Vétiver Fatal Atelier Cologne 2012

Vetiver Fatal. The images that spring to mind are quite like those offered by the sample postcard: a silver pistol, leather gloves, film noir, high-end writing instruments -- aggression and a timeworn class. And that's how it begins, with the confident, rooty, earthen aroma of vetiver. Then waddles in a baby, shining head-to-toe with the sheen of baby oil. No, you have not wandered into outtakes from a David Lynch movie; instead you have just experienced the not-so-beautiful letdown of Vetiver Fatal. Baby oil does not connote anything fatal, unless you believe that the marriage bed is the grave, but to quote James Joyce is how far you have to stretch to make this association work. Baby oil is the wrecking ball, and it dominates the vetiver, laying waste to it until a third incongruous element appears: a soapy-citrus accord. Maybe the grimy detective feels the need to eat a peach, and then take a bath after his long hard day pounding the pavement and taking odd cases from femme fatals? The name of this fragrance is accurate in one way -- it slayed me with a maul of disappointment. Longevity is eight hours, and silage is average, at a foot or so.