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Notes07/05/2020
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Colonial Goods I: Russian puzzles.
The new series "Colonial Goods", which begins with these lines, will be dedicated to the fragrances that I would like to call "brown colognes". They have all the colognes characteristics that qualify for inclusion in my other cologne series, but are additionally characterized by brown notes such as cloves, tobacco or leather.
The title of the series naturally alludes to the former Roman colony on the Rhine, Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippinensium, birthplace and eponym of the Cologne waters, and in any case home to brown colognes such as Russian Leather by Farina Gegenüber. At the same time, the name wants to build a bridge to the retail shops where overseas spices, tobacco, coffee, cocoa and similar goods were offered for sale and which until a few decades ago still operated as "colonial goods shops".
Reinsurance is added: I think it is clear that the suffering and injustice that accompanied the establishment of colonies (and their economic exploitation, for example through the export of colonial goods) and the major crimes of colonialism, such as the Congo atrocities or the genocide of the Herero after the Battle of Waterberg, must never be forgotten. However, I do not believe that the term colonial goods should therefore be deleted from the dictionary.
Describing the fragrances of Harry Lehmann always corresponds to the challenge of a blind test, since the company stubbornly refuses to give a pyramid of scents and is content with cryptic short descriptions (in this case: "balsamic-tabac-like", aha), which often enough do not match one's own sense of smell and increase the confusion. The trick of lying to Mrs. Toni, who sells a considerable number of Lehmänner in parallel distribution (with pyramid!), does not work here due to the assortment. All that is left is your own nose and the legally required label on the bottle, which focuses on potentially allergenic fragrances.
I agree with the esteemed Ttfortwo, Russian Eau de Cologne starts citrically. I am also relieved about this, because with this and the designation as "Cologne" the granted admission to this series is already as good as legitimized. However, and I would like to insist on this, this is not a common, possibly still bergamoty-nerolic, traditional Cologne, but a vice-proof citric, built into strong brown-spicy aromatic notes. I almost want to commit myself: The typical, slightly pulling citric as a prelude to a chypre chord.
The fragrance lasts for an enormously long time at close range: plated for at least six hours, more if possible. That is enough time for a certain scent to develop, or at least for a game of changing olfactory impressions. Sometimes soft, almost vanilla notes emerge, mostly Russian is clearly fresh, almost summer fresh, and thus finally qualifies as a worthy cologne. I cannot recognize the cognac notes that are often described here. Does the fragrance stand out for its old-style leather notes (like in Knize Ten)? I am hesitating. There is a relationship, but not too close. Maybe the scent is called "Russian", but not "Russian Leather" or "Russian Yukon" like so many others
This pithy, masculine, somewhat creaky freshness teases and puzzles me; it sometimes takes on a fougère shape, only to appear all the more unambiguously as chypre (sometimes I think I smell the more masculine, cooler version of Alpa's Chypre-Cologne). Luckily I don't get a bonus for fixing it: so I'll limit myself to saying that what we have here is a somewhat enigmatic, but very beautiful, abysmally oldschool and yet not at all boring, crisply masculine and yet easily imaginable cologna scent, even on a distinguished lady or young girl. And to the fact that it ends after hours, once again very much changed, in a very beautiful base, which for my nose comes across as cheekily toned lavender powdery.
Since Konsalik, Ttfortwo and Grenouille have already described this fragrance much more beautifully, I must, in order to justify this comment, attempt to clarify two previously unresolved humanity issues:
Is Russian Eau de Cologne the diluted version of Russian Juchten? After a parallel test I tend to answer the question in the negative. The scents are similar, yes, no question about it, especially Russian Juchten appears to me as a spicy chypre as well (and even more so than the one discussed here). They both probably originate from the early years of the fragrance house, and the ingredients on the label read suspiciously similar (especially coumarin and oakmoss shine through and citronellol and limonene are found in both). However, there seem to be differences; the cologne seems drier and more solid than the EdP and, unlike the EdP, a bit woody
Why Russian Eau de Cologne and not Russian Eau de Cologne? At first I thought we were dealing with a form of shrinkage that would have evaporated over the decades of "Das Russische Eau de Cologne" or even, as in an encyclopaedia: "Russian Eau de Cologne, that". In the meantime, I think this fragrance might have originated in the golden twenties or early thirties, when "the Frenchman" was still the hereditary enemy, but every pupil still crammed the French language so much that nothing was more natural in the world than that "L'Eau" is feminine. And that therefore the German adjective referring to Russia has to follow the French watery noun: "Die russische Kölnisch-Eau", just like "Acqua di Colonia Russa" (and not Russo) from Santa Maria Novella. Which brings us to another fragrance I'd love to discuss in this series - if only I could get my hands on it!
The title of the series naturally alludes to the former Roman colony on the Rhine, Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippinensium, birthplace and eponym of the Cologne waters, and in any case home to brown colognes such as Russian Leather by Farina Gegenüber. At the same time, the name wants to build a bridge to the retail shops where overseas spices, tobacco, coffee, cocoa and similar goods were offered for sale and which until a few decades ago still operated as "colonial goods shops".
Reinsurance is added: I think it is clear that the suffering and injustice that accompanied the establishment of colonies (and their economic exploitation, for example through the export of colonial goods) and the major crimes of colonialism, such as the Congo atrocities or the genocide of the Herero after the Battle of Waterberg, must never be forgotten. However, I do not believe that the term colonial goods should therefore be deleted from the dictionary.
Describing the fragrances of Harry Lehmann always corresponds to the challenge of a blind test, since the company stubbornly refuses to give a pyramid of scents and is content with cryptic short descriptions (in this case: "balsamic-tabac-like", aha), which often enough do not match one's own sense of smell and increase the confusion. The trick of lying to Mrs. Toni, who sells a considerable number of Lehmänner in parallel distribution (with pyramid!), does not work here due to the assortment. All that is left is your own nose and the legally required label on the bottle, which focuses on potentially allergenic fragrances.
I agree with the esteemed Ttfortwo, Russian Eau de Cologne starts citrically. I am also relieved about this, because with this and the designation as "Cologne" the granted admission to this series is already as good as legitimized. However, and I would like to insist on this, this is not a common, possibly still bergamoty-nerolic, traditional Cologne, but a vice-proof citric, built into strong brown-spicy aromatic notes. I almost want to commit myself: The typical, slightly pulling citric as a prelude to a chypre chord.
The fragrance lasts for an enormously long time at close range: plated for at least six hours, more if possible. That is enough time for a certain scent to develop, or at least for a game of changing olfactory impressions. Sometimes soft, almost vanilla notes emerge, mostly Russian is clearly fresh, almost summer fresh, and thus finally qualifies as a worthy cologne. I cannot recognize the cognac notes that are often described here. Does the fragrance stand out for its old-style leather notes (like in Knize Ten)? I am hesitating. There is a relationship, but not too close. Maybe the scent is called "Russian", but not "Russian Leather" or "Russian Yukon" like so many others
This pithy, masculine, somewhat creaky freshness teases and puzzles me; it sometimes takes on a fougère shape, only to appear all the more unambiguously as chypre (sometimes I think I smell the more masculine, cooler version of Alpa's Chypre-Cologne). Luckily I don't get a bonus for fixing it: so I'll limit myself to saying that what we have here is a somewhat enigmatic, but very beautiful, abysmally oldschool and yet not at all boring, crisply masculine and yet easily imaginable cologna scent, even on a distinguished lady or young girl. And to the fact that it ends after hours, once again very much changed, in a very beautiful base, which for my nose comes across as cheekily toned lavender powdery.
Since Konsalik, Ttfortwo and Grenouille have already described this fragrance much more beautifully, I must, in order to justify this comment, attempt to clarify two previously unresolved humanity issues:
Is Russian Eau de Cologne the diluted version of Russian Juchten? After a parallel test I tend to answer the question in the negative. The scents are similar, yes, no question about it, especially Russian Juchten appears to me as a spicy chypre as well (and even more so than the one discussed here). They both probably originate from the early years of the fragrance house, and the ingredients on the label read suspiciously similar (especially coumarin and oakmoss shine through and citronellol and limonene are found in both). However, there seem to be differences; the cologne seems drier and more solid than the EdP and, unlike the EdP, a bit woody
Why Russian Eau de Cologne and not Russian Eau de Cologne? At first I thought we were dealing with a form of shrinkage that would have evaporated over the decades of "Das Russische Eau de Cologne" or even, as in an encyclopaedia: "Russian Eau de Cologne, that". In the meantime, I think this fragrance might have originated in the golden twenties or early thirties, when "the Frenchman" was still the hereditary enemy, but every pupil still crammed the French language so much that nothing was more natural in the world than that "L'Eau" is feminine. And that therefore the German adjective referring to Russia has to follow the French watery noun: "Die russische Kölnisch-Eau", just like "Acqua di Colonia Russa" (and not Russo) from Santa Maria Novella. Which brings us to another fragrance I'd love to discuss in this series - if only I could get my hands on it!
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