Les Royales Exclusives - Pure White Cologne 2012

Duesenduft
18.04.2021 - 04:55 AM
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5
Pricing
9
Bottle
7
Sillage
8
Longevity
9.5
Scent

Perfume Creedentials - or how I learned to love the pear

Between Irish tweed classics, butchering Vikings and fanatical apologists for Aventus, the Creed portfolio also includes true royals. Called Les Royales Exclusives, they cross every monetary pain threshold with the nonchalant shamelessness of British high nobility. At least, if you use bourgeois standards, as I do. So how can it be that I choose for my first review on Parfumo, of all things, a representative of Creed's high olfactocracy?

Well, it's because of the pear. More precisely: at the winter pear Pyris communis, also called "pastor pear". A variant available only in the winter months, which has all the trivial sweet-fruity summer varieties of William's Christ to Gellert's butter pear one thing ahead: an extremely fine, almost floating acidity, which never slips into the profane citrus sour and just as little to the sticky sweetness of, for example, a ripe Italian Abate pear condescends. This old pear variety has been cultivated in central France since 1760. And Creed Les Royales Exclusives Pure White Cologne is, to my nose, the first and possibly only perfume to authentically capture this unique pear tone. Different, more radical than Miller Harris' Coer de Jardin, the synthetic pear monster Arte Profumi Carpe Diem or Jean Paul Gauthier's clubbing bomb Ultra Mâle. In Creed's interpretation, less is indeed very much more. This may also be implied in the name, since white is the sum of all colors in the additive model of color theory. Let's take a sniff ...

Casually embracing the fading lemon and bergamot tones of the top note, the fine fruity pear rises in the heart note to remain there for a long, very long time. Clearly overlaying the neroline note, galbanum only hinted at, then after hours diffusing into a mountain of fragrant lalquilla rice and the classic Creed mix of amber and white musk. Which, after hours, leaves a scent perhaps reminiscent of a pile of white Egyptian cotton bed linen that has just been freshly washed and ironed by The Empress of Smooth laundry service in Peabody Square, London. Not clean, but pure. And a little bit more than that. Because even over this base note, there's still a hint of the winter pear hovering somewhere, taking away any detergent appeal. Fabulous! In sum, Pure White Cologne is fascinating and in this fragrance composition at least for me never smelled before. A gentleman's and gentlewoman's summer scent at its very best, very unique, very subtle, very confident and despite a wink completely unflirtatious. Amazingly long-lasting on textiles. On the skin a little less. My esteemed wife was able to sniff it close to the skin, as was I, for a good eight hours. The fact that the silage hardly keeps up with it is to be gotten over. Pure White Cologne is not an olfactory fog thrower and does not want to be that at all.

The price? Do not even ask. After all, even the prospective buyer of a Crewe-built luxury car, when asked about the performance of the contemplated companion, receives only the thin-lipped answer: "Enough".

Categorical rating:
Aristocratic-citrus-fresh

Olfactory evaluation:
Top notes: juicy yellow lemon (bergamot, grapefruit, lemon)
Heart notes: winter pear (pear, galbanum, neroli)
Base notes: lalquilla long grain rice and white musk (ambergris, rice flour, white musk)

Associative rating:
Thermal: cool like freshly fallen snow
Colorwise: bright white (canditus), ranging from frosty pure white to sunny warm white, ending in a misty light gray
Tactile: airy batiste linen
Musical: The Beatles' "White Album" (1968)
Literary: Peter Høeg "Miss Smilla's Sense of Snow"
Visual arts: Kazimir Malevich "The White Square" (1917)
Architecture: Le Corbusier with a dash of Taj Mahal

Conclusion: for me, I am in fragrances rather (but not exclusively) classically conservative oriented, next to Royal Mayfair the highlight of Creed. Highly recommended!

And finally, to return to the headline: Does the love of the pear now make me a Dr. Strangelove?
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