About a hundred years after the very beautiful "yellow" Cologne of Alvarez Gomez, which I have already appreciated elsewhere, the traditional Spanish fragrance house has decided to launch a brown variant (already according to the label). However, this is not a flanker, but a fragrance of its own kind.
The occasional reminiscences of refreshment sticks (which, by the way, I like very much if they are well chilled, hmmmm) that are brought into play here, I can't quite understand. Because this barber is not only not sweet at all for me, but also surprisingly little citric, and if anything, then rather upside down orange. But one by one and systematically:
With "Barberia" (Spanish for barber, barber shop - but maybe a little play on words with ruibarbo for rhubarb) I have to overcome a double use.
First of all: I spray the fragrance very, very generously (and by that I mean twenty sprays, in the sense of a splash surrogate spray) - and after a very, very short, hot-spicy citric reminding of cloves and cardamom I feel nothing (which is why I spray more and more). This is very strange and has never happened to me with any other fragrance. Only after a few minutes does the scent emerge from the depths of the room, becoming stronger and stronger. It's as if it had been completely absorbed by the skin first, only to configure itself inside the body and after the finissage experienced there, neatly combed and brushed, to come to the surface again.
Then there is a rather difficult phase to overcome. It's as if, instead of the head note typical Hesperidik, first of all a hot ginger, but above all a sour rhubarb and a, well, let's say, strict coriander reigns. The rhubarb is possibly from the rhubarb cake of Trudchen Korianke, because her husband - as Fittleworth's commentary proves - appreciates this scent very much and keeps it in stock in his barber shop. The cake is not sweet, however, but at most sour-fresh. Coriander does not appear here as the cake-spice-like coriander powder obtained from the seeds or fruits, but as the coriander herb that many (including me) find very difficult to use, and which is used as a seasoning herb in South American, Asian, but also partly Iberian cuisine, among other things. It is not for nothing that it is also called "bugweed" because of its smell
In this phase, in which I still perceive certain floral overhangs - which were not recorded in the pyramid - Barberia is in any case a clear statement. It's not wuss water. Whoever complains here gets, as once with Wanda, a tuft of bugweed as a gag and a rhubarb stick stuck into each nostril.
About half an hour later Barberia starts shooting and for the remaining 6 to 7 (very close even 15) hours she becomes much calmer and more stable and takes on a completely different character. The citrus fruits, which strangely enough only now come out of the bush like zieten, go in the direction of viscous, herb-dark bitter orange oil; I don't even notice any volatile mountain aromas. In addition, the wearer is given a one-a-treatment with a first-class shaving soap from a wonderful wooden crucible. By the way, the soap note should also come from the coriander, whose aldehydes like to play soap when they're not playing a bug (cute rascals, that one!). Here and only here (for me) a certain (but very creamy and not at all sweet) sweetness comes into play.
If the turbulences of the first hour are survived, Barberia is for me a really very successful, special and also very masculine, yet round, massive and in itself resting, smoothly polished, almost a little velvety, orange-dark brown cologne. It is already on the very edge of the fragrance genre and could almost be called a classic-modern, tart and soft eau de toilette. A colleague of mine, who is famous for her synaesthetic inclinations, not only found Barberia very successful, but also "chocolate to fawn brown" at my request for a more detailed description of the fragrance
Normally, I reject fragrances where I have to go through an unpleasant phase because I think there are enough that are beautiful in all their phases. Here I hold it differently and cherish this fine gift of a highly appreciated co-perfume. Because the rhubarb phase is not really bad, but just, uh, demanding. And besides, you never know if you'll ever meet Gaukeleya in your life, and if you do, you'd better have the bottle with you, as her comment, which is also highly recommended to all (adult) readers, proves.
Top Notes 
Heart Notes 
Base Notes 
