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Bohemian Rhapsody Computer Translation: Bohemian Word Spill.
According to many, it is already considered an absurd matter to write comments about fragrances. Certainly, this is the case when one, like me, takes it upon themselves to delve into the last corners of the Bohemian cologne and aftershave world and describe them literarily. But that doesn’t bother me. By the way, it is truly a phenomenon how many local and traditional aftershaves and colognes this small landlocked country with under 10 million inhabitants still produces! So let’s get started with highly detailed explanations on this very important matter:
NAME: "Olimon" is not a Czech word (as far as I know), but is presumably meant to sound good and could also be a rather unmindful combination and contraction of the Greek prefix "Oligo-" (few) (e.g., known from "oligarchy" = rule of a few individuals) with "Limon," thus a slightly citrusy aftershave. Which would actually fit quite well (see below).
MANUFACTURER: Of all the Bohemian aftershaves and colognes I have tested and commented on so far, this is the first and only one that is not from "Alpa" or "Astrid." The box lists "Schicht s.r.o." as the manufacturer, while the label on the bottle states "Spolpharm s.r.o." The same address is given for both companies online. By the way, the website of the manufacturer "Schicht" is very nicely and modernly designed; it appears to be a traditional company dating back to before the war that produces various drugstore products. The cleaning and detergent series "Jelen" (Deer) is prominently featured, which seems to be somewhat the Czech equivalent of the German "Frosch" (eco-image). The products are wonderfully "vintage" designed; I recently brought back a pure soap and a detergent from the Czech Republic because the packaging was so beautiful. However, this aftershave is no longer listed on "Schicht's" homepage, but rather some strange Pitralon license offshoot. Odd. This urban Bohemian Olimon would fit the image much better. Whether Olimon has been outsourced to "Spolpharm" or is no longer produced at all, Commissario Odorato, who conducted these external investigations, could not determine due to the heat and instead ended up in a beer hall.
AVAILABILITY: Therefore, there is no reliable information regarding its long-term availability. Currently, the stuff is still available in stores (across the border).
PRODUCT: Olimon is - like most "Czechs" - a traditional, honest aftershave, almost viscous, with very good caring properties that fulfills its purpose. I like the scent the least of all the candidates in the series so far: In the opening, it is very citrusy, but afterwards hardly at all, then a mélange prevails that leaves me somewhat perplexed. I would describe it as "woody with an unspecific, unpleasant undertone." A fellow tester found it "sweetish" (no, I disagree) and "pure-soap-like" (I could go along with that, but pure soap smells nicer). So maybe "woody-pure-soap-like with citrus undertones and a strange surrounding."
STRENGTH: For the skin, Olimon is soothing; for the mind, it is reassuring that the less convincing scent is not very strong. There is no huge projection at all. After 5 minutes, the moderate opening sillage has collapsed like a failed soufflé into the flatness of a pancake, and after about 1-2 hours, the last skin-close remnants have vanished.
BOTTLE: Unlike the Astrid and Alpa bottles, which usually appear to be a mix of pre-war design and communist industrial charm (more in the sense of a Stalinist blast-furnace aristocracy aesthetic à la Berlin’s Karl-Marx-Allee), Olimon (at least the bottle, the box could also be from the "West") really comes off as somewhat Eastern-trashy. The bottle is made of white glass, simply cylindrical, with a large cap made of cheap, thin, white plastic. The unremarkable label is slightly crooked. The pouring opening has been reduced by a plastic insert, making it necessary to shake vigorously to get a reasonable amount out. At least no MSRP is indicated.
Whoever has made it through this text to one of the most obscure topics in the world up to this point deserves a trophy from me.
NAME: "Olimon" is not a Czech word (as far as I know), but is presumably meant to sound good and could also be a rather unmindful combination and contraction of the Greek prefix "Oligo-" (few) (e.g., known from "oligarchy" = rule of a few individuals) with "Limon," thus a slightly citrusy aftershave. Which would actually fit quite well (see below).
MANUFACTURER: Of all the Bohemian aftershaves and colognes I have tested and commented on so far, this is the first and only one that is not from "Alpa" or "Astrid." The box lists "Schicht s.r.o." as the manufacturer, while the label on the bottle states "Spolpharm s.r.o." The same address is given for both companies online. By the way, the website of the manufacturer "Schicht" is very nicely and modernly designed; it appears to be a traditional company dating back to before the war that produces various drugstore products. The cleaning and detergent series "Jelen" (Deer) is prominently featured, which seems to be somewhat the Czech equivalent of the German "Frosch" (eco-image). The products are wonderfully "vintage" designed; I recently brought back a pure soap and a detergent from the Czech Republic because the packaging was so beautiful. However, this aftershave is no longer listed on "Schicht's" homepage, but rather some strange Pitralon license offshoot. Odd. This urban Bohemian Olimon would fit the image much better. Whether Olimon has been outsourced to "Spolpharm" or is no longer produced at all, Commissario Odorato, who conducted these external investigations, could not determine due to the heat and instead ended up in a beer hall.
AVAILABILITY: Therefore, there is no reliable information regarding its long-term availability. Currently, the stuff is still available in stores (across the border).
PRODUCT: Olimon is - like most "Czechs" - a traditional, honest aftershave, almost viscous, with very good caring properties that fulfills its purpose. I like the scent the least of all the candidates in the series so far: In the opening, it is very citrusy, but afterwards hardly at all, then a mélange prevails that leaves me somewhat perplexed. I would describe it as "woody with an unspecific, unpleasant undertone." A fellow tester found it "sweetish" (no, I disagree) and "pure-soap-like" (I could go along with that, but pure soap smells nicer). So maybe "woody-pure-soap-like with citrus undertones and a strange surrounding."
STRENGTH: For the skin, Olimon is soothing; for the mind, it is reassuring that the less convincing scent is not very strong. There is no huge projection at all. After 5 minutes, the moderate opening sillage has collapsed like a failed soufflé into the flatness of a pancake, and after about 1-2 hours, the last skin-close remnants have vanished.
BOTTLE: Unlike the Astrid and Alpa bottles, which usually appear to be a mix of pre-war design and communist industrial charm (more in the sense of a Stalinist blast-furnace aristocracy aesthetic à la Berlin’s Karl-Marx-Allee), Olimon (at least the bottle, the box could also be from the "West") really comes off as somewhat Eastern-trashy. The bottle is made of white glass, simply cylindrical, with a large cap made of cheap, thin, white plastic. The unremarkable label is slightly crooked. The pouring opening has been reduced by a plastic insert, making it necessary to shake vigorously to get a reasonable amount out. At least no MSRP is indicated.
Whoever has made it through this text to one of the most obscure topics in the world up to this point deserves a trophy from me.
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Yatagan
Cappellusman
