Perfume Reviews by PStoller

Thays by Fueguia 1833

Thays opens bright green, with the mix of citrus and florals up top somehow creating an apple-like accord. Soon enough, the green tea takes prominence, but it remains too complex to feels like a soliflore. The drydown ends in a grassy-spicy space. Plenty of surprises in this one!

Cactus Azul by Fueguia 1833

How much this smells like cactus flower, blue or otherwise, I couldn’t say. Fortunately, the other notes are a pleasure, especially the prominent mix of citrus, cedar, patchouli, and mint. Apply generously to be well rewarded. FB-worthy.

Vinoud by Ibrahim Fuhaid

The white wine and green apple top notes of Vinoud are—interesting. The rather odd wine note soon fades, leaving a fine, complex smoky/leathery oud (a blend of four, supposedly) with a bit of unconventional apple sweetness. It’s still unusual, and effective in a manner not unlike fruit-sweetened tobacco.

I wonder whether a version of Vinoud might have worked without the natural deer musk and ambergris, which I perceive as bit players rather than featured. For now, it seems Fuhaid has no plans to attempt such an update of his debut fragrance, rendering Vinoud a unicorn. After a second limited edition release with deer musk and ambergris, A Night in Andalusia, sold out, he released two fragrances without those ingredients that as of this writing constitute his entire catalog. I haven’t tried any beyond Vinoud, but my curiosity is piqued.

Irissime by Jacques Fath

This is a paint-by-numbers sweet white floral with something peachy in it; not too big, nothing to offend, but also nothing to intrigue. I’ve never smelled the fabled Iris Gris, but it can’t have been much like this to achieve its lofty reputation. Discontinued, not hard to find, not worth the trouble.

Cassis Chypre by SKLVA

Ann Sokolova does something right with Cassis Chypre: she emphasizes the blackcurrant berries by omitting other sweet fruit notes, supporting instead with herbs, spices, and resins, and using juniper, vetiver, and patchouli to further suggest leaves and branches.

Without bergamot and labdanum, It’s not a classic chypre in structure, but instead a more interesting, perhaps unique, variation. Of course, innovation in perfumery isn’t worth much if it doesn’t smell good. Fortunately, Cassis Chypre smells very good indeed. Recommended.

Cologne Grand Luxe by Fragonard

I’m of the mind that neroli is sweet enough without throwing mandarin into the mix, but this is otherwise a pleasant, natural-smelling citrus and lavender cologne; and kudos to Fragonard for pricing it at $73/200ml, which is what such a thing should cost.

Reunion Vanilla by Farmacia SS. Annunziata

F. SS. A. describes the vanilla and orchid heart as “an embrace sealing the union of known and unknown.” Vanilla would surely be the known; orchid, perhaps the un-. You won’t learn much more about orchid from this, given the gourmand vanilla focus and the musk/ambrox base.

As such things go, this is pretty nice. However, I’m not enamored of such things.

Fiore di Cotone by Farmacia SS. Annunziata

Vanilla-sweetened lavender; not quite as much vanilla as Caron Pour un Homme, though I’d still have preferred less in favor of more thyme. Here, the creases on the freshly ironed cotton shirt aren’t as crisp as they could be. Nice nonetheless.

While not especially expensive, still a bit pricey given the proliferation of aromatic lavenders.

Eau de Grès by Grès

If the Interwebs are any indication, nobody knows nuttin‘ about this. I mean, the handful of usual suspects know it exists, although they can’t agree whether it was issued in 1980 or 1981, or whether it was feminine or unisex. But there’s no credited perfumer, no pyramid or even notes. There isn’t even an entry for it at Fragrantica; and here, as of this posting, there’s no pic and (until now) no review.

The most info I’ve read anywhere is when former BN member Sniffman posted, “The scent is fresh-green. … Homme de Grès is basically a clone of Quiproquo (see my 2009 review). Eau de Grès (1981) smells more like Grès pour Homme (1965).” Alas, Sniffman reviewed neither Eau de Grès nor Grès pour Homme, and he has long since entered self-exile, so we’ll never know exactly what he meant.

So, uh, yeah, “fresh-green.” But maybe not what that means to you. You might think, minty, piney, zesty sharp/dry citrus. Well, no, not that. Think more of a rich, slightly funky late spring to early summer green: juicy, grassy green with sweet-and-sour bergamot, patchouli, and herbs over a mossy base. So, not sporty-fresh, and nothing like an eau de cologne. Eau de Grès is neither simple nor light.

I doubt EdG was intended as a feminine c.1980; unisex or even masculine seems more likely. The packaging is similar to Grès Eau de Cologne, issued around the same time. (When I tried that one, I found it similar to Eau de Grès, but less.) In any case, this is substantial perfumery. So, why is it so little known?

The House of Grès was in grave fiscal trouble in the early 1980s. Lacking either a hit fragrance or a hit fashion season, Alix Grès had to choose: she sold off Parfums Grès in 1982 to support her couture business.

Eau de Grès is good stuff, but under those circumstances, it didn’t stand a chance.

Brunello Cucinelli pour Homme by Brunello Cucinelli

Brunello Cucinelli pour Homme has got plenty of spice and wood (although it’s not quite Spice and Wood). Pepper and ginger are clearly evident; the stated juniper, not so much. I’m not intimate enough with a range of woods to tell you if this really smells like cypress: it’s non-scratchy cedar and distilled patchouli to me.

Is this interesting? Is it distinctive? No, and no. Sexy? Also no. Instead, It’s a solid dry, woody masculine that’s easy to wear to the office, and at under $2/ml, not crazy expensive. Would I buy it? That’s another no: I already have better options, and if I didn’t, I’d rather go with something like, say, Zaharoff Signature. But this is perfectly serviceable for a man who likes the idea of perfectly serviceable. That’s not the typical Cucinelli customer, which strikes me as a marketing misfire, but the fragrance itself is fine. So, a qualified thumbs-up.

Atlantic Ambergris II by Areej le Doré

At this admittedly early point in my Areej explorations, I'd expect a faceful of oud from anything in the house. Instead, Atlantic Ambergris 2 is not only oud-free, but also devoid of the other heavy animalics—castoreum, civet, deer musk—for which ALD seems to be known. Those elements might have run roughshod over the subtle, complex, airy-briny ambergris, reducing it to more of a supporting role. In AA2, Russian Adam has chosen to blend it with an imaginative mix of tropical florals, spices, resins, and orris (amongst other things), resulting in a delicate and special synthesis—more than the sum of its parts, without obscuring any of them. The light touch stands in marked contrast to some of ALD's swaggering (though sophisticated) ouds, demonstrating considerable range on Russian Adam's part. Fine stuff.

Russian Musk II by Areej le Doré

Published Notes:

Top: fir, lemon, pine tree, bergamot, mandarin orange

Heart: orange blossom, sandalwood, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, tonka bean

Base: natural musk, oakmoss, cypress, amber, agarwood (oud), galbanum, vetiver, rose, patchouli

Velvet Rope by Apothia

There’s some juniper along with the grapefruit on top to create a kinda/sorta martini accord—gin, not vodka—but it’s fleeting, and the rest is anything but dry. If your idea of a martini is cheap vanilla liqueur and vermouth with a white flower drowning in it, this might be for you. But, also, you don’t know what a martini is; and as for Apothia: Worst. Bartender. Ever.

You’d need a velvet rope to keep people from *leaving* this club. Awful.

Bitter Orange by Agraria

With reviews including comparisons to room spray and potpourri, I should note that these are exactly what Agraria sells Bitter Orange as, along with diffuser oil, candles, and incense-style sticks. Agraria has always been a room-fragrance company. If they ever sold anything as eau de whatever, they apparently don't now. I vote with the positive responses, but I have no qualms about wearing the scent, either: the orange, clove, cypress, and olibanum profile suits me. Then again, on the off chance that it's not skin-safe, I'd probably stick to using it as a room scent in the future.

Morning Muscs by Alexandre.J

I’ve been trying to decide all day how I feel about Morning Muscs. My judgment hinges on the difference between “refreshed” and “drenched.” The latter comes courtesy of watery mandarin and peach notes, ultimately rendering this fruity-floral too fruity for me.

François by Teone Reinthal Natural Perfume

It wouldn’t do to simply call François an orange blossom chypre. It’s the patchouli that rules here, with a woody-earthy complexity that rivals TRNP’s ouds. Deep, dark, and sexy.

Eau de Shalimar by Guerlain

Setting aside any great expectations of Shalimar-ness, I'm pleasantly surprised by this one. For one thing, the vanilla—generally not my favorite note—benefits from restraint and the Guerlain touch. I don't think any other house does vanilla as well. The gentle citrus on top, understated floral heart, and clean, powdery iris in the base make for a light, easy-wearing fragrance. It hasn't got all the magic of Guerlain's greatest creations. But it does have just enough to elevate it above the generic composition it seems to be on paper. It's not especially "me," so I'm not likely to hunt down a bottle. If you're looking for a vanilla-iris cologne, though, you'd do well to sample this one.

Shalimar Parfum Initial by Guerlain

A few notes aside, this is Shalimar in name only. The opening is a cacophony of green, fruity, and aldehydic notes, pulling it this way and that. Eventually, it dries down to a patchouli and musk thing, with just enough vetiver to smell vaguely of petroleum. It’s hard to pin down—and I’m not sure it’s worth the trouble.

Shalimar Souffle de Parfum by Guerlain

Watery, jasmine-tinged orange with a white musk that smells for all the world like a minty tongue depressor. Why call this Shalimar? For that matter, why call this Guerlain? Pfft.

First Time by MiN New York

Top: candied sugar, gourmand accord
Heart: rose syrup, Peru balsam, rose
Base: pistachio, ciste, hazelnut, patchouli

Between a toothache-inducing note pyramid and a pretentious description on the website, I was expecting something awful. The fragrance, however, benefits from its creators setting a low bar to clear. MiN whips enough air into the confection of Experimental: First Time to keep the opening from getting goopy, after which the rose, labdanum, and patchouli preserve some of the nuts' more savory character while still asserting their own. Forget the not-so-sly allusions to virginity: First Time is a seasoned gourmand.

Night by Akro

Forget the way Akro romanticizes one night stands in its promotional blurb. Night smells like one of those encounters where, the whole time you’re having sex—if not before—you’re asking yourself, “Why am I doing this?” It’s the scent of dirty ashtrays, stale sweat, cheap perfume, and prayers that the only souvenir will be the memory.

On the bright side, it could get you to give up cocaine.

Windsor by Ignacio Figueras

With a name like "Windsor," I'd have expected a proper fougère. With Windsor's very un-fougère-like note pyramid, I'd have expected something more exotic. Instead of either of those, I got mostly an indistinct LOTV-ish floral and ambroxan. Pass.

Awake by Akro

Surprise: Awake smells like coffee. Although spiced with cardamom and vetiver, the net result reminds me of coffee brewed with chicory. It's nice, but overly literal for my tastes—and my regular morning coffee smells better. Fine if you're looking for a coffee soliflore, but not especially interesting as a perfume. Might be good for layering.

And Your Lips by Floraïku

That candied jujube accord almost had me running for the soap. I toughed it out, and things got better. Just not a lot better. Oddly for a floral-themed house, the flowers in the heart never blossomed. Instead, that geranium raced right past the jasmine and rose, into the vanilla and white musk in the base.

I’m fine with subverting gender expectations in fragrance, but throwing sugar on a thin fougère isn’t a formula for femininity.