Profumo

At first I thought, ugh, an aquate!

Actually, I hate aquatics. Who belongs to a Cool Water-damaged generation, like me, will probably know that. Although Cool-Water is not a bad fragrance, not at all, quite the opposite! But the unbelievable number of clones that came along in the wake of the Davidoff fragrance, even more so the spillover into the realm of functional perfumery, triggered a sea breeze overkill for me. I can long no longer: mercy!!
Floor or window cleaner, laundry detergent or fabric softener, shower gels or shampoos, deodorants or fragrance trees - everywhere this cloyingly synthetic sea breeze, this nature-mocking chemtrail. I am becoming increasingly aggressive.

And then this: "Sogno Reale" - what a scent!

Well, there's Miller Harris' "Fleurs de Sel," "Acqua di Sale" by Profumum, or "Sel Marin" by Heeley, and plenty of others of that ilk that strive for a different, more natural marine accord, one that smells of salt, of iodine-infused air, of spray-damp rock, of kelp and seaweed - all more or less wonderful scents that thoroughly soothe me. But "Sogno Reale" does not belong in this category, it is different. Neither, however, does it belong in the category of cool-water adepts, although I almost placed it there shortly after spraying it on for the first time.
Juicy citrus notes, a distinctive and heavy dose of the aroma chemical 'Calone', combined with sweet-resinous amber notes - doesn't that sound awful?
It is atrocious.

But hold on Where with other fragrances of this Couleur already here the fair is read, the Chose with "Sogno Reale" now really begins.
After a while, namely, the deeper notes begin to gain volume, become broader, more complex, finally embrace the somewhat whining, nose hair-robbing prelude, without fully covering in. A touch of this cool-water ordinariness even remains until the late ebb of this fragrance, but already with the blossoming of the heart, and even more so the base notes it no longer bothers me at all, but suddenly seems to me completely okay.
That must be so!

I find the transition from the citric-aquatic top notes to the warm, sensual, rather delicate base particularly successful: of all things, the tuberose mutates here to the decisive bracket. Like an octopus in the middle of the fragrance, it stretches out the tentacles of its scent kaleidoscope in all directions: into the upper, fresh-ozonic sphere as well as into the darker, earthy depths, without belting out its well-known tuberose solo at the ramp. Equally enigmatically, the patchouli that accompanies it plays a primarily unifying, amalgamating role.
Thus, the loud, but somehow also whimsical citrus-navy accord (which, to top it all off, a quiet chlorine suggestion adheres, but is strangely apart!) comes with the help of the tuberose-patchouli duo so slowly to rest, and sinks to a beautiful base of resinous, subtly smoky and leathery facets. A hint of hyraceum adds just enough animalicism to it that underneath it all, there's a quiet, unobtrusive erotic sophistication that's downright addictive.

Speaking of 'quiet' and 'addictive'. Two terms that characterize "Sogno Reale" for me: although you might suspect it, the fragrance is not loud, all in all, if you disregard the confident opening. No, it is rather restrained, but maintains a pleasant presence over a long period of time, which should not exceed an arm's length in terms of projection. This is precisely the range I personally prefer.
And as for the term 'addictive': a rare phenomenon, at least for me, accompanies this fragrance. The abrupt recoil of the head after initial spray, is always followed by a slow approach again, a careful approach to the scented area, until I finally can not get my nose away from it.
Yes, "Sogno Reale" is actually addictive!

That some recognize here the smell of sea urchins, especially in the prelude, I'll let stand so - since I rather the olfactory world of the Alps has socialized, I can not really judge. I have no idea what sea urchin smells like. Quite possibly, however, that the combination of iodine-containing seawater accord, underlaid by something Hyraceum favors this association.

In any case, Amelie Bourgeois has created a dreamlike fragrance with "Sogno Reale", 'dreamlike' in two respects: on the one hand, it actually behaves the way dreams sometimes do - characterized by wild, seemingly chaotic scene changes, emotionally charged and contradictory. On the other hand, "Sogno Reale" is simply a dreamlike fragrance, rich in contrasts and exciting - but never tense! Because that's what Amelie Bourgeois and her 'Flair' partner Anne-Sohpie Behaghel stand for: sophisticated but wearable fragrance art in the best, typically French sublimated artistry.
Sure, not all of their fragrances are masterpieces, but if anyone can consistently deliver them, it's these two exceptional artists. Especially if you let them, and give them the famous carte blanche.
Stefania Squeglia, the owner of Mendittorosa has obviously done that. Her trust in the 'Flair' founders is apparently so great that she even let a young graduate, whom Bourgeois and Behaghel took under their wing, debut a fragrance in her house: Camille Chemardin with "Ithaka".
That this trust is rewarded again and again, was shown most recently by the fantastically turned out "Orlo".
But it's not just the - mostly - compelling compositions that convince here - you can literally smell the good ingredients! When both come together, best ingredients and skill, interesting and stylishly staged, then you can confidently speak of the ideal case.

That the design of Mendittorosa is somewhat idiosyncratic, let's forget it. Exactly this playful idiosyncrasy, however, I find likeable. Even if it's not my style, I like it. In any case, it shows care, genuine appreciation, and yes, passion.
"Sogno Reale", this 'real dream', which Stefania Squeglia reported to the 'Flair' ladies, so that they distilled a fragrance from it, actually crowns a kind of sea urchin, but one made of painted plaster and not a real one, which already called concerned animal rights activists to the scene.
So there might be something to the sea urchin association.

If I ever get a sea urchin under my nose in my life, I'll give it a very deliberate sniff.
I'm curious!

A little addendum: Having worn the scent a few times now, I'm almost looking forward to that rich citrusy navy opening! Fortunately, after all, Amelie Bourgeois has apparently dispensed with the stereotypical masculine freshness-fougères characterizing combination of calone (IFF sensibly markets it as 'Aquamor') and dihydromyrcenal (THE molecule for pore-deep citrusy-sweet purity!), and instead created the accord with semi-natural citrus oils.
This smells so much better than 'Cool Water' & Co!

Most of the time, a tuberose scent is a difficult affair. Even their little sisters, magnolia and gardenia, whose scents are usually reconstructed, since naturally little to no fragrance oils can be extracted from them, are already loud and dominance-prone flowers, but the tuberose, which interestingly belongs to the agave family, tops them all.
For me, the tuberose oscillates somewhere between a space-filling diva and a space-blasting drag queen. In any case, she reliably puts on a fanfare-like performance, with a deep, organ-rich alto voice and heaving bosom.

Definitely not here.

Christoph Laudamiel has managed to strip the tuberose of its fumbling, to remove its make-up. His "Tubereuse Organique" comes to us completely without frills and without fanfare, yes, it seems unusually withdrawn and strangely naked.
It almost makes you wonder a little.
For as lofty and exhausting as the tuberose is - it smells mostly so intoxicating and narcotic that I'm ready to endure all the airs and graces without complaint. One breath infused with Malle's "Carnal Flower" and I melt away. But wear it? No, not by any stretch of the imagination.

Am I Mae West? Am I Mary, aka George Prussian? No.

Amazingly, Christoph Laudamiel has staged this unadorned, natural tuberose performance without the slightest drop of any tuberose extract, or tuberose absolute. Here is simply no tuberose in it at all!
And yet "Tubereuse Organique" smells wonderfully like this flower. Captured the perfumer, however, in a much earlier stage than usual, quasi still dewy and fresh from the field. You can already guess where the journey will lead when the flower blossoms into its full regalia. Still the petals are but halfway closed, still cling bright, green and earthy-rooty accents to the flower, merge into a wonderful organic plant aroma, which one (I) would like to drink the most.

Speaking of drinking: as already mentioned, the tuberose belongs to the agave family. And this is where Christoph Laudamiel's tuberose fantasy comes in: he creates his fresh, green tuberose accord with the help of lavandin LMR (an organic certified raw material from a French cooperative), some Egyptian jasmine absolute, and a shot of real organic tequila ("123 Tequila" by David Ravandi).
Since tequila is famously an agave spirit, the connection here is to tuberose. Not that it immediately opens up to me, but somehow the scent of "Tubereuse Organique" reminds me distantly of a drink that we liked to drink at the end of the 80s, beginning of the 90s with a certain creepiness: Mezcal; the old, matured, with the worm in it. With the last sip, that came out with it and could/should/did get eaten. Fortunately, I never got embarrassed....

Maybe it's just my imagination, since I haven't had this liquor in ages, or maybe it's not. In any case, don't think of the white, fizzy tequila we used to enjoy with lemon and salt in vast quantities back in the day, but rather the brown, dark tequila - but please forget the obligatory orange and coffee (or cinnamon), as they are not in the mix.
Needless to say, he, Christoph Laudamiel and his co-perfumer Ugo Charron, enjoyed a glass or two of it - right they were!

With tequila, lavandin and jasmine, the two have thus recreated the floral accord, with oakmoss, certified organic vetiver and patchouli they formed the green stalk and the root system, which still adheres to the scent of damp earth.
Accentuated this new creation with some ambrette seeds, some hibiscus, angelica and tagetes - I can not smell out in detail, but is mentioned in the list of ingredients.

"Tubereuse Organique" is thus apparently a tuberose soliflor, but just apparently, if you look at the involved notes gaggle. It is amazing how exactly this gaggle coordinated with each other, how perfectly calibrated it is - all, but really all participate in this organic tuberose chord, which there is not so at all, but which they convincingly intonate.
Great!

I would now smoothly feel like a tequila - I had not for a long time!

A few years ago, when the old traditional house of Patou, decisively influenced by Jean Kerléo, was revived, many eagerly awaited the rebirth of the fragrance that had become a myth, 'Patou pour Homme'. Its pitiful remnants in circulation are probably only a shadow of their former selves due to oxidation caused by overlaying, but this does not deter the hunters of the lost treasure from still loosening astronomical sums in order to catch even the stalest reflection.
So the question was: should a new launch put an end to this hustle and bustle, as happened in the case of Guerlain's Derby, since the new Derby was simply (almost) as good as the old one?
No, unfortunately, it didn't.

For inexplicable reasons one decided to create a completely new smell, which carried alone the name of the old smell, and with this was not even nature-related. On the question of why this was so, this and that was brought into the field, that for example certain ingredients were no longer available, others again the ban beam of the IFRA hit. In short, the old fragrance was simply not revivable, and since one did not want to compromise, (which one took in the case of other Patou heroes but quite) one decided to a new creation
This may be understandable, but that an approximation to the original would have been quite possible, shows the fragrance 'Pour Homme' by MGO Duftanker.

When I sprayed it on me for the first time, I thought: wow, great! Such a lush spicy, large-sized and multi-layered work with by-, or in this case main name 'Pour Homme' I had not under the nose for a long time. After a while, however, some aspects seemed familiar to me, and when I thought about where from, it was clear to me quite quickly: it was 'Patou pour Homme'!
Not that both fragrances smelled identical, no, not at all, but they share a similarity of essence, a kind of familial DNA, which can actually also be determined by a variety of notes that characterize both: first and foremost allspice, called 'allspice' in English, because of its wide flavor (and fragrance) spectrum, which oscillates between cloves and pepper. In addition, sage, basil and lavender contribute their mite to a similar spiciness, just as green aspects of spruce and vetiver can be found here and there, traversed by fine smoky streaks and illuminated by floral-fresh geranium tips. Cedar and sandalwood, as well as patchouli, define both bases, along with the tart sweetness of tonka bean and vanilla. Last but not least, the usual suspects oakmoss and labdanum give equal support and stability to the foundation of the respective note frameworks.
Here now the ways ultimately separate, if only by a nuance: while the Patou classic with leathery facets, in tandem with some Biebergeil and / or civet marches in the direction of leather chypre, 'Pour Homme' by MGO remains in the area of oriental chypres, comparable, for example, with 'J.H.L' by Aramis, which was launched shortly after 'Patou pour Homme' at the beginning of the 80s.
Leathery animalism I detect in the MGO fragrance in any case not really - possibly it acts but subcutaneously - while it in the 'Patou pour Homme' quite offensively comes to light.

I don't know if Hans Georg Staudt intended to create a fragrance in the spirit of 'Patou pour Homme', but he succeeded. With his 'Pour Homme' he refutes in any case convincingly the statement of Thomas Fontaine (in collaboration with Jean Kerléo) that a new edition of the Patou classic was not possible for stated reasons. It would have been possible after all.

The Swiss perfumer Vero Kern, who unfortunately died not long ago, landed a similar coup with her fragrance 'Onda' years ago: 'Onda' reminded many of the old Guerlain warhorse 'Djedi', which, so one heard from the house of Guerlain, was unfortunately, unfortunately no longer reformulatable - the problem was allegedly similar to 'Patou pour Homme'.
The fact that Vero Kern taught the responsible persons of Guerlain a better way, however, was apparently rather to be owed to the coincidence: the Swiss did not know 'Djedi' at all, and reported in interviews again and again how proud it made her to have created a work that reminds so many of the mythical Guerlain fragrance.
But as in the case of 'Onda'/'Djedi', I have to clarify once again in the case of 'Patou pour Homme'/'Pour Homme' by MGO: both recreations are not copies! They are independent fragrance characters, indeed with a close relationship to their famous predecessors, but different enough to remain perceptible as independent individuals.

To whom now the comparison with the old Patou fragrance means nothing, since its last droplets are running out so slowly: 'Pour Homme' by Hans Georg Staudt is committed to the fragrance language of the early 80s. Volume and richness characterized them, often also an animalicism that today is perceived as unreasonable. In terms of fragrance spectrum, they were usually so far-reaching that a classic categorization was usually no longer possible. The fragrances had EVERYTHING: Fougère parts, as well as Chypre tendencies, mostly with deep-oriental sound underlaid, and gladly by erotic Schmuddel durchdampft.
This voluptuous fragrance language is also used MGOs 'Pour Homme', but in a somewhat slimmed hedonism, which makes him a little more contemporary and also more tolerable.
Still, I see it more on mature men (or ladies, too) these days, less on Ambroxan-blissed-out boys. But then again, 'Jules', 'Derby', 'Bel Ami' & Co, to extend the genealogy once more, were not meant for beard-fuzzed boys.
The attitude, in any case, with which 'Pour Homme' comes along, conveys to me rather steadfastness, with upright stature, and a certain seriousness, with a touch of cultivated conservatism.

On certain days - not all! - he will certainly be a good companion for me.

Él' must face the comparison with 'Kouros', absolutely. Especially who is familiar with the old YSL cracker longer, perhaps even decades, will not overlook certain similarities, or can over-smell.
A mere copy is 'Él' but really not, for Rodrigo Flores-Roux is simply too good perfumer - he does not have to copy. But anyone who looks at the inspiration for this fragrance, will quickly understand that 'Kouros' was, so to speak, no getting past.

The idea was to develop a fragrance duo that harkens back to the hedonistic fragrance language of the 70s, when the distinction between men's and women's fragrances was still largely given, and both sexes were vying for supremacy in terms of erotic vibes. Animal-infused chypres were mainly found on the women's shelves, while no less sexualized fougères graced those for men. Caron's 70s version of 'Infini', 'Weil de Weil' or Piguet's 'Futur' are representative examples, as are 'Paco Rabanne pour Homme', 'Azzaro pour Homme', 'Jules', increasing in the amount of animalic admixtures and finally culminating in 'Kouros'.

Arquiste's 'Él' and 'Ella' pick up precisely where these fragrances left off, paraphrasing them into a modern olfactory language without tipping over into the modernist.
Smelling 'Él' today, I actually wish 'Kouros' had smelled just as wonderfully dark green, herbaceous and aromatic back then, with that great tart honey note and the incredibly sensual, mossy civet base. Maybe then I wouldn't have hated it with such fervor, as I did now when every other smelled like it (the other half smelled like 'Antaeus', and that's who I was).

Though yes, it did smell similar, at least to some extent. Maybe not quite as green, and not quite as herbaceous, but the honey, the laurel, the civet - the intersection is quite striking!
But when I compare the scents today, I notice that Rodrigo Flores-Roux's scent is much more clearly contoured, less hazy. The individual notes breathe more freely and everything seems airier, fresher, less sultry. Even the animalic components of the base unfold more loosely, as if they've escaped the confines of the famous 'Animalis' base of 'Synarome' that characterized so many animalic scents, not just 'Kouros'.

Animalism at all!
Today I could lie into it, but that's probably a matter of age, or rather getting older.
Just as they say that good food is the sex of old age, it could well be that you only really become receptive to animalistic scent eroticism over time, right? In any case, I've yet to meet anyone under, say, 30, who was - or is - into animal scents. As a young person, I guess you'd rather stick with freshness, cleanliness and sweetness, rave about the 'performance' of the 'ever-goer', hope that the newly acquired scent is a 'beast' - in keeping with the SUV-ization of fragrance culture.
But ambiguous, somehow grubby-sensual animalism: Satan, soft!!

Admittedly, I felt similarly, back then, when I was 16 years old for the first time with an erotic fragrance offensive à la 'Kouros' was confronted - an affront! To let my pants down in such a lecherous manner, I found unheard of - shameless as I was.
I probably would have liked Le Galion's 'Sang bleu' better, but such a 'Kouros', freed from head-blushing filth, did not exist at that time. It is precisely this eroticism, however, that I miss in 'Sang bleu' today - who would have thought it?!

However, as much as I appreciate fragrances that clearly flaunt animal secretions today, I am wary of wearing them more than in homeopathic doses, because I know how difficult they are to endure for many people.
Arquiste's 'Él' now offers me an irresistible quantum of it: not too much, and not too little, combined with more herbaceous green notes and fresh rose geranium, so that I actually think: 'Él' ought to please everyone!
But beware: the image of a guy with gold chain in the swelling chest hair, thick mustache and bronze complexion, the shirt unbuttoned to the navel and the jeans so tight that everything shows, plus a lecherous smile and a lewd look - that's 'Él'.
That's not me, though.

I'm not a Tom Selleck guy, never have been. But I always liked that one. Magnum was just a cool sock. His machismo: cheerfully ironic and gallant, his erotic charisma: simply stunning.
But even if I'm not a Tom Selleck kind of guy, I can still wear a fragrance that evokes the image of such a man-man, I think.
Refractions must be, they make but only interesting.
Maybe to him, Tom Selleck, would also rather fit a dark velvety rose scent, who knows?! Also a nice refraction.

'Él' is, in any case, an exceedingly successful reminiscence of the cheerful hedonism of the late 70s and early 80s, before the AIDS horror swept in, and with it the Biedermeier of the Kohl/Thatcher/Reagan era.
Especially in these unfortunate Corona times, I remember it fondly, even if my own Gschamigkeit (a Bavarian expression, I know, but I love it!) saved me from indulging too carelessly in sensual pleasure at the time - fortunately!
Today I would no longer put my hand in the fire for it. But for that I have now 'El', the substitute drug: Hedonism 'in a bottle', so to speak.
A very nice one, by the way!

Not only good food is the sex of old age.

So after 'B683' and 'Ganymede' now 'B683 Extrait de Parfum'.
Three fragrances, with almost identical DNA: a modern leather accord that develops entirely differently than we know from classic leather concepts, such as a Cuir-de-Russie.
Marc-Antoine Barrois' trio unfolds its leather accord from the dry spiciness of pepper and saffron, which here confronts us in the form of Givaudan's scent 'Safraleine': the bitter-leathery aroma of the tart spice, pimped with nuances of tobacco and rose. Grassy damp violet leaf and the cool woody aspects of a fractionated patchouli, now and then called 'patchouli coeur', or marketed by Givaudan as 'akigalawood' (the perfumer works at the association!), complement the leather accord and form a kind of Barroisian scent framework.
From the olfactory arsenal of Givaudan comes another substance that urgently needs mentioning, because it is especially in the two 'B683' fragrances clearly in the game: 'Ambroxan', or more recently called 'Ambrofix'. It is characterized by a sweetish, again tobacco and slightly salty ozonics, and synthetically represents a small section of the much broader fragrance cosmos of ambergris.
For Ambroxan haters, which I count myself, this is of course an imposition, but I must confess that the beargwöhnte synthetics here surprisingly does not bother me so much.

As cool-smooth as the leather is in the EdP, as if you were entering a chicly styled shoe store; in the extrait, it starts to come to life, softens, suddenly has roughened areas. At times, an implied intimacy replaces the otherwise stylishly sober aloofness, but it quickly fades away, leaving only the flirtation with the daring. The couturier, especially when his name is Marc-Antoine Barrois, always keeps his composure when it comes to leather. Others would probably think of animals: castoreum, for example, already blessed with leathery facets, or even civet and hyraceum, which - God forbid! - which in the end stained the noble footwear with fecal matter, as if one had accidentally stepped into an unattractive legacy. No, such antiquated Ferkeleien have in a modern Ambrox saffron concept of course nothing to look for.
Pity, really.
Anyway.

We'll have apple for that, green apple.
When I read that, I thought to myself, oh dear, this is going to be fun.
Anyone who grew up smelling screechy loud apple shampoo, like me, has learned to distrust this scent.
Wrongly so.
The apple smells here namely pretty good. Somehow not really natural, but still good. That is at all the strange thing about the Barrois fragrances (as in actually all fragrances of Monsieur Bisch): they smell terribly synthetic, as if all the notes contained in it, which read so natural at first, are at best nature-identical, not to say: fake. Still, I like his scents, at least most of them. Apparently Bisch has found a signature that allows him to turn supposedly inferior synthetics into something valuable, artful, even if the source material of those apparent synthetics is of natural origin.
The Extrait of 'B683' is a perfect example of this.

In addition to the apple, the cumin also smells somehow not real, and yet it gives the fragrance in a short phase that certain something: an artfully shimmering erotic physicality, but which, barely flashed, already disintegrates again to the chimera. A chimera, which I sniff enthusiastically after.
Also the oud, supposedly even genuine from Laos: yes, it's there, but strangely de-oudized. Without the appearance of any natural origin and reduced solely to its medicinal nuances and a few shy wisps of smoke. Likewise the patchouli brought in from Indonesia: stripped of any dank, creaky gothicness by fractionation. And even the sandalwood seems to have never really seen the Australian wilderness, too smoothly polished, too sterile it seems.

And yet: it smells great!
Especially the combination of apple, cumin and leather is, despite all artificiality, really apart. For my taste, it could have been worked out even more clearly, because it is unfortunately quite quickly overlaid by the sweetish-woody ozonik of the fund, which spreads visibly like a thick, heavy blanket over the fragrance event.
All these oddly styled notes develop a lush volume and a dense, velvety texture remotely reminiscent of old Guerlain extraits. That's because, unlike the many perfumes and extraits foisted on today's consumers (which are basically just slightly higher-concentration eau de parfums), this is a proper extract, with close to 40 percent perfume oil content.
One actually dabs such a highly concentrated perfume, but even dabbing would seem anachronistic given the radically modern scent language. So it is sprayed. Fortunately, the spray mechanism is designed so that only the smallest amounts are nebulized into the finest droplets.

Unlike 'Ganymede', the extrait of 'B683' remains just so close to its wearer, or wearer, without dragging miles of scent behind him. In terms of persistence, the Extrait surpasses its two predecessors, however, by lengths.
Here, too, the fragrance behaves like comparable high-proof extraits: steady and slow development, instead of space-blasting detonation; clear and long-lasting presence, without knockdown of the counterpart.

Whether I will like this fragrance in the long run, I do not know yet. I admire it because of its artful execution and its modernity. Possibly I am however already too old, in order to let me be kidnapped unreservedly by it.
I still remember well a colleague more than twenty years older, who in 1988, when I wore 'Cool Water' enthusiastically for the first time, gave me to understand that he was definitely too old for such synthetics. It may be that I feel the same way today, although I try not to become conservative. But, I confess, it's increasingly difficult for me to
So, I'll probably work my way around the two 'B683' fragrances for a while yet, with an uncertain outcome.

But you have to hand it to the Barrois/Bisch team: they have created a fragrance logo that congenially captures the work of couturier and menswear designer Barrois. That hasn't been done in a long time. Vincent Roubert achieved a similar feat 90 years ago: he created the legendary 'Knize Ten' for the Viennese men's outfitter Knize. Twenty years later, Edmond Roudnitska composed a comparable signature fragrance for Hermès, the famous manufacturer of horse saddles and leather bags: 'Eau d'Hermès'. Here, as there, leather goods play a central role, here, as there, leather is reflected in the center of the fragrances.
'B683' is, in a sense, the 'Knize Ten' of today. Unlike its famous predecessors, however, it only cryptically refers to its manufacturer in the naming: 'B683' is in fact a homage to 'B612', the planet of Saint-Exupery's 'The Little Prince'. Barrois changed the number sequence according to his birth data: 6/83.

For the time being, 'Ganymede' remains my favorite of the trio, but the Extrait - just behind it - visibly reduces the gap.