. A green tea fragrance? In 2008? And it's part of the antiquated Creation line by Ted Lapidus, which means it's a direct descendent of something released in 1984. The box style and color scheme, the bottle with its wavy lines in the glass, common to all Creations, and even the weirdly built-in atomizer (mine is broken beyond repair), all of it looks late nineties to me. We're talking a time when folks were making noise about Y2K and getting into Bible codes. "Spa-like" and "zen-like" were phrases applied to everything, from foods, to beverages, to fragrances, and Thé Vert feels pretty "zen," with a delightful accord of green apple, spearmint, and, you guessed it, oakmoss! It doesn't get any more approachable or sedate than that.

The real reason I don't believe the stated release date is that Thé Vert smells too good for 2008. It goes on rather chemically and nondescript, with that muted green dankness that nearly every brand fobs off as "green tea," but after twenty minutes some interesting stuff happens. For one thing, the fragrance gets stronger. Seriously stronger, which is the opposite of what 2000s freshies do. For another, the green apple and mint begin to dance and shine, with a distinct sparkle and shimmer that only excellent perfumes made with above-average materials have. Lastly, the mossy base is smooth and satisfying, the perfect ending to something that feels timeless yet classic. 

Good luck finding a bottle -- the merchant on eBay who sells them for under fifteen bucks sent me a busted bottle with over an ounce of fluid missing. The rest are all going for over forty dollars. But hope springs eternal, and this perfume is worth taking a chance on. Get it while you still can, as it's been discontinued for quite a while now. 

Lapidus pour Homme Sport (Ted Lapidus)

Varanis Ridari recently released a video on YouTube in which he states his "Unpopular Opinions" about the fragrance world. One of them was (I'm paraphrasing), "People don't smell with their noses." He astutely pointed out that branding, price, "vibe," and even looks (packaging, etc.) are what most people defer to when assessing if they like or dislike something. The actual fragrances? Secondary in importance. 

On a separate channel, "The Perfume Guy," Sebastian Jara reviews the original Lapidus pour Homme and three flankers, including Sport, which is his least favorite. He says flat out that he hates it, which I found interesting, because it seemed to me that his opinion was formed by everything but the scent. To me, Lapidus Sport is an almost exact clone of Creed's Orange Spice, one of their spectacular (and now discontinued) "grey cap" EDTs. But what would make the Bogart Group delve that far back into the Creed catalogue, and nearly eighteen years after the original Lapidus? Talk about random!

 

While Orange Spice was simply intense, civet-tinged oranges for nine solid hours of wear, I get a lighter and less beastly six hours of the same before Sport dies out, albeit with a ghost of animalic funk in its wake. It's more sheer, more modern (some weird soapy florals in the first ten minutes), and a tad "fresher" than its YSL/Creed predecessors, but still rooted in a musty 1950s neoclassical revivalist idea of aristocratic male grooming. It reads as a basic and unerringly tenacious combo of civet, orange, and neroli, so umistakable that I can't believe Bogart was doing anything other than cloning the Creed. Good stuff.

Revisiting Lapidus pour Homme . . . and Adding it to The List.

Lapidus Pour Homme is, in no uncertain terms, Eddie Money in a bottle. I recently purchased a 2022 bottle from eBay, and compared it to my 2012 bottle, and I must add Lapidus PH to the list: this is a fragrance that benefits from "aging." Where once the fragrance smelled like one part Kouros to three parts Boss Number One, the split is now even. Letting the bottle sit half-empty and undisturbed for seven years amplified its musks, deepened its patchouli, and sweetened its amber tenfold. 

It occurred to me when smelling the two strips that Lapidus Pour Homme has achieved a rare level of greatness in its old age. The interplay of its strident musks (civetone not least among them) is so similar to YSL's Kouros, itself a masterpiece, that it's hard for me to interpret the fragrance as anything less than a marvel. I'm always impressed by how Lapidus transitions from bright animalic musks to sweeter wildflower accents, ringed with rose and patchouli, and experience a quiet sense of bliss whenever I smell it, as I once did with Kouros. This fragrance has aged well, chemically and stylistically. 

I recall that my "vintage" bottle, which came in marbled grey glass instead of matte grey painted glass, smelled weirdly imbalanced in the heart accord. There was a mutant honey note that welled up at around the two hour mark, and it hung around long enough to put me off the scent. I ended up giving that bottle away, but I'd be interested to smell another one from the nineties or early 2000s. My recollection is that the pineapple was more natural, and it would separate from the musks enough to smell like I'd splashed Mott's canned juice on my arm. This was good and bad; while the top accord was nice, it was sensitive to temperature, and occasionally smelled "buttery." 

The 2022 formula still has a distinct fruitiness, but it's softer, smoother, more obviously synthetic. I don't know if there's been a reformulation since 2012, and imagine there has been, but whatever was done has not impacted the fragrance in any bad or questionable way. However, the 2012 bottle has seen its liquid get a few shades darker, and its woody notes are noticeably stronger than they were when I first got it. This feels like a bit of in-bottle maceration, but I'm sensing that the fragrance has slipped into its own "vintage" mode, and in five years it will be sought after. I'll report back if and when I find a true vintage bottle for comparison, and will do an in-depth comparison. 

Creation de Minuit (Ted Lapidus)

Leave it to Parfums Lapidus to release something in 2015 that looks and smells like it was released in 1992. Creation de Minuit ("Midnight Creation") is in fact a flanker to the original 1984 Creation, which was itself reissued and given a facelift with an entirely different formula in 2011. Looking at it now, I'm tickled that Lapidus execs opted for a convincingly dusty reboot of the original round and wavy bottle for this line, with this particular entry shrouded in black with gold trim. Then again, the original Lapidus pour Homme came in hefty marbled glass, also with gold trim, so this shouldn't surprise me. 

Creation de Minuit seems to have been pitched primarily to Spanish-speaking regions, as the only YouTube reviews that come up are in that language. I've never seen this line in America, and was surprised when it showed up on eBay. It's entirely possible it's been in North American markets for years and never broke out into the mainstream. If I had to guess, I'd say its popularity is stunted by its laser-like focus on two notes, blackberry and musk, and since there's only a minuscule niche for that (Mûre et Musc), Lapidus may find it a little hard to compete. I'm always surprised that this brand doesn't get more attention; Lapidus perfumes are well made, clearly use top-shelf designer chems, and give you an incredible bang for buck, with most under five dollars an ounce. This one flounders in near anonymity, while others get the lion's share of internet chatter. Nearly no one discusses Creation de Minuit online, yet it has an insanely well-rendered blackberry note. 

It is the most blackberry-heavy fragrance I've ever worn. The first five minutes are hyper-realistic blackberry, a tart, semi-sour, semi-sweet fruitiness, dark and velvety smooth, juicy but mouth-puckering, just like the real thing. Astonishing in something so cheap! The fruity sweetness lingers the longest, and settles on a floral musk accord, where the budget starts to show, although for at least an hour, Creation de Minuit is believably sedate and natural. I've encountered this musk before, a heady and somewhat weird sweetness, redolent of heliotrope and white flowers. It was definitely in Joop! Homme, only here it's fresher and lighter. Its freshness goes sour as the day progresses, and by evening the blackberry has vanished and left only a bare white musk on my skin. 

Lapidus was aiming high, but blackberry is a tough target to hit on a budget. This fragrance is fruity, a little sweet, and kind of fresh, but fresh in a murky nineties style, sort of like the blackcurrant note in Silver Mountain Water was surgically removed and transplanted into something with no supporting act. After the fruitiness subsides, around three hours in, Creation de Minuit simply gets vaguely floral and increasingly sour, and at no other stage does another clearly discernible note emerge. Perversely, I like it. Look, if you're someone who wakes up in the morning and says to himself, "Let's go with blackberry today," you'll likely embrace the artistry behind all the sweet and sour off-notes of a true blackberry perfume, even if some of them end up smelling a little like hairspray. 

Lapidus Pour Homme (Ted Lapidus)

Budget fragrances of 2011 were generally crumby. You've got your CK flankers, your sugar-shock Justin Bieber celeb nothings, your Ed Hardy disasters, your latest Curves in the road, all synthetic-smelling, aquatic, chemical florals and musks. We can't do cheapies with any dignity these days. Sniffing through all the fake fruit-laden contemporary crap last summer had me thinking about trying Creed's Aventus, just so I could smell a fruit note (namely pineapple) that doesn't remind me of a Yankee Candle. Following that train of thought, I remembered a much older scent that utilizes pineapple without the exorbitant price tag. And I got a little nostalgic. Surprise, surprise.

Lapidus opens with a smooth burst of sugary pineapple and not much else. It's an opening I've never encountered before, and what surprises me isn't the choice of fruit, but how realistic it smells. It doesn't have a chemical opacity to it. It feels like I opened a can of Mott's pineapple juice and splashed it on my chest. This pineapple is transparent, light, and sweet - but still quite strong. It settles on skin with hints of lemon and orange, and seems to recede for a few minutes before allowing the heart notes to open up. 

Once the top subsides, the honey, backed by a not-so-subtle incense and rose, emerges with startling clarity. The honey gradually loses balance, almost becoming noxious in its intensity, but that issue passes within a few hours. My bottle was older, and the honey note may have degraded. The pineapple never actually disappears, but lurks in the periphery to compliment these darker elements. Gradually the rose becomes stronger and is edged by a spiced jasmine, and Lapidus gets in touch with its floral side. Note separation is effortless here; for a downmarket offering, this fragrance never lets me forget that it's Parisian, a solid piece of French perfumery. I get each note with ease, and the scent as a whole maintains a congruence and beauty that are hard to find in many pricier perfumes.

After a few hours Lapidus brightens - the hints of clove, the darkness of the honey, and the dankness of the rose become airier and a bit soapy. The sweetness, initially introduced by pineapple and followed by a gargantuan honey element, becomes less realistic and somewhat chemical at this stage. Still, it smells good, and I've definitely gotten the most bang for my buck. To anyone who believes that price is directly correlative to quality, let Lapidus stand as a conscientious objector - it is brilliantly conceived and executed, utterly wearable, and a fine example of how to wear pineapple without wearing your bank account down to its nubble.