MrHonestMrHonest's Perfume Reviews

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1 Awards
A long time ago (in a galaxy far far away?), I got to try a sample of this one following the whole Sauvage / body wash craze and found that it worked well on my skin. At that time, people were condemning Aqva Atlantiqve (AA) as just another Dior wannabe, and I can see why that is. Personally, I always felt that it was a little closer to Luna Rossa Carbon (minus the lavender) due to the slight powdery / gunpowdery feel, but it wasn't until I compared it side by side with Dylan Blue that I realized what it was really trying to copy.

Atlantique opens up with a rather sweet, fruity blast of bergamot, benzoin and that classic Aqva accord of green neptune grass and synthetic ambergris. To me, it's an obvious combination of the fruity top of Versace's Dylan Blue and the original Aqva (albeit stripped-down versions of both), and the whole accord initially reminds me of a watermelon flavoured candy. To the trained nose, the juxtaposition can be quite jarring though, almost as if the creators decided to take the original green core and dump some sugar gel on top to appease the young buyers. But you won't hear me complaining. I always enjoyed the original, but couldn't ever seem to stomach the twingy saltiness on my skin. This one seems to hit all the right notes without becoming cloying or offensive.

It's a pretty simple scent though and remains linear throughout. The only difference from the opening to the drydown is that the sweetness simply fades into the background over time. Only....I do remember once remarking that it sort of reminded me of the smell of chlorinated pool water only a few minutes into the intial blast. It was one of the first sprays out of the bottle, and may have been a total aberration, because it never happened again after that. Just another reason not to dig your nose in too early I suppose...

Overall though, I have to concede that it's an uber synthetic smelling composition - that part is true. Perhaps not a chemical mess, but more like a chemical harmony. Luckily, that's good news for performance - on me, it lasts well into the 8 hour mark with very good projection for the first 3. That's WELL above average for any aquatic. And positive attention? You bet. There's a reason 'blue' fragrances sell so well and are almost universally appreciated - the average consumer can understand them; and although not everyone is going to appreciate the salty greenness up close, the sweetness in the sillage adds a nice contrast that really makes this stuff intriguing. Addictive even.

Anyway, after years of reflection, I definitely think it's a worthy flanker and probably the most versatile of the line. Whereas Marine basically took the original core and covered it with grapefruit and white cedar - and Amara smouldered it with neroli incense - Atlantique merely sweetens it up and rounds off the edges. If Bvlgari was going for a modernized version, I think it's a success. But they should've just called it Aqva Blue, because that's what it is - you know, Dylan's next door neighbour. The surfer. ♫ I'm blue da ba dee da ba daa, da ba dee.....♫

I'll admit, I don't have very much experience with La Rive as a brand, but having owned Extreme Story for a short while in the past, I was less than enthusiastic about purchasing another one. After all, Extreme Story was a decent, albeit meek representation of Dior's Sauvage, and not entirely convincing in the performance department. So I gave it away. But The Hunting Man (THM) is another matter. To be blunt, it nearly blew my mind - it's a superb replica of Azzaro's Wanted with a few minor tweaks that make the formula not only more wearable, but also nowhere near as headache inducing.

Firstly, whereas the piercing lemon, ginger and tonka in Wanted strike you in the face with the force of a speeding bullet, THM takes the more diffuse approach, opting for a less abrasive and complex blend. Right from the opening, you can tell that there is more going on - almost as if notes were added specifically to reign in the louder ones. But don't get me wrong - the smell is still identical, simply a great deal more balanced IMO.

Secondly (and perhaps more surprising) is that the performance for the first 2 hours is also about the same - i.e. LOUD. The difference is that THM never gets as cloying as Wanted for some reason. Perhaps it's due to the overall blend, because both are obviously sweet, synthetic bubblegum bombs. However, as the fragrance opens up after an hour or so, THM takes an interesting turn towards the soapy side, moving even further from the original Invictus phenotype. Both the vetiver and juniper are more pronounced and there's even a touch of nutmeg in the drydown. I'm telling you, this stuff is good.

Finally, the value is just outstanding. A bottle of The Hunting Man is less than half the cost of Wanted (albeit 75 mL), but even if the prices were reversed, I can tell you that I would prefer the smell of THM 10 times out of 10. It's less punchy (but still projects very well), it's more complex (adding a nice soapy touch) and it never quite gets to the point of being annoying due to the mass of synthetics used. You could easily have called this Wanted L'eau and nobody would argue. Simply put, for a teenager who enjoys fruity-bubblegum scents, this is a SUPERB BUY.

Besides Extreme Story (which was still decent, although heavy on the geranium) I can't speak for the others in the men's line; but as far as the scent, performance and value of The Hunting Man, I think La Rive absolutely nailed it. Save your money, AND your bullets. The perp's been apprehended. Wanted ain't wanted anymore.

3 Awards
No kidding. The first words out of my mouth after smelling this baby was, "Dang. Not ANOTHER sugar water, synthetic bubblegum-smelling piece of..." Yeah, it's sweet alright. Sweeter than many people were letting on. But let's be clear, for what this fragrance is trying to achieve and how it progresses, I still think it does a pretty damn good job. A great one in fact.

Unfortunately, from all of the reviews online, I was expecting something closer to the smell of coffee beans. Instead, the accord that's used is a great deal closer to the smell of stale, canned dark roast coffee grounds. It's definitely pleasant - and if that's all you're used to drinking you'll be amazed - but despite the bitterness being there, it's certainly not the freshly ground organic stuff I'm used to. I know, I know, it's not fair to expect quality from a relatively inexpensive fragrance, but it's my only gripe, so I had to put it out there. Everything else is rather well done.

HMX starts off with a major blast of liquid sugar (tonka and amber), cinnamon and that coffee note in the far background. If you want to guage sweetness, think Ultra Male and Eros without the citrus. We're talkin' SWEET. And as it stands in the opening, rather generic. Fortunately, as the fragrance develops, it goes through a FANTASTIC transition, becoming less and less sweet with time and more and more bitter and smoky as the coffee continues to push through. Unfortunately, I don't get any of the whisky or leather, but it's clear that the mineral notes are adding to the bitterness. Overall though, as synthetic fragrances go, it's actually quite a joy to experience.

But besides the wonderfully dramatic transition, what makes this fragrance so appealing is HOW the coffee is done. It's certainly not the rosey brewed stuff you get with Montale's Intense Cafe; nor is it the vanilla cappuccino in Rochas Man, or the chocolate-dusted dessert drink in Ferragamo's Uomo. Instead, it's literally like a pile of canned coffee grounds (the whole aluminum can actually) floating in a bowl of sugar water. It's so strange putting that in writing but there it is.

Smelling it up close is attractive enough, but in the air.....maaaan. It's the bitterness that does it for me. Super alluring contrast, despite there not being a trace of natural ingredients. Sure, there's a touch of cinnamon mixed in with the coffee, but not enough to really stand out. And yeah, maybe it could've done with a little more amber to warm it up, but I think Beaulieu did a fine job. It's unique, it's playful, perhaps even a bit youthful, but more importantly, it's captivating. And that's a huge plus in a saturated market. Overall, a great spin on the modern sweet fragrance.

1 Awards
Plenty of controversy surrounding this one, as reviews are fairly mixed. To me, UFS comes off strongly as a piercingly sweet honey liqueur with minute facets of dated cherry tobacco in the drydown. The spice is definitely not an authentic cinnamon and I have no idea where the sandalwood went... Although it feels rather hollow on its own, it layers really well with anything in need of some sweetening up. In fact, the drydown on my skin reminds me of a sucralose sweetened honey water that remains for a satisfyingly long time.

It took several wearings for me to finally get the strong boozy qualities in the opening, but they don't last. Instead, the dominant accord is an artificially spiced honey that somehow reminds me of the Christmas holidays (perhaps it's the scented decor, the marketplace or the drinking?). The closest approximation (and I mean that in a very generous way) is something along the lines of Oajan from Parfums de Marly, albeit far less complex, more synthetic and with absolutely no almondy goodness.

After about 30 minutes, the scent seems to split in two - retaining the honey but adding a somewhat dated plasticine-ish type aroma into the mix. Fortunately, if you can bear it for 2 hours, you'll be rewarded with the plasticine developing into a decent tobacco-esque note that adds a nice dryness to the sugary blend. But by that time, the projection is very weak, so you may be relegated to enjoying it as a purely solo affair. And if you're familiar with honey liqueurs, you're probably in good company. Eep. Guilty.

I won't lie, I was initially a little disappointed and bored with UFS at first (Mugler's Pure Havane being a far superior alternative), but it quickly found a place as a solid additive to the more spicy, ashy and smoky fragrances in my collection. In fact, when layered with Tom Ford's Tobacco Vanille, it adds that extra bit of Unidentified Effing Sweetness in the base that tends to balance out the strong cloves. A poor UFS joke, but there you go. Anyway, although the longevity is quite good, projection is rather sad after an hour and a half - a little disappointing for something so bracingly sweet.

Overall, despite the fleeting associations with the holiday season, I find UFS to be a rather average release. The opening booziness is pleasant to be sure, and the nod to some of the more dated stuff is most welcome, but the lack of strength and overwhelming linear sweetness can get boring after a while. Nevertheless, if you're looking for an inexpensive sugar water or honey scent to drizzle onto your gourmands or into your spicy teas, I can think of nothing better. UFS - The honey glaze, that delays malaise, and fills your days with sunny rays. But ahh....only if you do 10 sprays. Cause, you know, it's a bit weak.

So there I was, browsing the new arrivals section of a popular online discounter, when my eyes suddenly fell upon the name of a fragrance I had never heard of, from a brand that I didn’t even know existed. At such an unusually low price, my first thought was that it was probably just another cheap clone brand trying to market yet another watered down version of this month’s designer top 40.

But after a spot of detective work, I was able to surmise that Korloff is actually an independent French jeweller, similar in many ways to the Swiss brand Charriol, with a storefront boutique in no less than Paris France. And despite being initially intrigued by some of the less popular notes, what ultimately sold me was the exorbitant discounter price differential which led me to immediately purchase several bottles without any trepidation. After all, how often do you get to purchase a pair of fragrances for less than 13% retail?

With literally no information available online apart from the official notes and a vague description on their site mentioning capturing the spirit of Africa and Brazil, this was as close to a blind buy as I have ever gotten. So you can imagine my relief when the bottle finally arrived, and I was greeted with a handsome box, sturdy bottle, tight cap and excellent atomizer. Solid presentation. The scent....was another matter.

Right from the first spray, it’s a maniacal blast of elemi, cypress, pepper and violet. The underlying apple note is done remarkably well and adds a perfect touch of sweetness that regrettably doesn’t linger. Instead, the elemi and pepper dominate the composition for a couple of minutes before the dusty leather and woods come in to add a nice billowing pillow of aromaticity.

Unfortunately, and as strange as it sounds, the overall effect gives me the impression of the boney cartilage of a smoked mackerel - strangely fishy, yet not entirely unpleasant. I guarantee it’s the combo of elemi, leather, violet and possibly even the amber(gris?) that gives it that vibe; and it remains firmly in place for a good couple of hours.

But after that, there is a marked transition in the drydown when the peppery violet, leather and cinnamon from the tolu balm take over to give the fragrance more of a dark concrete feel. Whoever designed the bottle and advert nailed the aesthetic. It’s dry, spicy and leathery to the point of quasi-ashiness, and sometimes even reminds me of an old potato buried under dry dirt. If I dig my nose in real good, I can even pick up on a faint rooty edge to the woods, presumably coming from the vetiver - and personally, it’s my favourite part of the fragrance.

But by the time the notes have settled into something nice and dark, the flame has long since died out. Longevity and projection are merely average; but I suppose that’s to be expected from a modern release? Overall, I'd say that it's a reasonably unique fragrance; but at times, it also feels somewhat unbalanced and entirely robbed of post-production EQ - like there are spicy holes here and there that require a modest amount of temperament - and, you know, if you can overlook the whole 'fishy' thing...

So despite being initially impressed with the presentation (especially for the price I paid), I still wouldn’t recommend it as a blind buy. Instead, go for Silver Wood or Royal Oud Intense - two far better options from the brand IMO. As for Pour Homme, I'll be throwing this baby back.

5 Awards
In the wake of all the blue fragrances being released nowadays, L’eau Bleue d’Issey is a semi-vintage breath of sharp green air. Don’t let the colour of the bottle fool you. It’s as far from an aquatic as you can possibly get, given its mid-2000s release date.

The fragrance opens up with a monstrous blast of dark, herbal rosemary and juniper. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a rosemary bomb, but it’s probably as close as you can get in the designer realm. If you’ve ever smelled Ralph Lauren’s Polo Black, there are subtle aspects that the two have in common (minus the tropical fruit of course), although both scents go in very different directions.

Within 5 minutes, cypress and ginger become incredibly obvious, to be joined by a dash of dirty patchouli, giving the fragrance an uncanny resemblance to the smell of a fresh evergreen branch. And when I say resemblance, I mean it smells EXACTLY like an evergreen branch, spicy nuances ‘n’ all. It nearly blew my mind the first time I wore it. I would imagine that you would be hard pressed to find a more realistic portrayal, even in the niche market.

However, give it another 15 minutes, and a sour orange begins to peek through with a touch of pepper, maxing out the blend at about the 30 minute mark. The scent then essentially becomes a strong rosemary and cypress, spiced with ginger and pepper with a dash of patchouli and cedar in the background. There is a hint of lavender that provides some smoothness at about the hour mark, but by then, the projection has significantly receded.

In fact, the biggest letdown of the current formulation is the performance (I have a January 2019 bottle). Despite the projection being rather strong for the first 30 minutes, it dies to about a foot for about another hour and then becomes almost imperceptible for an additional 3. Total longevity is barely 5-6 hours on my skin, with only the first 2 being of any real significance.

Interestingly enough, as the composition falls apart at 2 hours, the notes separate, and a fine gossamer of sweet amber and creamy sandalwood become detectable. Fortunately, the fragrance never comes close to any degree of sweetness, but methinks that a tad more amber could have made a difference in the performance category.

Overall though, I absolutely adore the stuff. Not only does it remind me of a rosemary garden within a grove of vibrant evergreen trees, but it also evokes the smell of the holiday season – festive decorations, spicy desserts and shopping madness. For me, it’s like stepping into the not-too-distant past, when things were simpler, fragrance companies took chances on unique blends and sweet coumarin or ambrox fragrances hadn’t yet taken over the majority of the designer market. If you want to smell different by today’s standards, this is the juice. A superbly herbal pine scent in a dark blue bottle. Take THAT blue fragrances.

I picked this fragrance up several years ago after a neat little tip-off that it was being heavily discounted at select locations in Europe. At that time, the reviews were generally good, hailing Stash as superbly unconventional and a trail-blazer in the celebrity fragrance market. In short, they weren’t kidding.

It’s been 2 years since I purchased my bottle, and since that time, exactly half of the juice has vanished into oblivion without so much as a dozen sprays. Poor quality control? A coincidence? Or is my juice simply haunted by the ghosts of countless celebrity fruity-florals left behind in its dusty wake on a mystical journey into a woody underworld? I would like to think the latter.

However, overlooking the potentially subtle defects in the bottle’s construction, the scent itself is really quite extraordinary. Creamy, musty, peppery wood would be the simplest description, although there are quite a few nuances that give Stash some charming flavour – namely, the gingery incense and patchouli. The deviation from trendy, sweet prepubescent celebrity scents couldn’t be more obvious. It’s not animalic exactly, but I somehow remember SJP remarking how it was her intention to evoke the scent of skin in her brief to the perfumers.

To me, the opening is incredibly strange. Two words that immediately come to mind are “synthetic” and “fixatives.” Might as well throw in “niche” and “spooky” while we’re at it. Right from the beginning, nothing in the composition feels natural - which shouldn’t be a surprise from a celebrity frag I suppose – but if you can imagine stepping through the rickety front door of a century’s old abandoned wooden house on a damp morning, having the floorboards break beneath you and toppling into a dank, creepy basement, you’ll start to get an idea of where we’re heading.

From the first spray, I get a blast of what seems like a nutty pistachio, sage and vetiver. It’s not fresh, but more of a fizzy green and brown, yet unmistakably creamy. Very quickly though, the ginger, pepper and woods (a LOT of them) creep into the mix to give the composition that characteristic woody depth found in so many men’s fragrances. From there, the evolution heads into musky territory, with just a dash of dank patchouli adding contrast to the spicy wood.

But what intrigues me the most is how the pepper and incense are used to give the blend a dry, aromatic sexiness that’s impossible to ignore. The notes contrast sharply with the damp patchouli and creamy woods to give SJP a somewhat dichotomous persona. On the one hand, it’s spicy and dry, and on the other, it’s wet and musky. Can’t decide which one I prefer, but I’d imagine it working incredibly well on a woman’s sensuous skin.

As strange as it sounds, the overall vibe I get is of a dusty wooden floor in a haunted house – perhaps once filled with young orphans, old caretakers and chemical cleaners to preserve their slow deterioration. The image appears grim initially, but there is a rare, misunderstood beauty about the whole affair – stories that continue to come alive amidst the curtains of dust and decay. It’s like the smell of grandma’s skin; the tale of a long life, lived well and amidst the trials of corporeal suffering and heartache. But it’s time to move on now, and let the body rest in a deep, wooden coffin of its own creation, as the spirit continues on to inspire all those that come after - the TRUE stash. The wisdom of life experience.

As a child of the 80s and 90s, in addition to rocking some of the old staples from Coty like Aspen and Gravity, I frequently enjoyed dousing myself in fragrances from Adidas. So when I heard that La Rive had come out with a suitable alternative to one of their vintage releases, I just couldn’t say no. In short, I confess myself reasonably satisfied.

The fragrance opens up with a puff of thin amber, green pine, oakmoss and something fruity. It’s not bright or juicy exactly, but the slightly tart fruity nuance is a welcome detraction from the popular citrus opening. There’s also that distinct aromatic ‘soap’ note from Azzaro’s Pour Homme that almost feels like it could have been an antiquated dollar-store progenitor of ambroxan. It’s not chemically exactly, but somehow has the feel of a milky fixative that prevents the blend from becoming too airy.

Unfortunately, the fruitiness vanishes after only a few minutes as the labdanum-y amber thickens, enveloping both the pine and woods. As a result, the fragrance becomes sweeter and sweeter with time, taking on less of a watery amber garb and more of a watery vanilla one in the drydown.

But the strangest aspect of them all is the synthetic oakmoss or patchouli, which seems to give the piney soap a slightly dank, musty or aged quality, especially on paper. I personally wouldn't consider it off-putting, but I can also imagine it attracting comments like “you smell like my dad” from younger audiences. YES, it’s THAT kind of soap. The dated dad kind. The HAIRY dad, who likes to wear jogging suits with a white beater and rugged moustache.

Overall though, Athletic Man really does smell like it belongs in the locker room showers of an 80's boxing studio. In essence, it’s a sweet, musty pine soap, and part of me loves it for that. On the other hand, there’s also that part of me that just can’t seem to stomach the stuff from time to time. Don’t know if it’s the quality of the materials or what, but it can sometimes become a bit much, even in modest doses.

Luckily, if it’s the mature ladies’ reactions you’re looking for, look no further. This is the kind of sweet soap that Mr. Fahrenheit would use, after beating up a biker because he mouthed off to his wife. No, he’s not quite the Drakkar type - he prefers a smoother touch, like the one he uses with his kids. He’s the quintessential family man – clean shaven (apart from the moustache), curly hair and a touch of mint from his drugstore aftershave. That’s the guy.

Can’t say much about the bottle though – pretty basic, with a plastic cap and ‘putt-putt’ atomizer. Total longevity is only about 5 hours, but that’s to be expected at this price. Still, you’d be hard put to find a fragrance that smells like this anymore in the 21st century. I’d almost forgotten that the 1988 Olympics were over. Turns out, they are.

There is something to be said about having a certain number of fragrances in your collection that just rub youthful noses the right way – somethin’ fo da laydies, somethin’ fo da cluhhh, blah blah blah, bling bling bling blah. 1981 Los Angeles is a clone of Versace Eros. That concludes our intensive 4-week course on contemporary logic.

Seriously though, LA was a total blind buy after eyeing the notes and thinking – hmmm, this looks like a more interesting D&G The One. After watching a couple of reviews online, my thoughts changed to – well ok, it might START OFF like Eros, but surely it evolves into its own thing? But no. Ok, sort of.

The opening is unmistakably reminiscent of a cross between Boss Bottled and something from Zara. Superbly generic and synthetic aromatic fruitiness that doesn’t quite smell like plum or apple to me, nor does it quite reach the depths of well-blended vanilla sweetness from Boss Bottled. Noticeable ‘cleaner’ vibes in the opening too the first couple of times I wore it. I can’t deny that I wasn’t initially disappointed.

However, within 2 minutes, there’s a clear warm ginger note that comes in and plays with a VERY modest mint that also doesn’t quite match the mint in Eros. But within those first few minutes, the sweetness from the amber finally surfaces and increases steadily over time, allowing LA to take on the unmistakeable garb of Versace’s creation, albeit without the same overwhelming brashness, robust vanilla or projection.

Don’t get me wrong – the projection isn’t terrible, but certainly nowhere near the strength of Eros. Think of a more “library appropriate” version. And that’s basically how it remains for the next 2.5 hours – a slightly warmer/woodier, watered down and muted version of Eros, until it morphs into a simple and generic (almost powdery?) amber-ginger combo by hour 3. Total longevity is about 7-8 hours and projection is surprisingly decent for the first 2.

All in all, I have to admit that I’m not totally disappointed with the scent – in fact, I always disliked Eros for its annoying persistence. It was just too juvenile, too pervasive, superficial and sweet – like the energizer bunny that follows you around all day, banging that goddamn drum. LA seems to fix those problems by replacing the vanilla with a muffled amber and the apple with “plum.” It's very pleasant to the average nose (compliments = yes), but a little too uninspired for my taste. In fact, to a niche head, this might be the stuff nightmares are made of. Absolutely nothing natural about the ingredients.

So to sum up, I would imagine that Guess 1981 Los Angeles is what an Eros clone by Zara would smell like – quieter, more humble, somewhat neutered, slightly more generic (plasticy almost?) yet still incredibly likeable. It could easily be mistaken for a modern flanker too – Eros Amber or something - and undeniably better than that dreadful ‘Flame’ nonsense. Longevity is decent, although the projection is more suitable for an intimate evening affair. Humid clubbing environments would just eat this stuff up.

Overall, it’s not a bad scent, but it’s certainly not a good one IMO – merely average, and probably a great gift idea for a horny teenager (aren’t they all horny though?) There are far better scents at this price point; but if you’re in the market for a modest and inexpensive Eros clone, Guess LA is suitable option. That is….until Zara actually comes out with their own version??? Here's not hoping.

1 Awards
Words can scarcely describe my love for this scent. It’s a virtual harmony of luscious green and floral notes dancing in perfect unison to the tune of Chopin’s Etude in E major. Everything is just so well balanced, so finely tuned and blended to perfection that it’s not only a delight to bask in its subtle smoothness, but just as enjoyable to simultaneously discern each individual note in the composition – a feat that in and of itself is difficult to achieve.

Terrarossa begins with a wonderfully understated chalky breath of fresh, yet rooty Haitian vetiver (the same used in Guerlain’s famous Vetiver edt to my nose) underneath a fine veil of sweet neroli, tangy green cypress and a bed of damp ylang-ylang petals. You can immediately tell that the ingredients are quality right from the first whiff. Nothing stands out from the blend, and yet, with each sniff, it’s almost as if you can feel your nose hairs tenderly parting the notes with the softest of touches, to come away with a different experience each time.

The Haitian vetiver is not unkind. It’s powdery, graceful and spreads out like a silk blanket to shelter a nursery of delicate flowers at dusk, covered in evening dew and unperturbed from a soothing day of soaking up the sun. There’s a basket of oranges somewhere nearby, but certainly not close enough to mask the beautiful aroma of greenery and florals that evoke an almost buttery texture. In all earnestness, I never truly appreciated just how well ylang-ylang can complement the earthy facets of a rooty vetiver until I experienced it in this fragrance.

Within 15 minutes, the image of an underlying parched, red topsoil begins to emerge, as a dry and dusty nutmeg joins the mix - perhaps not enough to steal the spotlight, but certainly enough to add a dash of spice. Once again however, it’s so masterfully blended that it could easily be passed up as a characteristic of the vetiver – a smoothness that some people may even liken to a quasi-aquatic.

Finally, after about 2 hours, the smoky, slightly burned Java vetiver comes in, replacing the neroli and cypress almost entirely and giving the composition a final murky quality before its late night farewell. Projection and sillage are not stellar if I’m honest, but I’m not sure that this is a scent that necessitates or even warrants a loudspeaker. Instead, it’s one of those fragrances that keeps your nose coming back for more – never too green, too floral or too spicy, but juuuuust right.

Simple, elegant and so marvellously natural smelling, Terrarossa is quite possibly the best blended unisex vetiver scent that I have ever encountered. In a surprising synchronicity, I was somehow lucky enough to scoop up one of the last bottles of this discontinued gem in the UK. If Mr. Galardi is reading, I would consider it a terrible shame to deprive the world of this masterpiece. In an overburdened society that often values unnecessary complexity and gratuitous living, I believe that we could all do with a little more simplicity in our lives. In my humble opinion, Terrarossa is the scent that embodies that virtue - an effortless country breeze; a silky companion; in essence, a perfect unisex vetiver.

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