Finally got to sample O4G and while it has it's qualities, it comes across a bit underwhelming IMO. The opening is a large dose of lavender, saffron and dry oud. The effect for me is a dry, rotting log. The lavender gives a barbershop undertone that is unusual but not entirely warming or pleasant. The musk and patchouli arrive late to flatten it out, but for me it's overly dry and medicinal. Not my cup of tea for Initio prices. Neutral.
Blech. A rare miss for Sophia Grojsman. Beware that the "iris" so many reviews mention as a prominent note is not the root, but an approximation of what the flower smells like. I've never encountered an iris that had a smell, but I guess this recreation of green and soapy notes comes close enough. What annoys me most though is the inclusion of the aquatic element, which lasts from beginning to end. Unnecessary "freshness".
Hermes did a better, higher quality rendition with Iris UKIYOÉ, although the price difference is dramatic.
You can find this for less than $20 for 100ml bottle. The bottle is cheap and lacks a collar around the sprayer, which is just frugal to a new, drugstore level. Tacky.
This french lady is free and happy,full of life and self confidence.she can make some gardening and drink an ice tea on beautiful curved vintage drinking glass at the same time and without a drop of sweat although it is midday.only to stop and have a business meeting in the purch,give some orders to her subordinates.a classic chypre and high quality composition.traditional chypres can often be mossy,pungent,even unapporachable.i would Cristalle classify as a soft,fresh,friendly chypre it does have that classic chypre mossiness,but it is not overpowering.
Very sparkling on the first top notes. the first impression is very ladylike, clean, lemony and wet.like a fresh garden in the morning.the citruses are elegant and slowly show a floral heart with honeysuckle.this is a stunning honeysuckle, a very realistic,soft, honeyed floral. this chypre is more green notes than moss,although the moss is very much present,well paired with vetiver,giving a rich earthy,rooty dry down.in fact it is like invigorate elixir, honeysuckle and oakmoss are in perfect balance with citrus. this is a masterpiece if you like your perfumes green and dry with tones of citrus. Thumbs up,definitely.
Pleasant but nothing new eau de cologne very similar to Nicolai New York but cheaper with slightly less projection and similar longevity. So its a bitter orange smokey cologne and in fact a bit more subtle than Nicolai and so better for me. I like it.
Nothing new here. Familiar LV DNA in a slightly gingery peppery sour cinammon blast that settles linearly.
Unremarkable but not especially pleasant.
Au hasard and nomade are the best of a very average bunch
A stunning depiction of the inside of a grand catholic church.Full incense sweeps all your good and pure intentions to the surface.it contemplative piece that you wear for your own pleasure,not to impress others.the scent of incense is like balm to your soul.the most prominent note is elemi,incense, labdanum,rich and resinous-set against a woody notes of cedar.
Mystical,glorious,rapturous and everything you could possibly want from an incense perfume.opens with a strong whiff of cedar but instantly settles into a slightly smoky incense-y memory of church.for me the dry down is an incredibly warm and resinous by elemi and amber.it does remain very beautiful through,but the effect is so much more discrete than i expected.projection and longevity are good.
Certo by Clandestine Laboratories (2021) is a clever anomalous fragrance in the guise of something more conventional. At first glance this comes across immediately like a leather chypre of the mid 20th century, full of citrus, leather, carnation, spices like mace, and oakmoss in the base. However, as nice to the vintage-obsessed nose as that may sound, there is a lot of novel stuff going on here too, including bringing into focus a material not seen much in Western perfume. Overall, Certo is an elegant gentlemanly chypre-type for lovers of things ranging from Aramis by Estée Lauder (1965) and it's younger cousin Lauder for Men (1985), to more peppery/woody fare like Penhaligon's Blenheim Bouquet (1902) or Acqua di Selva by VIctor (1949). Under all that territory familiar to the nose that revels in 60's gentilism to 80's outright hedonism, lies something a bit more intellectual and exotic too, just like the air of coziness that rides the otherwise hard outward appearance of another Mark Sage scent: Master by Clandestine Laboratories (2021). Maybe this is a bit of a house trademark, to put something endearingly nerdy or disarmingly soft under an otherwise bold composition, but only time will tell if I'm connecting non-existent dots. The secret ingredient here is sugandh mantri oil, something typically found in India and used for medicinal purposes, but also containing aromatic properties that flirt between earthy and floral boundaries. Honestly, if you were not told this substance was in the perfume, you might mistake it for a number of materials, as it behaves sort of like lavender, vetiver, and spice all at once. Certo is a very green fragrance too, with a decent amount of transparency in spite of its strength, which is pretty neat.
The opening of Certo is plenty familiar to fans of the glorious leather chypres of the 1940's, 1950's, and 1960's, with something rakish like the bergamot and aldehydes of old, but listed here as mace, rosewood, and green peppercorns. Whatever it truly is, the familiarity of this opening will make many old-school leather fans happy right from the start. A nice carnation similar to Lauder for Men then enters the fray, with a bit of a pungent animal musk whiff that mixes with rose, jasmine, and cyclamen. Hints of Aramis 900 (1973) seem to come to mind now, but nowhere as indolic, as the musk is clearly animal here and not from the jasmine or ylang-ylang also found in Certo. What I can only say must be the sugandh matri then appears next, feeling a bit like vetiver, but also a bit not, due to the floral aspects merging with the rest of the florals in the heart. Orris adds a bit of rooty carroty aspect rather than the usual soapiness one expects from the substance, while patchouli helps form the chypre base alongside the oakmoss note. The peppery aspects remain, while the orris and patchouli really intermix near the end, and the whole things settles down with the carnation, green rooty/earthy elements, and the pops of spice. A pine-like woodiness recalls the Acqua di Selva to my nose, with a bit of a linalool smell near the end likely coming from the lighter aspects of the sugandh matri. Vanilla is here in traces to smooth things out too, but I wouldn't call it a visible note. Best use is spring and fall, with good performance all around. The brand warns if you're sensitive to fragrance, you may want to avoid Certo, and that's because it packs a punch with all the mace and peppercorns. For me, this could easily be a signature just like several from the brand I've tried thus far.
Absolute vintage purists tend not to like their old-fashioned tropes messed with, and if it's not a perfect recreation 1 for 1 of some discontinued powerhouse from the 80's they lust after, they probably won't be interested in Certo. However, if Master was a bit too modern and photo-realistic with its display of black leather, Certo will serve much better as a student of the Jermaine Cellier, Vincent Roubert, and Bernard Chant schools of leather chypre craft. The interesting Far-East kink in the design thanks to the sugandh mantri is really easy to miss for the average Joe, but for the person looking for it, comes out as a sort of Swiss Army knife material that acts like several others while also doing something they can't. I'd honestly like to see more fragrances with it in there, since the floral/rooty/spicy thing is my jam anyway. Further innovation on traditional perfume design is also my jam too, which is why I love when houses like this, or others such as Fzotic or January Scent Project play around with otherwise locked-in-time compositional styles. If you're all about this kind of thing, I highly recommend trying Certo first, then moving around to other offerings from the brand. At $195 for 100ml, this can be a bit of a stiff proposition to buy blind anyway, no matter how much you love classic leather chypres with or without novel twists. Certo (pronounced "cherto" in italian) means to be self-assured and that's exactly what you have to be in order to even fathom wearing something like this in the 21st century, in an age where shower gel smells have graduated from the grocer's health and beauty aisle to "haute perfumery". This is definitely not shower gel, there's no mistaking that; but as a fragrance that dares to make old new again, takes an open mind to enjoy, not one stuck in "they don't make them like they used to" mode. Thumbs up
A fresh and slightly green aroma opens up the initial stage, which is based mainly on a strong cardamom impression. Whiffs of citrus are just enough to add a bright sparkle at this stage.
The drydown enhances the woodsy notes, mainly cedarwood, which blends in with the previous notes very nicely, although the freshness is gradually lost. At the ends mainly the woodsiness remains, with the cedar petering out with time.
I get moderate sillage, adequate projection, and five hours of longevity on my skin.
The first hour of this scent for warm autumn days is a skillful application of the cardamom in quite an original manner resulting in an unexpectedly light-hearted rendering of the cardamom spiciness. Unfortunately, the second part is not that exciting, which is a drawback. Additionally, the performance can hardly be called particularly impressive for a Parfum. Overall - just - a positivescore based on the initial phases. 3/5
Like a glade in a forest,in a sunny day during late springtime,but it keeps strangely remains of winter.a cold breeze.the darkness and the cold are all around and behind you,but you only feel the smell of the shy white flowers and wet grass, staring at the sky.the name is misleading.it is not mischief at all.this is an beautiful floral green scent with vintage vibe, wearable throughout the year but nothing wow.
A grassy green,citrus,maybe a little synthetic but fresh.then after a few minutes it settles into white flowers and powdery iris in the background,it stays this way for about two hours, pretty but linear,it doesn't seem to change on skin.then it seems to fade away.it becomes creamer,softer, but still floral. the base note of cedar and moss simply helps soften and extend the bright floral bouquet.it would go great in a flowing white lacy frilly dress or shirt.it is perfect for spring,it is ethereal character works well in winter when the air is crisp and cold.
Like a worn out banjo I have to tell you about Geranium Macrorrhizum, a cottage garden favourite, a plant from which oil of geranium was originally taken. Blend it with Isaphan, a rose from the Crusades, slice a little blood from the Da Vinci code and you have Rossy de Palma, Eau de Protection.
This is a sweet, resinous, traditional amber, full stop. If that's all you need to hear in order to run out and grab a bottle then read no further, since knowing more about Amouage Material (2021) than that may dissuade you from purchase. Material is one of a new pair in a "feminine" bottle, with the other half consisting of Amouage Boundless (2021) in the "masculine" bottle, both of which are a return to roots for the brand after a dropping of 4 really designer-like releases that didn't thrill many longtime fans. Boundless was a woody/spicy incense thing that tried to be the second coming of Interlude Man (2012) but more gender-neutral, while Material shoots more for being like Maison Francis Kurkdjian Grand Soir (2016) in its gummy display of Middle Eastern amber. To be fair, I quite like this genre when it isn't overly sugared like you find in cheaper, designer or big cosmetic-brand ambers that are loaded down either with ethyl maltol or ethyl vanillin, depending on the era and brand. Untouchable classic ambers like Dana Tabu (1932) or the really unique amber profiles like what Avon has used for a century notwithstanding, most of the amber-based scents I've smelled that have any kind of westernization on them whatsoever end up smelling like baked goods or Big Red bubblegum, so I tend to be critical of when this happens within the purview of a Middle Eastern brand like Amouage. Thankfully, they understood the assignment and rounded off the corners to keep this from entering Duncan Hines frosting land, but is that really enough?
The opening of Material is pretty dense and heavy, with a bit of sweetness and spikiness out of the gate. Patchouli and elemi resin tell the tale that is later passed down to vanilla and benzoin in the heart. Things are fairly academic at this point in the story, with sweet spices and resins mixing with vanilla and what feels like a bit of cinnamon. The patchouli is fairly light and deconstructed, so I think it's some fractionate material and not full raw patchouli, although the vanilla and benzoin feel sufficiently natural. The woodiness of the base eventually furthers the spikiness, with guaiac wood mixed with some kind of Cambodian medicinal oud material (real or synthetic is moot because it is so small), and eventually smoothed by a gooey tonka bean note. This tonka bean is going to be the make or break material for most amber lovers investigating this scent, as it brings that Western designer feel to the fragrance, since literally everything in the 2010's or 2020's that isn't a fresh bomb loaded with ambroxan or Iso E Super is a sticky tonka bomb typically stuffed with woody-ambers to boot. I don't really get much of a cynical woody-amber molecule vibe, which is good, but I do get wood and amber independently mixed into the fragrance. Olibanum and labdanum are claimed in Material, but if they're here, they are just shaping things and not taking any sort of limelight away from the benzoin and vanilla. Wear time is going to be all day, as with most strong ambers, with semi-close but potent sillage. Best use would be in the winter, unless you stay in air conditioning year round and can pull this off.
Ultimately, Amouage has hired Cécile Zarokian to take the prevailing gummy amber style popularized in high end niche circles by Kurkdjian and throw it back at him with better, more natural materials (pun intended), and then toss in some oud bite to make sure everyone damn well knows this is from the Middle East. There was a bit of a ruckus when this came out, just like with Boundless, and I feel like maybe a few points need to be deducted there for making everyone think they were getting another big Amouage barnstormer, when they were really just getting a "me too" fragrance with the aplomb of Amouage and know-how of perfumer Zarokian (who generally does good work). I'm pleased with this as an amber, but I'd still take Grand Soir over this because when I want oud, I really want oud, and the amber accord here is paint-by-numbers outside that. Still, Amouage fans looking for a solid amber could do far worse, even if fans not hung up on brand could do much better for far less coin than this if they want something that toys with the wild side of amber while staying relatively in the usual consumer lane like this does. Middle Eastern depth with Western velveteen processing is the name of the game with Material, and that's something we've seen time and time again with amber perfumes coming from this part of the world but mostly lobbed at the West. Just ask LaTaffa, Rasasi, Al Haramain, Al Rehab, Asgarali, and many others about all about amber/oud combos; and those brands don't charge $300 for something like this, either. Neutral
Very similar to Serge Lutens Cuir Mauresque, as stated by others. One of the better releases from the boutique exclusive line, and probably from the house overall. I'd say that I prefer Cuir Styrax a bit more from this line, simply because it's a more unique take on leather than this one. But this is certainly a well-done perfume within its genre, and worth a try for for ambery-leather lovers.
For lovers of sweet and smoky benzoin, this one is nearly a soliflore and very much worth a try. I found it a bit one-dimensional and linear for my tastes, as I prefer my benzoin to be more of a supporting note that's blended into the background of compositions. But a well-done perfume from this house, at any rate.
Turquoise fit the bill for me as a dark marine scent, which is exactly what I was looking for at the time. Dark, as in a cold, desolate beach under the grey November sky ... dark, as in the depth where ocean turns to black because you're too deep for the sunlight to reach you. This scent accomplished that for me, while still maintaining a distinct, aquatic atmosphere. Unfortunately, the turpentine accord was problematic for me. It certainly added a level of intrigue to the perfume, but at the same time had the ability to somewhat nauseate me. Ultimately, this is why I had to pass on this fragrance, but I do recommend it for anybody that's interested in a unique take on the marine genre.
Green conifers, vetiver, and spices, developing toward a more woody-incense base. Very green, earthy, and woodsy. This is quite well done and probably my favorite release from this house.
I was in the habit of wearing this each time I would visit Minnesota while traveling for my old job. It really fits the atmosphere of Lake Itasca there, where the Mississippi River begins as a mere trickle that precedes its long journey toward the Gulf of Mexico.
One of the most realistic boozy scents I've come across. The opening is a very intense, fruity, cognac accord. This is Apple Brandy done the right way, quite honestly. The dry-down loses much of this intensity, unfortunately, becoming softer and sweeter with a woody backbone. I wouldn't mind this as much if there were a prominent tobacco accord mixed in, or something else to help give it a more interesting structure past the opening.
Overall, this is definitely an impressive cognac scent an a must-try for lovers of the genre. I give it a thumbs-up for being one of the best in its class.
This one is a more avant garde marine scent than I was expecting, which is a good thing. Not a typical designer aquatic whatsoever. However, I got a distinct scent memory of Neutrogena Body Mist Sunscreen every time I would wear this one. It's an interesting association that does bring to mind summertime for me, but is probably not something that I need a perfume to remind me of specifically.
Overall, I did find this one enjoyable, and I'm giving it a thumbs-up for it's uniqueness among a never-ending sea of marine perfumes.
As stated below, this one bears similarities to some other recent, popular releases. It comes across to me as a sweetened synth overload compared to earlier releases from this house. A hard-pass for me, and a significant disappointment compared to the original Limited 71 release from two years earlier.
I get a nice punch of neroli in the opening, juxtaposed with a dry tobacco accord. This creates an interesting balance of freshness vs darkness, which is my favorite part of this perfume. In a short time, these notes fade to the background as the cedar comes front and center. It is a dry, aromatic, realistic cedar ... but at the same time very linear, and after a while, possibly a bit simplistic and boring. A nice scent for the transition of late summer into early fall, in my opinion. A must-try for cedar lovers. Enjoyable to me for what it is, but this won't be to everyone's taste.
(This review is of the vintage bottle with a white, paper label)
I have been wearing Pour un Homme de Caron in one form or another for almost 50 years: All through the 70's and 80's, Caron made the complimentary "necessaires de toilette" that were offered to passengers on Air France flights: Men got Pour un Homme, and the ladies initially got "Bellodgia" then later they changed it to "Eau de Caron." The men's version contained two glass flacons and a small bar of soap encased in a heavy clam shell carrier. My inaugural introduction to Pour un Homme occurred while submitting helplessly to severe trouble after having excused myself to visit the loo, always a fun experience when you are on a jet, and you are 5, to empty an entire flacon over my head then emerge screaming that it had burned my eyes, also handily perfuming the entire cabin just for everyone's pleasure. Having traveled back and forth from France constantly (Paris-NY, then later Paris-LA) I collected whole drawers full of these flacons and soaps, considering them like precious cargo. I was a dapper smelling 7 year old: Perfectly groomed in my little navy suit with the white pearl buttons, and matching hat. It stood to reason, and was perfectly logical, that Pour Un Homme would stay with me. I considered it a precious "perfume," when my mother would send me huge bottles of Eau du Coq or Eau Impériale during times I was off at school. A tiny splash of Pour un Homme layered atop these maintained my now famous aura of fragrant perfection. As I grew up, I toyed with other things. Jicky, then, when the Guerlain boutiques finally began selling it to the public, Mouchoir de Monsieur, became my signatures, and they remain so to this day, only, they are almost always augmented by a bit of Pour un Homme: Caron now even make a fragrant hand sanitizer for these barbaric times of plaque. In the winter months, when the world turns frozen, I have taken to using first finger dabs of "Impact," and now strategic puffs of "Parfum" both of which I find comforting. These intense versions do something the Eau de Toilette doesn't, as their base notes are increased dramatically, and the strength of their vanilla and musk foundations are far more noticeable, though "Impact" is more gluey. Each version of Pour Un Homme is indeed different, "Impacte" being the most noticeably altered: It has so much coumarin in it that it truly does smell like glue, or, as most Americans will define this note, "Play-Dough." The newer version, aptly called "parfum" is simply deeper, more velvety and in many ways more suave and sensual. It is for use exclusively in cold climates, and in those cold climates, during times the world is frozen: There is nothing more delicate and comforting than the effluvia of Pour Un Homme Parfum lingering endlessly on a scarf, or, more seductively, on the rolled part of a roll neck cashmere jumper. Pour un Homme in any strength requires a certain amount of confidence to carry, though it is simple, it presents a gravitas that not many mens scents might match. There are few things that have remained as they were for all of the long years of our lives, but I might confidently attest that this menu of refined indulgences is one of them. Approach with caution, but if you dare, indulge with abandon. Life is short. Savor every moment.
L'Impact de Pour Un Homme hit the market as a bit of an eccentricity both at the time of it's original release in the 1930's, and in 2005. In 70 years Pour Un Homme had become a best selling Eau de Toilette fairly synonymous with the idea of French men of a certain "genre," and in 2005 an unexpected recreation was confidentially re-issued by Caron House Perfumer Richard Fraysse, daringly labeled "L'Impact," and in extract form. Of all the Parfumeurs of the world, the famously auguste Caron could do this with intent, and purpose: It is said that Pour Un Homme, originally called "Les Plus Belles Lavandes," was the first extract perfume aimed specifically at a male clientèle, making abstraction of Guerlain's Mouchoir de Monsieur which pre-dates it by 30 years. In all fairness, it is true that, for the longest time, Mouchoir de Monsieur was not simply available to buy at Guerlain, and I do remember those years: The vendeuses would let you smell it, but you couldn't buy it on the spot. It was a bit as though you had to "apply" for it, like a job. It was only made for Kings of Spain and Actors. Pour Un Homme/Les Plus Belles Lavandes, on the other hand, was from the get go full throttle available, advertised in the best journals, and quickly became a sensation among the upper échalons of society. So many famous French men have worn this as a signature that it would be a senseless and tiresome exercise to list them, though that long list does include the likes of Serge Gainsbourg, several French Presidents, and Hommes de Lettres, among countless others. I'm not here to name drop. Caron, it should be remembered, was a more prestigious house than Guerlain. It was more expensive, more rarefied; while Guerlain always had a touch of Provincial quaintness. Caron, to this day, will never be having something as common as that. So much has been said, so many legends: The French would whisper that Guerlain was for roués and easy women, Actresses and Dancers. Caron was for Sovereigns and Grandes Dames. Guerlain was organic. Caron was kaleidoscopic. It's all true, really, when you examine the histories of both houses, Guerlain may be older, but they were chemists, and they did, in fact, joyfully cater to the demi-monde. Caron, on the contrary, was never anything but a wildly luxurious, famously exclusive gilded salon where only the very nec plus ultra of patrons were allowed and invited to browse. Now back to L'Impact: The discussion at hand. Richard Fraysse made at first only a dozen of these bottles, and sold them in the Paris Boutique in Avenue Montaigne to known repeat clients, as it was said by marketing executives that such a thing could never be marketed. When the Parisian Dandy Brigade raved, waving their mouchoirs and flinching their long side parted coiffures, a few bottles were sent to America, at Bergdorf-Goodman, where those exquisitely clad New York Swells all immediately fell into an Hermès briefcase dropping swoon. Then, all over they appeared, here and there...Russia, South America, The Middle East, always in small quantities. The idea was to recreate "Les Plus Belles Lavandes/Pour Un Homme" as it had been, and was no more, sparing no expense: Pushing concentrations to the brinks of legality. Years later, when Caron had changed hands and Monsieur Fraysse was diligently attempting to please a more modern, perhaps younger customer, a similar experiment was done in 2014 for the "Millésime 2014" limited edition, but as a more easily worn and understood eau de toilette. Later still, right before Caron almost disappeared, an Eau de Parfum version, simply called "Parfum," was launched, in a fetching ombré glass bottle. Obviously, all of these being Caron, a house that has never suffered mediocrity, not a single one isn't delightful. Oui, mais....Ah, but...ah, but "L'Impact," it's different. To be blunt, you should know, if you are not absolutely wild about Pour Un Homme, you will not be wild about "L'Impact." However, if you ever had a fondness for this Fitzgeraldian old sport, "L'Impact" will return the favor. Of all the versions, it has a coumarin and tonka bean content that defies logic, it's so thick with lavender absolute and resins that it's oily. Be warned. Those who say "Pour Un Homme" smells like "play dough" will smell nothing else but that, whatever it is, in "L'Impact." On the other end of the spectrum, those enlightened souls who love and are devoted wearers of Pour Un Homme will faint in ecstasy upon first application, for us, "L'Impact" is nothing short of bliss. It is one of those things that will have eyes rolling up into heads, toes curling, like an orgasm. It is a serious, serious indulgence into the realms of decadence the likes of which only Caron could provide: For once, it's not about a 9000 Euro Baccarat flacon, it's about three ounces of green juice that will set your heart and soul on fire with amour. Almost all basenotes, and perfectly linear, "L'Impact" starts off shockingly resiny and gluey, then just keeps getting darker, darker, darker. What's more, it lasts and lasts...A beautiful thing such as this will probably never be allowed to be made, ever again. L'Impacte makes no concessions to modern tastes, salability, commercialism, popularity, being understood by the masses, or being anything at all other than what it is. A sentiment echoed by new Perfumer Jean Jacques creation "Aimez-Moi Comme Je Suis." Here we have the last gasp of the ever intrepid house of Caron being unflinchingly Caron, but not just in name. Get it if you can. It you already have it, use it when it's cold. Savor it and cherish it, because it is history in a bottle, and not just any history. It's true. A gloriously dark and abstruse gesture it is to show up in a cloud of "L'Impact," but just as some things work for some, and other things work for others, we who will wear this are out there, sometimes in places you'd never expect to find us, and we will wear it without shame. Go right ahead, now: You can all whisper amongst yourselves that we smell like play dough: We don't care. Wherever we go, we are in it for the impact.