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Top Review
Long Nose
If you compare what (English-speaking) Wikipedia has to say about Mr. Alvise (actually Lodovico) Gritti and what the Gritti company shares in their "About" section, you find so few parallels that doubts arise as to whether they are indeed talking about the same person. However, the chronological context speaks a clear language. We are supposed to believe that Mr. Gritti, back in the day, had enough time for alchemy alongside diplomacy, business dealings, intrigues, regency, war, etc. Well, such universality does exist. But that he not only engaged in the production of fragrances but also - surprisingly avant-garde - dealt with their effects on emotional life? Aha.
Presumably, this previously largely unrecognized universal genius also invented whisky - a thought that the information and the peaty scent impression after about two hours must simply suggest (although I admit that I wouldn't have thought of 'whisky' on my own due to my lack of expertise in that area). Alright. Probably the whisky was originally called Alviski before the Scots and Irish cheekily usurped the term. Overall, I feel just a tiny bit duped, similar to the bizarre origin story of Carthusia. However, we must attest that the Venetians have definitely added a lot more to the mix.
Speaking of a lot - let's finally start at the beginning: Endless patchouli opens. What is called a top note is initially ruthlessly buried and has to struggle to dig itself out of the thick pile (fresh, completely non-musty earth, of course…). First, cinnamon manages to break through, then cistus and cardamom. The bergamot is quickly suffocated.
After a quarter of an hour, tarry leather appears, in wonderfully wicked harmony with the dominant-strong patchouli. A hint of vanilla softens it. Nevertheless, the scent has turned out wonderfully noble-dark. Alvise Gritti, an apparently flamboyant Venetian at the intersection of Southeast European and Ottoman politics in the early sixteenth century. I let myself be carried away by the historical context and think of Iago, the antagonist of Ot(h)ello in Shakespeare or Verdi. He might be a suitable bearer, although such a Iago must already possess a considerable acting presence to not fade away in the first hours of the scent's development.
Late in the morning, I agree with the rubber note diagnosed by Ergoproxy in his statement. Whether it actually comes from the vetiver, I cannot say. I would have guessed something resinous. Dark smoke, compact-non-musty patchouli, rugged leather, resin, surrounded by gentle sweetness. I like that.
Around noon, the sweetness gradually gains weight. Unfortunately, it brings a hint of that sweetened cream note that Guajak reliably produces for me. I don't like that. Hey, Iago, don't falter now! Perhaps the villain, due to all his fuss around Desdemona's alleged infidelity, suddenly has his own desires for the lady and tries to win her over with an extra portion of vanilla cream.
To the scent's credit, it successfully resists slipping into sweet fluff. For example, it surprisingly offers an occasionally brighter-changing incense note, as well as a sour leather nuance, bitter rubber, and - as primus inter pares - robust patchouli reminiscences that flash forth reliably and distinctly time and again. Nice. The longevity is very good, and the presence in the room is also notable. Scent-wise, the trace of sweet cream-Guajak remains the only blemish for me.
However, a side note needs to be mentioned: The Grittis demand a hefty price for their creation. 234 euros for 100ml. Therefore, I strongly recommend testing the kindred spirit (not a scent twin!) Anubis by Papillon Artisan Perfumes to interested parties. Although it is even a bit pricier when calculated per 100ml, it comes in a more collection-compatible 50ml size. Personally, I find the sweetness of the finish in Anubis equally well-controlled. Plus, the name is cooler.
And anyone who wants to remember Alvise for the prospect of high-dose, edgy, crypt-free patchouli should (assuming a certain vanilla tolerance) also add Monsieur. by Frederic Malle directly to the list.
Conclusion: You have stature, Mr. Alvise Gritti! Your long nose can be forgiven this time…
I thank MisterE for the sample.
Presumably, this previously largely unrecognized universal genius also invented whisky - a thought that the information and the peaty scent impression after about two hours must simply suggest (although I admit that I wouldn't have thought of 'whisky' on my own due to my lack of expertise in that area). Alright. Probably the whisky was originally called Alviski before the Scots and Irish cheekily usurped the term. Overall, I feel just a tiny bit duped, similar to the bizarre origin story of Carthusia. However, we must attest that the Venetians have definitely added a lot more to the mix.
Speaking of a lot - let's finally start at the beginning: Endless patchouli opens. What is called a top note is initially ruthlessly buried and has to struggle to dig itself out of the thick pile (fresh, completely non-musty earth, of course…). First, cinnamon manages to break through, then cistus and cardamom. The bergamot is quickly suffocated.
After a quarter of an hour, tarry leather appears, in wonderfully wicked harmony with the dominant-strong patchouli. A hint of vanilla softens it. Nevertheless, the scent has turned out wonderfully noble-dark. Alvise Gritti, an apparently flamboyant Venetian at the intersection of Southeast European and Ottoman politics in the early sixteenth century. I let myself be carried away by the historical context and think of Iago, the antagonist of Ot(h)ello in Shakespeare or Verdi. He might be a suitable bearer, although such a Iago must already possess a considerable acting presence to not fade away in the first hours of the scent's development.
Late in the morning, I agree with the rubber note diagnosed by Ergoproxy in his statement. Whether it actually comes from the vetiver, I cannot say. I would have guessed something resinous. Dark smoke, compact-non-musty patchouli, rugged leather, resin, surrounded by gentle sweetness. I like that.
Around noon, the sweetness gradually gains weight. Unfortunately, it brings a hint of that sweetened cream note that Guajak reliably produces for me. I don't like that. Hey, Iago, don't falter now! Perhaps the villain, due to all his fuss around Desdemona's alleged infidelity, suddenly has his own desires for the lady and tries to win her over with an extra portion of vanilla cream.
To the scent's credit, it successfully resists slipping into sweet fluff. For example, it surprisingly offers an occasionally brighter-changing incense note, as well as a sour leather nuance, bitter rubber, and - as primus inter pares - robust patchouli reminiscences that flash forth reliably and distinctly time and again. Nice. The longevity is very good, and the presence in the room is also notable. Scent-wise, the trace of sweet cream-Guajak remains the only blemish for me.
However, a side note needs to be mentioned: The Grittis demand a hefty price for their creation. 234 euros for 100ml. Therefore, I strongly recommend testing the kindred spirit (not a scent twin!) Anubis by Papillon Artisan Perfumes to interested parties. Although it is even a bit pricier when calculated per 100ml, it comes in a more collection-compatible 50ml size. Personally, I find the sweetness of the finish in Anubis equally well-controlled. Plus, the name is cooler.
And anyone who wants to remember Alvise for the prospect of high-dose, edgy, crypt-free patchouli should (assuming a certain vanilla tolerance) also add Monsieur. by Frederic Malle directly to the list.
Conclusion: You have stature, Mr. Alvise Gritti! Your long nose can be forgiven this time…
I thank MisterE for the sample.
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Where can I get it?