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Notes12/07/2018
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Konsalik
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Konsalik
With Conan at the outdoor pool
Enough has already been said about names and outer packaging or the advertising text immortalised on them. I also don't want to talk too much about the wonderful marketing connection that Jovan made with a barbarian fantasy of the great illustrator Frank Frazetta (you can have a look at it in the picture gallery). Just this much: I have a heart for trash with momentum. And an advertising text à la Sex Appeal ("Now that you have acquired the "power" my son, you must swear to me by the sacred sword of Jovan, that you will use the power only for good... never for evil") appeals to the Manowar-Shirt-wearing teenager deep inside me more than any "obsession" could ever have. And anyway: Doesn't this pathos reveal a last remnant - albeit clumsy - of chivalry that is completely absent from the advertising strategists of contemporary flat-laying guarantee fragrances? Be it as it is.
Our lightning rod in the loincloth, which is storming the summit and still challenges the gods on the mentioned poster, first makes himself a lazy afternoon on the skin in the outdoor pool. Seriously: Everything about the head and heart note of Sex Appeal reminds me of visits to the local swimming pool in my childhood: There is a sweaty note, almost chlorine-like in its bite, which I had already noticed in much weaker form in Lapidus pour Homme. More than just a hint of suntan lotion. Something with almond flavor. And basically it was for quite a while already - at least for my nose: nostalgic, but slightly headache chemistry, but quite charming and not horrible, even if it might read like that. Only after a while (but not without strength) sandalwood and patchouli appear dark and warm. Conan has buzzed off the chlorine broth, rubbed herself down and now lies in the dimly lit barbarian tent on a wind-whipped plain, waiting for the arrival of the sexy warrior princess. The staked skulls of his enemies stepped into the dust adorn... oh, pardon me! The teenager in the Manowar shirt had briefly taken the reins. My next review must be for another English classic; Sex Appeal doesn't bring my best to the surface.
Our lightning rod in the loincloth, which is storming the summit and still challenges the gods on the mentioned poster, first makes himself a lazy afternoon on the skin in the outdoor pool. Seriously: Everything about the head and heart note of Sex Appeal reminds me of visits to the local swimming pool in my childhood: There is a sweaty note, almost chlorine-like in its bite, which I had already noticed in much weaker form in Lapidus pour Homme. More than just a hint of suntan lotion. Something with almond flavor. And basically it was for quite a while already - at least for my nose: nostalgic, but slightly headache chemistry, but quite charming and not horrible, even if it might read like that. Only after a while (but not without strength) sandalwood and patchouli appear dark and warm. Conan has buzzed off the chlorine broth, rubbed herself down and now lies in the dimly lit barbarian tent on a wind-whipped plain, waiting for the arrival of the sexy warrior princess. The staked skulls of his enemies stepped into the dust adorn... oh, pardon me! The teenager in the Manowar shirt had briefly taken the reins. My next review must be for another English classic; Sex Appeal doesn't bring my best to the surface.
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