7/30/12

Aqva Pour Homme (Bvlgari)



Bvlgari Aqva Pour Homme. Never mind what Tania Sanchez said about it. Never mind what anyone else says about it. To any and all of my loyal "newbie" readers, those who take my reviews seriously, and actually take stock of what I say, I'd like to impart this little bit of wisdom to you: Aqva is a sporty aquatic done very well. If you think you hate aquatics, think you hate sports fragrances, think you hate hearing the words "fresh" and "clean" in the same sentence as "masculine scent," I think you should head over to the mall right now and ask for a spritz of this stuff. You'll find that a slew of reviews on this fragrance are totally misleading, and that a slew of reviewers have missed the boat on Aqva. No pun intended.

The truth about Bvlgari's signature aquatic masculine is that it's actually an aquatic white floral, with a raunchy arrangement of well-handled indoles comprising its heart. In regards to its review in The Guide, I suspect Ms. Sanchez sprayed some Aqva on her wrist, gave it an immediate sniff, wrinkled her nose at the non-existent ozonic-melon top notes, shook her head, and started typing. This scent has a truly uninspired opening, more a condensation of core elements, rather than a unique accord. I can almost understand stopping short at that stiff intro before heading for the scrub brush. Almost.


What happens two minutes later is what makes Aqva worthwhile. A delightfully skanky orange blossom and jasmine accord surfaces, all sweetness clipped away, bringing an almost-fecal indolic breath to the fore. Jacques Cavallier's careful integration of salinated green notes and bracing citruses keeps the stink at bay, balancing the heart perfectly, and sending its character into the stratosphere of inspired workmanship. For three hours on skin, Aqva is a careful tension between these earthy and salty elements, and smells like a briny sea breeze, and also like a dying bouquet. The indoles eventually calm down, and the far drydown makes way for a pleasant mist of remote fruit and cool white flowers, somewhat more polite, but still hinting at their past glory.

If this is a bare, wan, uninspired sporty aquatic, then I'm Micky Mouse.

7/29/12

Eau de Gentiane Blanche (Hermès)


Jean-Claude Ellena is well-known for his minimalist style in perfumery, and he deserves high praise for sticking to it. I can't think of many perfumers who do more with less as stoically as Ellena. The man manages to capture the essence of nature in bare strokes of uniform color, designing "personal atmosphere" for his wearers. I can appreciate that.

Eau de Gentiane Blanche is one of Hermès' more unique releases, as it prominently features the gentiana plant, and you'd be hard-pressed to find other colognes featuring gentiana. It reminds me of the Italian bitters used in summer drinks, and possesses a cool earthiness that's at once linear and utterly marvelous. It stands in stark contrast to the bright fruit of Eau d'Orange Verte, but also seems appropriately placed alongside it, as they share the sugarless greenness of things from nature. 

Eau de Gentiane Blanche smells very "white" as well, with a pale, ashen character that makes me think of Ireland in winter. It opens with a bright green freshness and dries into a somber floral woodiness, which resembles iris. Things get powdery from here, and a little one-dimensional, but the overall earthy aspect retains its allure for a solid three hours after application. Impressive.

The one strike against EdGB is its quality of materials. I'm not detecting the same eyebrow-raising naturals of Eau d'Orange Verte in this composition, and this is underscored by the suspicious longevity. For a cologne, it has kick. Because it is the only gentiana-based fragrance I've encountered, I can't speak to the authenticity of that note, but I definitely get some synthetic iris and musk. 

Try this one out if you're in the market for something different. It's unique, well made, and guaranteed to get attention. Me? I'm sticking to Eau d'Orange Verte, 4711, Eau Sauvage, and things that don't smell strange and funereal. But that's just me.

Eau d'Orange Verte (Hermès)


I will try to write an objective review of this famous cologne by Hermès, because in comparison to others, like Eau Sauvage, 4711, Orange Spice, I think it is the least fruity, and most lackluster of the bunch. However, on its own merits, it's very good.

Eau d'Orange Verte opens with a bright lemon and orange accord, smelling juicy and fresh, and which rapidly recedes behind a solidly bitter bergamot. Very quickly thereafter a woody note takes over, softened by a pleasantly naturalistic orange blossom. The floral element plays second fiddle to an overwhelming woodiness, and at the twenty minute mark I'm struggling to find the citrus notes of the opening. With heat-activating breath on skin, the orange is drawn out, but never really retains the lucidity of the Bitter Orange in Eau Sauvage, or the synthetic Technicolor Valencia of Orange Spice. Its cologne concentration works against any legibility Eau d'Orange Verte may have, and forces a spare-green woodiness into the spotlight for the remainder of its short life.

Still, it's very well-made, and arguably the most naturalistic orange cologne on the market. The essence of simple orange zest is there, but without Creed's budget or Dior's in-house secrets, the effect is limited enough that I'm not entirely sure the fragrance is as successful as the critics want it to be. 

7/27/12

Weekend for Men (Burberry)



It's always hard when I test a fragrance that closely resembles another fragrance, especially when the tested doppelgänger isn't as good as its progenitor. Even if both fragrances are of equal caliber, there's still the question: why not just wear the original?

The House of Burberry is the odd man out in masculine fragrance, a third wheel in the commercial hemisphere of Chanel and Armani. There are many Burberry fans, and the scents seem to do considerably better than some of their competition, but in the end their offerings feel mediocre, aspirational, uninspired. Burberry for Men is nice enough, but I'd never buy a bottle for myself. There's nothing wrong with it, but its violet leaf-to-cedar overtures get no awards for ingenuity. It's impossible to say whether or not BfM is a clone of something better, because its thematic components are so pedestrian. It shares shelf space with hundreds of others like it.

Weekend for Men is another story. This is Brut, more or less, with the original Calone molecule added, two or three extra citrus fruits, and a white musky veil thrown over everything. The top is bright and fizzy, and then a grandiloquent haze of white musk, jasmine, lavender, and a sprig of mint appear in the drydown. It's far too muted to be memorable, and isn't nearly as enjoyable as that ambery fougère from 1964. 

7/26/12

Design for Men (Paul Sebastian)



Paul Sebastian's brand has been experiencing a Renaissance lately. PS Fine Cologne used to be relegated to the discount bin at Marshalls, usually priced at around $10 - $15 for a large bottle. Last winter I stopped by Macy's and was surprised to find PS sitting next to Chanel and Armani. It was given a high-profile display, with several gift-sets, and hulking 8-ounce testers thoughtfully arranged on the glass counter. In fact, Macy's is currently asking $53 for a 4-ouncer of the stuff. I've noticed this scent is no longer available at my local Marshalls. I haven't tried it recently, and wonder if it's been reformulated - i.e., improved. For Macy's prices, it had better be.

Inexpensive classics like Azzaro Pour Homme, and re-released classics like Red for Men, are suffering lately from a sulfurous off-note, the likes of which I cannot identify or explain. The latest formulation of ApH has it in spades, fizzing unpleasantly from its softly aldehydic opening. Red for Men has it deeply embedded in its heart, which ruins the scent completely. And Design for Men seems to be built around it. The whole scent is a stale, ammonia-like funk, sandwiched between a synthetic grapefruit top, and a pallid lavender/muguet base. 

Things decline further in the far drydown, and are reminiscent of the days when angry mothers washed their sons' profanity-stained mouths out with soap. Think of Design for Men as that experience, unceremoniously presented in a 45-cent bottle with a disproportionately large cap.

7/25/12

Bijan Men (Bijan)



I once posted my C.V. online and received an immediate reply from a man who claimed I fit the profile for an available position, and if I didn't mind the drive from Connecticut to White Plains, NY, he'd be willing to interview me tomorrow. I asked him what the position was, and he was very vague about it, saying "It's an integral role in our in-house marketing department, which is focused on giving our business the broadest visibility possible." 

I figured, what do I have to lose? So I went down there the next day, waited for an hour in the lobby, and was finally greeted by a 30-something cheeseball in a plaid suit. He led me through a surrealistic maze of windowless corridors, along which was situated his unfurnished office. He invited me to sit, so I sat. First words out of his mouth: "Are those your references?" My reply: "Actually, no. This is my portfolio. You do realize I'm a graphic design grad, right?"

His face went blank. Without another word, he stood up, opened his door, and ushered me out. He wished me good luck, spun on his spit-and-polished shoes, and disappeared back into his office. True story.

Having smelled the contents of this obnoxious glass donut, I'm now positive the company he fronted was whatever haphazard concern is responsible for Bijan Men.

7/24/12

Red Roses (Jo Malone)




Floral gender designations, loosely defined by me:

Feminine
Tuberose
Jasmine
Violet
Rose
Gardenia
Orange Blossom
Iris
Peony
Carnation
Geranium


Masculine
Lavender
Rose
Iris
Violet
Orange Blossom
Carnation
Geranium


This is the sort of floral gender orthodoxy I subscribe to, but I truly do believe that people should have the right, regardless of gender, to wear whatever they like. So if you're a guy who loves gardenia, go for it. I understand Tom Ford makes a good one. Likewise for women and lavender, although with the exception of a few fragrances from the 1970s, I haven't run across a lavender that "works" in feminine compositions. I'm not sure what it is about lavender, but I always associate it with masculinity. I'm sure there are 500 feminines with prominent lavender that are right under my nose, but unless I get around to trying them, I'll probably never know what they are. Yet another of my many horizons that requires expanding.

Rose also works just fine on men, as long as it isn't sugared and bedecked in berries and tropical fruits. Hearkening back to the British dandified fougères and orientals of the 1800s (Hammam Bouquet immediately springs to mind), rose has had a significant presence in masculines throughout history, and continues to appear in contemporary masculine fragrances. One of the finest affordable rose fragrances for men is Zino by Davidoff, but rose-based masculines also include classics like Ungaro Pour L'Homme III, Black Aoud, Égoïste, Une Rose, and Casual for Men by Paul Sebastian. 

Red Roses brings to mind Tea Rose and Fleur de Thé Rose Bulgare in that it's a very holistic interpretation of the flower. Soliflores that render the greens along with the blush pinks and blood reds are more dynamic than those that simply take rose oils and fizzy headspace technologies to recreate this unique aroma. I prefer the fragrances that include notes of leaves, stems, semi-decayed petals, and unopened buds, and Red Roses has a little bit of everything. It opens with a fresh green note, very pastel in feel, but quickly envelopes my senses in its ruby glow. For five hours I'm immersed in a bed of roses, with whiffs of stems and leaves, the faintest hint of dank dying petals, and the sweet, honey-like pluck of new flowers (a little like Rose Barbare in this regard).

If you like Tea Rose, and find Fleur de Thé Rose Bulgare a little to citric and unfriendly, you must try Red Roses. It really doesn't get any better than this.

7/23/12

Derek Jeter Driven & Driven Black (Avon)




A few years ago, Avon released Derek Jeter's celebuscent, cleverly named "Driven," which I did not have an opportunity to try, because at that time I was preoccupied with finding a job. Now that I'm comfortably working, I can peruse the many subtle pleasantries this fragrance has to offer - thanks to its re-release! For reasons unknown, Avon discontinued Driven, and this must have been an unpopular move, because not only is it back, but it's back in black.

Just a quick note on Avon: Do not underestimate this company. Remember those silly plastic statuettes from the sixties and seventies, every conceivable shape and size, filled with some cheap aftershave or cologne? Those days are but fond memories. They now have serious fragrance campaigns, with several older brands represented, and some good new ones on the roster. Driven is one of them.


Jeter has publicly admitted to liking and wearing Cool Water. He has hinted that Driven is Cool Water with a few curve-balls thrown in. I agree - Driven is essentially Cool Water with fruit notes, mostly grapefruit, traded in for tobacco, apple, and cedar. It opens with a bright punch of lavender and citrus, with a little melon sweetness, and gradually moves into a minty bitterness that I can't quite describe. I've read notes lists that cite rhubarb and bamboo, but it just smells very "blue" to me. It's like they created a new and overly-abstract interpretation of lavender.

Just as I begin to feel Driven is too smooth, ozonic, modern, something good happens. The fruity blues back off, and a darker sueded leather accord emerges. This is another adjustment to the Cool Water formula, as the Davidoff scent contains a wily tobacco and cedar element that flirts with darkness to balance its freshness. Driven merely says "leather" instead of "chew." Good play. Unambitious, but commendable. If you're a fan of Cool Water, but want to try something that's stylistically more contemporary (without sacrificing quality), give Driven a few innings and see what you think. You're getting tired of all my little baseball jokes, I know. This is almost over.


Driven Black is a bit of a mystery to me. I'm anosmic to it. I get hints of it - mandarin, sage, some cedar and sandalwood. Then, a big suede note, which seems to be the bulk of things. It flits in and out, but more out, unfortunately. I like what I smell, when I'm able to smell it. But this is the only fragrance I've encountered that genuinely seems much, much too weak. Either that, or my nose just doesn't want to play ball.

7/22/12

Vetyver (L'Occitane)



Vetiver has always been a problematic note for me. It's not that I don't like how it smells, because I do. There's something wonderful about its rooty-green goodness, and the way it compliments a man's presence. I should love vetiver: it loves me instead.

However, there's one serious snag - vetiver is boring. There, I said it. Despite its charms, vetiver comes across as a bit one-dimensional, and lacks dynamism, intrigue, exoticism, whatever you want to call it. To my nose, an exciting vetiver fragrance has yet to be made. Too many perfume houses rely on vetiver alone to carry their in-house vetiver scent, and wind up with a stodgy product. Guerlain Vetiver is beautiful, in many ways the perfect masculine fragrance. But I'd sooner wear Jacomo's Silences, or anything with more complexity and pizzazz. That's just me.

Creed's Original Vetiver is a beautiful fragrance, and it's one of my favorite frags. But that's because it's a beautiful green composition. The very reason Luca Turin slams it is the reason I love it: it's an example of excellent perfumery, that design sensibility of arranging olfactory components in a manner that creates a whole new accord, a truly unique experience that isn't easily replicated or improved upon. A lot of work went into integrating the vetiver, and making it crucial to the scent's success. Even more work went into ensuring that vetiver wasn't the star of the show. Those of us who "get it" can appreciate Original Vetiver. Those who don't can wear Guerlain's instead.

L'Occitane's take on vetiver is somewhat of an anomaly to me. It's a vetiver fragrance that truly has no vetiver in it. It's a sleight of hand trick, a well-placed aroma chemical in measured proportions that rubs me the wrong way from start to finish.

I'd like to impart this about Vetyver - it's a good fragrance for Christmas time, as its smell conjures the holidays: Christmas, New Years, anything from November onward. It has that warm, spicy, homey feel to it. It opens with a brilliant desiccated lemon, rosemary, and sage accord, and rapidly transitions into a deep nutmeg and cedar, with strong rosewoody overtures. I like the smell of rosewood, and enjoy how this olfactory illusion plays out in Vetyver. Underlying all of these things is a vetiver-like woodiness, very well centered and obvious, but not overpowering.

As it dries down, Vetyver becomes very dry and smoky, with a subtle tobacco-like effect, although I'm sure there's no actual tobacco in there. Vetiver steps forward and attempts to claim its territory, but nuthin' doin' since this ain't no vetiver fragrance to begin with. No, this is just an aroma chemical, namely Hexyl Benzoate, shown above. HB imbues perfumes with a dry, rooty, woody-green balsamic feeling that could easily be mistaken for vetiver, if used in the right context. Vetyver is nice, easy to live with, and well made given its provenance, but simply misses the mark for me. Very subjective call. I could see others loving Vetyver, and could understand why. Maybe in a few months when I'm roasting chestnuts I'll have a change of heart.

What To Do About Reformulations




Your favorite fragrances are being reformulated. What do you do? Panic. Dial 911. Throw all your expendables out the fire escape and take only cash, canned food, and pictures of your loved ones. Get down on your knees and pray.

Kidding, kidding. Nah, don't do any of those things.

Occasionally I get concerned comments about reformulations, which fragrance to trust, which variation in packaging to look out for, etc. A few months ago, I wrote a post about reformulations, specifically two of my favorites, Grey Flannel, and Kouros. I lamented that these masterpieces had been messed with, although despite my certainty that something had changed, I was hard-pressed to identify what it was. With Grey Flannel, it seemed like there was less oakmoss, less violet, more anise. With Kouros, there seemed to be a thinner citrus and civet intro, followed by a slightly muted drydown of clove and incense, sans honey and wildflowers. I wasn't a happy customer.

Then I did side-by-side sniff comparisons of my older bottles against the new. In the case of Grey Flannel, it was apparent to me that there was only a very, very subtle difference. The violet leaf had been toned up, and the actual violet ionone toned down. This resulted in a more peppery, anise-like top for the new version, which contrasted just a little with the smoother, mossier top of old.

In the case of Kouros, lengthy wearings helped me discern what happened. Recently I wore my older formula for a full day, in relatively high heat. Its bright citrus/musk top notes carried predictably into the heart, where a nice melange of honeyed wildflowers (and lots of lavender) opened up, creating a beautiful sweetness. The incense base was solid, upholding the perfume for an appreciable time. The new version of Kouros, however, is toned back on all fronts, and in fact the concentration has been altered slightly - it is now two steps closer to being an eau de cologne, instead of a standard EDT. There is more water, as noted in the ingredients list, instead of perfumer's alcohol.

Still, the new Kouros performs the same. There's a lighter citrus/musk opening, a lighter wildflower accord, a lighter incense in the base. The same beautiful sweetness chimes in every now and then to remind me that I'm wearing a masterpiece.

We all know that reformulations happen, and that sometimes this changes the quality of a fragrance for the worse. On basenotes, and on Fragrantica, we read all the time that it's not worth wearing Paco Rabanne Pour Homme unless you can find a bottle from the late '80s or early '90s, before the latest round of cost-cuts trimmed the life out of it. Quorum gets accused of being a pale sliver of its former self, due to reckless changes in how oakmoss gets dosed. I've even read that 4711, which is a fairly simple EdC consisting primarily of citrus aromachemicals, was gutted some time back, and now masquerades as itself. If true, it's all a damn shame.

Let's get something straight here. Sometimes fragrances do get ruined. I haven't said anything about it, because I didn't want to shit on the venerable house of Azzaro, which I like and admire greatly. But their most recent reformulation of Azzaro Pour Homme - which follows my review of it - is a shambles. They have taken the idea of "modernization" too far, and made what was once a terrific French fougère into a ghastly watery thing that smells like someone dropped an Azzaro Pour Homme tablet in an eight-gallon jug of New England tap. This is an example of a reformulation failure, and if you really must know, I can't recommend buying the recent crop of ApH until they change it back. They had already turned it into a sports fragrance, which I didn't mind and actually liked, but then they took it a step too far, and now you'd be better off wearing Stetson by Coty. And no one is better off wearing Stetson by Coty. No one.

But in the interest of "Getting Things Straight," let me add that Azzaro Pour Homme is a rare case. Grey Flannel was reformulated. Several times. It still smells like Grey Flannel. Nothing has changed to the extent that it smells like some shadow of itself. Kouros has been under the knife a few times also, and it still smells like Kouros. Quorum - which I have had batch variation issues with in the past - still smells like Quorum, and although I'd appreciate it if they improved its grapefruit note, I'm totally comfortable saying that nothing has changed. These fragrances have stood their ground, and are worth re-purchasing. And so have other fragrances, and they're worth re-purchasing, too.

My friend Shamu1, whose excellent blog I have been reading for a while now, recently made an excellent point about reformulations. It's something that shouldn't be overlooked, because it is very true: when fragrances age in the bottle, various solvent ingredients evaporate through whatever tiny cracks and fissures exist in their bottles. Stuff like alcohol and water. It happens very slowly, very gradually, and sometimes almost imperceptibly. The result is that the perfume oils, the raw materials that make the fragrance tick, become a little more concentrated, and seem to intensify. 

That 10 year-old bottle of Paco Rabanne Pour Homme probably smells a little better than the one you bought a month ago. That's because your older Paco is holding a bit less water, and a bit of a congealed formula. Its essence is more concentrated by a mere fraction, enough for your nose to detect. It smells better, because there's less "filler" between your nose and the stuff that makes Paco the amazing masculine perfume that it is. Meanwhile, your new bottle has all that filler still in it, still buffering the air, holding the perfume at bay. It's present, but it's polite. Maybe even a little hollow, compared to the old stuff. That's normal. That's nothing to get crazy over.

I know that my new bottle of Kouros has been reformulated because I see that they've re-allocated the position of water in the ingredients list. But almost every other ingredient is the same. And the only difference is that there's more alcohol in my older bottle. My older bottle may be about 8 or 9 years old. Could be a little older. It smells a little stronger, denser. There's not as much buffer between the fragrance and my nose, so I'm getting the full brunt of synthetic civet and bergamot when I first spray it on.

Should I be peeved that they put more water in the new version? Yes and no. It makes it a little harder to smell Kouros right now. But water evaporates. Ten years from now, I may have my old Kouros back. So what's the point of getting all upset over it? There is none.

Basenotes and Fragrantica are full to the brim with threads regarding reformulation. Packaging changes. Batch numbers. You name it, it's there. It's a fool's game. Don't listen to the guy who tries to send you on a mission to find Kouros from 1983. When your bid wins on Ebay, you'll likely receive a perfume that smells old. The citrus notes will have soured, and the civet - some of which may have been real back then - will be off-balance. The floral notes will have peeled and become powdery before their time. The incense base, which is supposed to smell raw, will instead seem burnt. And what can you tell people on the internet then? That you shouldn't have paid $100 for an old bottle of Kouros, because the original formula hasn't survived the decades? That it would have been easier and cheaper to just go to the mall and grab a bottle of the new stuff? That despite all your attempts to pass the skunked juice off as "beautiful," and "one-of-a-kind," none of your friends are buying it?

Or will you go back on basenotes, or Fragrantica, and tell the new kids on the block that it's not worth buying Kouros unless they find its original formula? That won't make you feel better about all the original formulas you bought, wore, and regretted.

Life is full of change. Acceptance of change is part of life. Don't get hung up on the past. Move forward always.

7/21/12

Eau de Cologne Imperiale (Guerlain)



I know I've already reviewed a Guerlain this month, but July is long in the tooth, and August, which is generally the hottest month of the year in these parts, is right around the corner. Those of you who are seeking a beautifully-made EDC for sweaty mid-summer afternoons should look no further than Eau de Cologne Imperiale. Mind you, this is the "affordable" EDC from Guerlain - actually one of a few - and if you have a well lubricated bank account, by all means spring for the pricier Eau de Guerlain instead. It's a bit harder to source, though. I'm not so sure it's worth the trouble. I've never had the chance to try it, but I understand EdG is the best of Guerlain's colognes.

EdCI, however, seems to be ranked second, and I can see why. With the exception of Shalimar, I have yet to encounter another citrus accord as good as the one in this cologne. Most EDCs boast a broad array of citrus notes, with lemon, lime, bergamot, bitter orange, and sometimes grapefruit present and accounted for. 4711 is a good example of this - it has a very nice bitter citrus opening, and although its note separation isn't top shelf, I can make out lemon, bergamot, and lime. Legible enough, but after three minutes they meld into one thing, and get overtaken by herbal and floral notes.

Guerlain has a knack for using citrus aromachemicals that are crystalline, easy to identify, well-blended, and smooth. EdCI opens with a lovely rush of bright, bitter, truly naturalistic citrus. The lemons, the limes, the oranges, all come tumbling out onto skin in a wet splash, like one of those visually-dishonest chain restaurant commercials with slices of food and water droplets flying everywhere. There are some prickly herbs: a touch of rosemary, the quietest hint of basil, accents of neroli, and a nondescript aromatic wood, probably cedar.

Spray on. Let seconds pass. Enjoy this sparkly citrus-herbal wonder. Revel in it. Then say goodbye. Longevity is roughly fifteen minutes with reasonable application. Which, in a way, is good. It supports the supposition that high-grade naturals were used. For citrus lovers, those who require a light, noncommittal fragrance in close quarters with others, or just people who want a little lift in the middle of a heat wave, this juice is for you.