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07/28/2020
FvSpee
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Colonial goods IV: Nasen-Köm
Astor and Wellington are brothers in scent. They are both about 150 years old, both from Trumper and both from the Cologne series named after British generals and statesmen (Marlborough, Curzon, Wellington - but I don't really know who Astor is). Both combine the classic citrus freshness of a colognes with some quirky, quirky additions typical of the old-fashioned English men's perfumery craft.
However, these additions are as brown as brown can be with Astor, which is why I have classified Astor under the colonial goods and thus separated the brothers. Above all, Astor, in my opinion, in contrast to Wellington, has been successful despite all eccentricity.
My first scent impression (which may be the decisive one for a cologne, top note dazzling is much more likely to be allowed for scents that sometimes exhaust themselves in the top note than elsewhere), even before looking at the ingredient information: One half is a beautiful, atypical, elegant, silvery-matt citric; the other half is a pungency that at first seems a bit strange in a fragrance, but is quite appropriate, not unpleasant, clearly kitchen-like. I thought first of onions, second of horseradish (both sound worse than it smells), then I couldn't stand it any longer and looked at the scents.
Caraway seeds, of course! When you know it, you wonder how you didn't know it right away. Astor smells of caraway. In the opening phase, which lasts about half an hour to an hour, Astor is a citrus caraway scent, or, since citrus is so normal that it is not noticeable at all, actually a caraway scent, a nasal aquavit. There. You have to digest this first, whereby caraway is supposed to be very helpful
As a fragrance, caraway is not as rare as one might think. Parfumo lists 428 scents with caraway, including such disparate products as Diorama (women's fragrance by Dior, 1949), Polo, Azzaro Pour Homme and Tuscany Per Uomo (three powerhouse men's fragrances from 1978 to 1984), Le Male (needless to say, 1995), the millenarian (2000) Bruno Banani Men, Epic Woman (Amouage, 2009) and the hardcore niche product Ma Nishtana by Prissana (2019). Also two fragrances I own and love, Bel Ambre by Jacques Fath and Baudelaire by Byredo, contain caraway seeds.
But I don't know of any other fragrance except Astor, in which caraway plays the first, or at least a second violin that aggressively pushes itself into the foreground. It takes some getting used to, but together with the citric, I find it round and fitting.
There are no unpleasant surprises in the further course of the project either, on the contrary. Everything happens with wondrous precision and harmony: You think the scent is completely linear until you notice that the caraway is no longer there (after two hours at the latest). Its place at the side of the citrus freshness is completely unnoticed, and as if by magic, it is taken by a woody and towards the end also quite discreetly sweet (perhaps the musk) base. In this final phase Astor is still old-fashioned British, but no longer as eccentric culinary and spicy as in the beginning, but more conventional and inconspicuous.
After about four to five hours - with generous spraying - the simple, minimalist but thoroughly beautiful spectacle is over. The scent could probably last the whole day if it was sprayed. I'm probably not anglophile, brave or eccentric enough to buy a fragrance like Astor or wear it regularly. But it is successful, very special and worth a test.
However, these additions are as brown as brown can be with Astor, which is why I have classified Astor under the colonial goods and thus separated the brothers. Above all, Astor, in my opinion, in contrast to Wellington, has been successful despite all eccentricity.
My first scent impression (which may be the decisive one for a cologne, top note dazzling is much more likely to be allowed for scents that sometimes exhaust themselves in the top note than elsewhere), even before looking at the ingredient information: One half is a beautiful, atypical, elegant, silvery-matt citric; the other half is a pungency that at first seems a bit strange in a fragrance, but is quite appropriate, not unpleasant, clearly kitchen-like. I thought first of onions, second of horseradish (both sound worse than it smells), then I couldn't stand it any longer and looked at the scents.
Caraway seeds, of course! When you know it, you wonder how you didn't know it right away. Astor smells of caraway. In the opening phase, which lasts about half an hour to an hour, Astor is a citrus caraway scent, or, since citrus is so normal that it is not noticeable at all, actually a caraway scent, a nasal aquavit. There. You have to digest this first, whereby caraway is supposed to be very helpful
As a fragrance, caraway is not as rare as one might think. Parfumo lists 428 scents with caraway, including such disparate products as Diorama (women's fragrance by Dior, 1949), Polo, Azzaro Pour Homme and Tuscany Per Uomo (three powerhouse men's fragrances from 1978 to 1984), Le Male (needless to say, 1995), the millenarian (2000) Bruno Banani Men, Epic Woman (Amouage, 2009) and the hardcore niche product Ma Nishtana by Prissana (2019). Also two fragrances I own and love, Bel Ambre by Jacques Fath and Baudelaire by Byredo, contain caraway seeds.
But I don't know of any other fragrance except Astor, in which caraway plays the first, or at least a second violin that aggressively pushes itself into the foreground. It takes some getting used to, but together with the citric, I find it round and fitting.
There are no unpleasant surprises in the further course of the project either, on the contrary. Everything happens with wondrous precision and harmony: You think the scent is completely linear until you notice that the caraway is no longer there (after two hours at the latest). Its place at the side of the citrus freshness is completely unnoticed, and as if by magic, it is taken by a woody and towards the end also quite discreetly sweet (perhaps the musk) base. In this final phase Astor is still old-fashioned British, but no longer as eccentric culinary and spicy as in the beginning, but more conventional and inconspicuous.
After about four to five hours - with generous spraying - the simple, minimalist but thoroughly beautiful spectacle is over. The scent could probably last the whole day if it was sprayed. I'm probably not anglophile, brave or eccentric enough to buy a fragrance like Astor or wear it regularly. But it is successful, very special and worth a test.
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