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The pure beauty of the ugly
In the past, I have had the great luck and not least the joy of being able to test every single one of the zoologist fragrances at least once. I (therefore) also understand quite well the dichotomy between the fragrances and the often quite broadly diversified evaluations of the individual fragrances. They are all art, every single one is very unique and for me they are usually overwhelming at first.
Even with the four I have in my collection, I find them all great, but not all of them really portable.
My prime example for this is the Bat, which I composed magnificently in my nose. Dark, fascinating and as close to the theme as one can be. Nevertheless I never wear it, but rather enjoy the sight and the regular sniffing of the bottle.
I also like Rhinoceros incredibly much, but depending on the shape of the day and my mood he kills me.
In Macaque I feel good all the time.
Ever since the announcement, I've been really hot to get Moth under my nose. On the one hand because of the topic, on the other hand because I had promised myself at least once again something unwearable and great from Moth during the test smell.
Moth begins rough and impetuous with lots of pepper, nutmeg, cloves and saffron. And although I really don't like any of these spices except for the last one I mentioned, an amazingly harmonious and unpenetrating fragrance cloud formed immediately. (Thank God not the trace of cumin...)
After a few seconds, the spice of rose and other more bitter floral notes is reembedded and it seems a little sacral and (weih-)smoky. The pleasantly familiar smell of old wood pushes through. A real treat: sometimes dust-dry, sometimes resin-soaked.
Oud and blackest patchouli complete the head cinema; as if one were just strolling through a church garden covered in night fog. The smell of the rose hedges and the old church with the old wooden benches and the incense bell around you. And the moths circling before the full moon.
Once the scent has played itself in, it has an almost flattering effect, because the distantly perceptible scent of honey (I actually imagine smelling honey, too...) and the softest amber turn the whole thing away from the church garden and towards the impetuously beautiful butterfly flight.
Out of the crack in the old wood, through the church window over the cemetery garden and the wall.
Over grasses and woods through treetops. A stop to feast on the sweet plant sap and continue with an already elegant flapping of the wings. Gene moonlight.
If I had to choose any comparison I'd say Moth reminds me quite, gaaaanz away from Tom Ford's London. However, only for lack of a better comparison and then with a whole scoop of smoke more and a scoop of ornateness (in the most positive sense, because I like London very much) less. And plus really great honey, of which I (as far as I do not imagine it nevertheless) am quite enthusiastic.
In the course of writing the last section, it also occurred to me that I feel that "not being able to compare" is an additional strength of Moth (and the zoologist scents themselves).
Moth is a complete surprise to me. A truly grandiose and harmonious fragrance. Cool, enveloping, spicy, raw. In the later then all this paired with (not too much) sweetness and "powderiness" like finest wood chips.