01/26/2020
Konsalik
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Konsalik
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Spanish synaesthetic
Do you know this feeling of finding one of these large pebbles, perfectly polished over decades and centuries, on the banks of a river; one of those types that leave you no choice but to bend down and feel the specimen, feel its weight in your hand and enjoy its "natural ergonomics" and naked gravity alone? How nice when this haptic temptation also comes from man-made objects - and Floid has been calling me regularly and silently to the bathroom shelf since he arrived about a week ago, just so that I can handle the bottle for a few seconds, also silently, and enjoy its perfect presentation. Not only the shape and the thickness of the glass wall are right, no: also the slightly conical, bakelite-like screw cap conveys down-to-earth quality, the rich orange-brown colour (somewhere between Fanta Mandarin and strawberry) almost tempts you to sip on the splash opening... Oh yes, and this aftershave does smell so proud and stately on top of it. Very well indeed. But first a very brief digression
I love men's floral scents. Not that I wanted to try my hand at the modern business of gender relativism (indeed, part of me even thinks that the dazzling Otto Weininger immortalized essential elements of this subject as early as 1903 and since then we have only rarely seen progress and much more often extremist regressions in this field, but that is only incidentally), not at all, no, it is more about the following: The Floral Herbal has always had the possibility to harmoniously and temperately unite those primary olfactory expressions that, especially in contemporary men's fragrances, are often taken to brutal, caricature-like extremes: The beguiling sweetness and the fresh acrid. Floid combines both as artfully as casually.
While cinnamon in particular was highlighted in many of the other speeches on fragrance, Floid for me is primarily a floral scent - and a rose scent at that. This rose, which is clearly standing in the room, must now be mastered, otherwise it could turn into an opulent femininity (whether madamish or lascivious). Here, cinnamon and the menthol promised on the outer packaging (valuable, thick cardboard box, hach! Pardon...) jump in at practically the same time and do their work: the menthol splits the waxy swelling in a cooling manner and roasts it, the cinnamon gives it a spicy, stabilizing character and supports the rose chevaleresque, which has been so badly affected by the methol. This simple castling gives rise to an unmistakable fragrance that is remarkable for two reasons:
1. He is for an aftershave (the user Yatagan is right: "After Shave" does not do justice to this specimen) extremely persistent and present, without wanting to play eau de toilette like a wolf in sheep's clothing - which would be annoying with time.
2. Menthol, which in many other shaving products is simply a means to an end, is not just a "coolant" that prevents skin irritation and closes the pores, but is also taken seriously as a fragrance and is included in the composition.
It is hard to imagine a European society in the 20th century that rested so naturally in its sexual archetypes as the (otherwise extremely restless) Spain of the 1930s. And Floid is just as naturally masculine - without any pompous mackerel, which in the end is only meant to cover up deep-seated insecurities.
Charmed!
I love men's floral scents. Not that I wanted to try my hand at the modern business of gender relativism (indeed, part of me even thinks that the dazzling Otto Weininger immortalized essential elements of this subject as early as 1903 and since then we have only rarely seen progress and much more often extremist regressions in this field, but that is only incidentally), not at all, no, it is more about the following: The Floral Herbal has always had the possibility to harmoniously and temperately unite those primary olfactory expressions that, especially in contemporary men's fragrances, are often taken to brutal, caricature-like extremes: The beguiling sweetness and the fresh acrid. Floid combines both as artfully as casually.
While cinnamon in particular was highlighted in many of the other speeches on fragrance, Floid for me is primarily a floral scent - and a rose scent at that. This rose, which is clearly standing in the room, must now be mastered, otherwise it could turn into an opulent femininity (whether madamish or lascivious). Here, cinnamon and the menthol promised on the outer packaging (valuable, thick cardboard box, hach! Pardon...) jump in at practically the same time and do their work: the menthol splits the waxy swelling in a cooling manner and roasts it, the cinnamon gives it a spicy, stabilizing character and supports the rose chevaleresque, which has been so badly affected by the methol. This simple castling gives rise to an unmistakable fragrance that is remarkable for two reasons:
1. He is for an aftershave (the user Yatagan is right: "After Shave" does not do justice to this specimen) extremely persistent and present, without wanting to play eau de toilette like a wolf in sheep's clothing - which would be annoying with time.
2. Menthol, which in many other shaving products is simply a means to an end, is not just a "coolant" that prevents skin irritation and closes the pores, but is also taken seriously as a fragrance and is included in the composition.
It is hard to imagine a European society in the 20th century that rested so naturally in its sexual archetypes as the (otherwise extremely restless) Spain of the 1930s. And Floid is just as naturally masculine - without any pompous mackerel, which in the end is only meant to cover up deep-seated insecurities.
Charmed!
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