Nordique

William Penhaligon was under the sign of Aries. According to the astuteness that is said to be the essence of this sign of the zodiac, the former master barber from picturesque Cornwall had the rare gift of being able to smell even the finest stubble from the beards of his blondest, most aristocratic customers before they entered his bathhouse. This made him truly unique in his guild and soon he was allowed by royal decree to take care of the scent and beard of Queen Victoria himself.

I just made that up (almost) everything.

Which aspects of it now correspond to the truth and which ones arise from my imagination ... doesn't really matter. I myself am under the zodiac sign of cancer - imaginative beings, just like the animal models in the wild! Running sideways, being the favourite food of all seabirds, having tasty leg meat ... great!

Oh, let's not do this. I know absolutely nothing about astrology

In any case, this entry fits in perfectly with the marketing of the portrait series of the British fragrance house Penhaligon's, which has been practised since 2016. A deeply entangled story about an English noble family, in which each offshoot of the series tells its part and contributes to the series.
Let's call it kitsch. Let's call it pastiche. Let's call it British humor. Let's call it incredibly well-functioning marketing - and for my sake, let's call it a lot of fuss over nothing. I admit it openly: I am a sucker for it - as the Frenchman says - although so far, with Lord George, only one of the portrait fragrances has managed to knock my socks off for good. But all the more violent, this is definitely one of the most beautiful and stylish men's fragrances on the market, in my opinion.

So now - because at least as much of the initial paragraph is true - the founder of this fragrance house, William Penhaligon, gets his own fragrance dedicated in this series. Now that's a statement. A fragrance with flagship qualities must be - anything else would certainly be a bitter disappointment. That would be like a traditional German car brand not naming its luxury model, but a small city runabout after its founder - unthinkable!

Oh, whoops - already happened. So I guess it does
In this sense but good for a healthy expectation on my part to this fragrance.

By a wonderful coincidence, I was able to test this new release even before my official sharing mail arrived, so I could spend the last two days fragrantly wrapped in Penhaligon's founder's scent.

The nasal elixir is dark green, filled in a heavy bottle which, typical of portraits, is simply beautiful ... for my taste. But we already had the topic above - new pronunciation: I love it
In the official announcement of the fragrance by the brand itself, attention was clearly focused on the expected vetiver. Green liquid, vetiver - all right, I know what's coming. So I thought at first inevitably.
And in the initial minutes the scent at least partially fulfils this pre-defined image. A soft, minimally herbaceous, very smooth vetiver, which, astonishingly enough, does not seem to correspond to my synaptic definition of a "green" scent - which I could never effectively put in writing - and thus, in terms of expectation, confronts me with a first paradox. Rather, it is a vanilla, almost gourmand impression that determines the first minutes. To make a comparison: despite the fundamental difference between the two fragrances, I can't help but think of the later course of Hermès Vetiver Tonka at this stage. Accompanied by a somewhat subtle dripping ... Rosemary?!
Soon the nominal leading actor withdraws almost completely and makes room for the impressive performance of what I consider to be the real star of this composition - the sandalwood. If a fixed, content-centered classification of the fragrance were required, my nose would undoubtedly place it in the sandalwood corner. To venture a cautious comparison: Creamy sandalwood à la Jacques Fath's Pour l'Homme, or the red aftershave from Proraso - both of which are all-time favourites in the house of Nordique.
At this stage, the fragrance will eventually linger for a few hours, but will always remain restrained - perhaps even a little too much. A stylish fragrance, a slightly sweetish, sandalwood, modern barbershop scent, absent of any fresh elements. Classifications that in spirit bring him quite close to his consecrated companion from the same court, Lord George, without showing too many similarities in the course of the fragrance though.
Cedar? Unfortunately, no. Incense? Yep, with a good dose of imagination... ...not so much. Ambroxan, often discredited in olfactory circles? God forbid, devil stuff - in this case, the latter has probably been taken back to purgatory.

For my part, I am quite taken with this new offshoot of the exclusive Penhaligon's series. Nevertheless, the wonderful ram head bottle does not contain a brew that attempts to reinvent the olfactory wheel in any way. So be it. I have enjoyed wearing it for the last two days - and I'm already looking forward to the next time.

In the meantime, I simply enjoy the pure sight of the latest offshoot of the Portraits series - and wait for Penhaligon's to perhaps soon add my zodiac sign in the form of a crab lid to the series. Maybe as Crappy Cedric... or The Cringy Cupbearer Colin. That would be something!

Thank you for your time!

PS: I simply HAD to be the very first to bring the joke from the title! I'm sorry.

Idioms and proverbs have never been among my strengths, which can generally be considered manageable.
In the eighth grade, my German essay - subjectively written with a lot of hard work and dedication - on the well-known proverb "Es ist nicht alles Gold was glänzen" (It's not all gold that shines) was given a 4, because although I described in great detail the page-long, wonderfully self-imagined odyssey of a gold digger who was disappointed at the end (he followed a shimmering in the darkness for days and days, which turned out to be a reflective lens - blitz!), but unfortunately had taken the meaning of this proverb, which is actually to be grasped in a metaphorical way, all too literally.

I had a similar experience - and now, dear Mrs. Arnold, in the end, a sensible transfer is being made! - with Amouage's community average beach hut hammer
After the agonizingly long, yet recent discovery of my favourite representative of this fragrance house (see commentary on "Honour Man" - like, subscribe, leave a subscription, Thumbs up, from 20,000 Likes on I give away iPads and puppies*), I succeeded in keeping all expectations for this comparatively poorly rated colleague in a healthy balance before the olfactory test run.

However, as is so often the case, I could not free myself from evoked images that could be traced back to the name alone: beach, sea, Caribbean, Southeast Asia, "summer, sun, cactus - playing featherball on the beach - blue sky, good mood and a beautiful girl on your lap" (H. Schneider, 2013).
However, what followed after spraying did not even remotely fulfil any of these ideas. Well, blue sky and good mood definitely works here anyway. The beautiful girl certainly does too, but unfortunately my lady was at work at that time
But: no aquatics, no salt, no (sun) cream, no pacific flower wreath. Instead, I was sitting freshly shaved in the middle of Europe, in the flat, green North Germany - and the scent fitted here absolutely perfectly! I was a little - maybe a little very - amazed. Greenish, even slightly chlorophyll-like, discreetly Scandinavian wood (read: minimal sauna resin) with a wonderful, distinctive spiciness. At the same time never too heavy, never slapping - and yet permanently present.
Admittedly: The prelude is amouagesque harsh and needs getting used to - but what follows after about ten minutes for hours (yes, maybe even days!) is an olfactory barber of the highest quality. And, compared to his - no doubt equally successful - two sister fragrances Bracken "Clove Bomber" Man and Sunshine Man, this is definitely the most wearable and beautiful fragrance in its class.

Beach Hut Man is a wonderful fragrance with a confused prelude - and absolutely disastrously misleading name. A misnomer in pure form. I don't want to offend the creative minds behind it, they will have thought of something, but how about ... hm, yes ... how about it?
Not so easy to find a suitable name. I hereby announce the Beach Hut Naming Contest! The winner gets a heart from me on the pinboard ;)

After all these years, the following is now clear to me:
It is not all beach hut, what Beach Hut means - but rather most wonderful fair weather fougère with shower survival potential (both in this case please interpret both as positive as possible - thank you)!
Give him time - get through the harsh start ... and you will receive (good) advice ;)

Thanks for reading and for your time! br />

P.S.: Why the elephant is called caution and why he stands on the nice porcelain lady, I unfortunately do not know either.

*Clickbait

I've already had them all...

... tested.
All the community and critic homeruns of the men's department of the Amouage company have already had the pleasure of auditioning with me - some of them even several times, as they are all undoubtedly olfactory top people.

[Pathos an]
Nevertheless, no one - I repeat: NONE - of these jack-of-all-trades has yet been able to win this one place in my fragrant heart and become the one ... the ONE Amouage that would completely convince me and catapult my nose and me into the seventh heaven of smell.
[Pathos off]

Admittedly - the expectations were enormous each time when isolated samples of these same fragrance heavyweights landed in my postcards over the years.

Jubilee - the celebrated, the highly praised!

Reflection - the stylish beauty!

Journey - truly masterfully composed!

Interlude - oh, Lord, I'm too weak!

Epic, Beloved, Dia, Sunshine, Bracken... yes, but..

But. Always - this - but ...

Don't get me wrong - as I said: Each of these candidates may be a small, medium or even big masterpiece in its own right - but none of them seemed suitable for the job of becoming Nordiques Next Top Amouage (NNTA - soon to be on private television of your choice). It was for milking mice.
Well, Memoir and Lyric had always cancelled their dates so far - but maybe we'll make acquaintance in the near future.

Last but not least, a few weeks ago an intimidated, slightly bent Honour shuffled over the threshold. An absolutely average resume, posture like an ogre - great, this could be something, I thought to myself.

But what the good man then conjured up on the olfactory parquet had washed up. In the truest sense of the word - he is an extremely clean, slightly soapy and powdery fellow with a good peppery start. The latter is certainly not too easy to digest, but it immediately settles down and evaporates in a kind of semi-fougère, which for me stands out in the middle section in particular with a beautiful rose geranium. Reminiscent of a brood or other fougère-like cleaners of times long past. Rounded off by a prominent musk-tonka base, which for me is a hybrid of classic and modern appearance.
I was suddenly and then permanently excited and could not stop sniffing the test arm.
As far as such "scent bottles" are concerned, we are all certainly always on the hunt for exactly these scents that are able to trigger this in us.
That hadn't happened to me in a long time. Maybe I just know too much to be able to keep the frequency of such instant enthusiasm constantly high

But what had happened? Were my expectations in this case simply much too low? What is wrong with me? Is my nose damaged? Is it possible that I really like this nominal Suftschluffi so much? Or - am I just boring? Not imaginable, but given the common opinions about the candidate that can be read here and elsewhere, it is unfortunately not completely absurd ... or?

"Office suite" - yes!
"Easy to wear" - yes!
"Suitable for the masses" - for sure!
"unworthy of an amouage" - whops, wait a minute!
"Uninspired" - hey, easy, partner!
"Boring" - STOP, STOP!!

Okay, okay, I didn't mean it like that, maybe it's all true to some degree
For me it is nevertheless one of the most beautiful and absolutely unexpected fragrance discoveries of recent times.

And if my new-found affinity for this fellow makes me all that he is said to be ... then I am happy to be. Probably the most boring amouage-bearer of this universe - but that suits me damn well, I think ;)
Maybe it's a little bit like with dogs - you can recognize a dog's puppy by its owner and mistress [sic!] ... or something like that.

Thank you for reading!

This is how Diggi-Dendemüller titled the musical arrangement of his second studio album in 2010. And in one way or another, this title is already guaranteed to be found above numerous perfume commentaries, blogs and statements from this wonderful community, this playground for those people for whom the second sense at an imaginary sausage specialist's shop got a particularly big slice on their noses (to all the young mothers and dads out there: Is something like this still being done today? A window on the counter for the little ones? Or is this vintage too? Oh, to be young(er) again ...)

I don't know what the above fact (I've only been able to evaluate a fraction of all the comments, blogs and statements available here so far in the course of my research - and then at some point simply gave up) about the popularity of the word acrobat with the grater's voice and his musical work with above-average active Duftaficionados says. Rather I attribute the popularity of this title to its wit and catchiness ... and of course to its intertextual homage to Clark Gable and Co. - it's obvious, it's vintage!

One thing that my time at Parfumo has taught me is the distinction between vintage and retro. If you believe a certain minnesing quintet from Karl-Marx-Stadt, an essential skill if you want to consist of hipsters and digital nomads in the contemporary urban jungle. Short, lurid PR statement for the clicks: I like Berlin. Hamburg but still much, much (much!) better.

Until a few months ago, I admit, I smiled a little at both batch discussions (in their most absurd outgrowths, mind you!) and vintage talk (not the powder - and certainly not the fat) on this platform. For the former, this is still partly the case - while the latter unexpectedly and impressively taught me better.

So it came, as so often, to an exchange of samples between another Parfumo member and myself. Unexpectedly, and so it is actually always with the RIGHTLY great fragrance discoveries, the sample of a fragrance so knocked me so out of my olfactory socks that I had to immediately communicate my enthusiasm to the noble exchanger - in the hope that he could take away my doubts about the general availability of this creation. Because it was about - guess what? - for a VINTAGE rehearsal. Davidoff's "Zino", to be exact.
A fragrance that is now available on the lowest drugstore shelf for the much-quoted Appel un' Ei. A fragrance that I always associated with paternal, even grandfatherly stereotypes.

And now this. I am not (any longer) easy to impress as far as new (!) fragrance experiences are concerned. And I have to admit that I don't really like many men's creations of the eighties and seventies (green-wood-fresh-powder on the left, on the right and with a stick again!) But this one? 1986? I wasn't even born then, the HSV still won the title and Chemnitz was still called Karl-Marx-Stadt. And was certainly not as hip as Berlin (controversial once again, I know).

So it happened that the noble perfume-exchanger and a lucky, proven Zino connoisseur urgently advised me not to give even a single spark of my enthusiasm to the version of the little water to be found in the drugstore at the bottom. I should just test it in parallel - Zino versus vintage Zino. Still carried by a certain vintage skepticism, I almost hoped that the version available in the drugstore would appeal to me as much as the exchanged sample.

Relatively sure of victory I walked to the test.

Pustekkuchen. No talk. But with proper sugar.
The current version could at best be described as retro. But vintage - that ... yes, that is something completely different. Full-bodied, persevering, fine. Of pallor no trace.

The piggy bank lost all its shape in no time - and thanks to another perfume, I can now identify myself as the proud owner of a VINTAGE bottle.

Well. And now, at the latest, it is high time to admit to ourselves what must be admitted: One of the most beautiful and, who would have thought it, timeless (!) fragrances I know - for over thirty years on the run from me. I finally caught up with him.
And I'm not a father or a grandfather right now. Can everything still come - with Davidoff's eighties draft horse I feel well prepared, at least olfactorically ;)

But - of course - ONLY in the vintage version! Stay away from retro, Davidoff!

Thank you for reading, dear community!

Manni's our chimney sweep. What am I saying - not just our chimney sweep! He takes care of the fireplaces and heating systems in our entire district.

It's the mid-1990s, and in my childish naivety I still don't have the faintest presentiment that Manni and his colleagues, at least in my romanticized imagination dressed in black, carrying cylinders and smeared with soot, will be in dispute about twenty years later about their professional monopoly. Not to mention I knew what the word monopoly position meant at all. I have to go further - I probably hadn't even heard it yet.

Dressed in black, carrying cylinders and smeared with soot, Manni never really was. But the friendly smiling comic chimney sweep on Mannis white Fiat Ducato - that was it!
Manni is quite a little man. Slightly stocky, beginning tonsure on the head and a neat mustache under the nose. In our neighbourhood everyone knows him of course - and everyone calls him by his nickname "Schorni".
The neat mustache often makes him appear grim, but he is an incredibly friendly, serene guy, who never lets even a hint of hecticness arise. After every visit in his function as heating specialist he leaves a small black chimney sweep plastic figure - it looks funny and, more importantly, it brings luck!

Manni has another very important role for me personally: He is the father of my best friend. Every afternoon after school I go to "Schornis" and watch TV with my friend. Manni walks from time to time through the living room - and always pulls a fragrance tail with him.

The years went by, but the fragrance trail burned into the furthest corner of my olfactory memory.

It's now 2018 and Manni retired a few years ago just in time for the monopoly overturning of his profession. Several decades in the service of our neighbourhood - so that we always have good warmth in winter.

A few weeks ago, I was standing to the left of Manni's son, my best childhood friend. To his right is a beautiful woman dressed all in white with tears in her eyes - they are holding hands. Before them the altar.
I was a lot less nervous than those two. My only job as best man I held in my hands in the form of the ring box - completely clarified and without any hustle and bustle.

I turned around and saw a rather small, slightly stocky man with quite a few grey hairs and a thin moustache standing under his nose in the first pew. He looked friendly, even touched.

In front of the church, accompanied by the ringing of bells, I embraced the bridegroom's father at the congratulating handshake. An all too familiar smell shot into my nasal cavities.

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