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Othello 2016

7.1 / 10 50 Ratings
A perfume by Il Profvmo for men, released in 2016. The scent is woody-spicy. It is being marketed by Valmont Group.
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Main accords

Woody
Spicy
Resinous
Citrus
Oriental

Fragrance Pyramid

Top Notes Top Notes
Mandarin orange zestMandarin orange zest Passion fruitPassion fruit Sicilian lemonSicilian lemon
Heart Notes Heart Notes
Queen-of-the-nightQueen-of-the-night Silver birchSilver birch Omani frankincenseOmani frankincense PatchouliPatchouli
Base Notes Base Notes
OudOud IvyIvy Rose honeyRose honey

Perfumer

Ratings
Scent
7.150 Ratings
Longevity
6.940 Ratings
Sillage
6.641 Ratings
Bottle
6.938 Ratings
Submitted by OPomone · last update on 03/14/2025.
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Reviews

2 in-depth fragrance descriptions
Gold

726 Reviews
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Gold
Gold
Top Review 14  
...and it is no drama
A perfumistic colossal painting, much like Verdi's opera, is not what this scent is for me personally. I expected more passionate force, but initially received only a delicate sensation of light citrus, not an overwhelming attack, but rather a conventionally appearing introduction. Soon, the composition becomes more exciting. Sage and vetiver take over. These two fit well with the already hinted background, although they do not represent a monumental pose from a stylistic perspective, which I would have expected from a perfume named Othello, but rather a calm, lyrical narration.
Verdi's opera thrives on great contrasts: passion versus delicacy, monumental versus lyrical. This contrast is not captured in the perfume.
Othello by Silvana Casoli is an excellent scent, yet it lacks, in my opinion, the wild substance that would characterize an Othello. Only the base is somewhat more interesting than the rest, with plenty of incense, fine sprinkles of oud, and light honey. Everything remains well-groomed and calm, yes, beautiful! Unfortunately, there is also no wildness or stylized malice incorporated into the scent here, as the line already hinted at in the top note is maintained. No outburst, no waves of passion. No weapon, no resistance against Jago, the truly evil character in the story! On stage, Othello often ends up stabbing himself in the belly with a dagger in most productions.
The Othello perfume, on the other hand, comes across as very unspectacular. It has no force but seems to have been composed with the effortless routine of an experienced perfumer. It partly appears somewhat gray-in-gray. While it is intelligently crafted, it somehow feels too little sinister or shocking.
Whether a perfume company would do well to olfactorily implement all classic operas at all costs is a question I often ask myself with creations like Othello. By starting so well-groomed, conventionally-classical, the scent opens up a great height of expectation. However, this is not sufficiently utilized as the journey progresses. As a black outsider, Othello is skillfully manipulated by Jago. One feels none of this tragedy in the scent.
Perhaps a perfume cannot reflect the depth of the music at all. Perhaps it should not refer to either Shakespeare or Verdi. Perhaps it should simply be called No. 38. Or No. 3. Or somehow, somehow not so terribly programmatic.
8 Comments
Torfdoen

41 Reviews
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Torfdoen
Torfdoen
Helpful Review 13  
Exotic Theater
„A copper-green disc, bordered in magenta, burned for two minutes on the underside of my closed eyelids, and when I opened my eyes again,
the stars were in the sky.” (from Brion Gysin, Storm in the Desert; Gasolin 23#8)

The mild night air leads from the railway bridge out of the city into a humid, dense tropical world, to whose elevated oxygen content (and whatever else is in the air) one must first acclimatize. Cerebral vegetation envelops like a clean bedsheet and buries one forever. A cool breeze of sage feels fresh, like a melted ice cube in a glass, which a mercilessly shining supernova has finished off on the dresser the next morning. The thirst leaves some of the thick syrup at the bottom of the glass, only attacking the electrified surface of the liquid, the film of wonderfully invigorating alcohol, and fears the tobacco crumbs and black remnants that exude the actual aroma. Meanwhile, the flies inspect the divine fruits and thickened lemons. They circle restlessly around a cut honeydew melon. The bedsheet is the only protection against unwelcome waking dreams.

An Arab civil servant with a date dust flag places me under hotel arrest.
I grew up in Italy. My Arabic is more than shaky. With a little money, I can help the guy out. He understands.
On the way to the marketplace, old men squatting in doorways gift me their pomegranate smiles.
Amid all the strange sounds and songs, I suddenly hear some tune by Fats Domino and argue for reconciliation with a camel dealer who gets angry when I try to hug him. The sudden arrival of a man wrapped in a meter-long turban, veil, and flowing robe abruptly ends the whole affair. From this enormous bundle of laundry stares a pair of black eyes, the most hate-filled eyes I have ever seen, when he is informed that I am black but a Christian.

A horde of children drives me through sand-covered alleys down to the harbor. “Mon Signor, your ship is ready to set sail.” My visa has been annulled, and I am to return to Italy. The thought of an imminent homecoming sends shivers down my spine. Then I am granted a glimpse of the ship.
At the pier lies a wreck of rotting wood and iron in the mirror-smooth bay. The shore divides the sky into a purplish twilight on the city side and a wave of blue darkness over the sea, crossed by flickering images for fractions of a second. “There will be a storm soon,” someone says casually.

When I see the name on the old hulk, I urge those around me to help me untie it so I can finally set sail. The eternal flight into the positive. Not worthy of a glance. The foaming sea and a name on my lips, I remember a dream of the dead who have never died. High up on deck, more on the back of a racing camel against the wind than on a rickety sailboat, I sit and keep watch until everything collapses into a certainty, and I sink back into the rumpled bedsheet reality, accompanied by the ever-present breath of a taming orange, a vague feeling of thirst, and the moonlight of the empty glass on the dresser. The restless stuttering of butterflies that have gone mad saved me once again from unwelcome waking dreams.

Updated on 03/14/2025
7 Comments

Statements

11 short views on the fragrance
19
12
Aromatic fougère from the 80s/90s with green-herbaceous, woody, slightly oriental accents and quite a complex structure: Nanu, from 2016?
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12 Comments
11
7
Complex oil painting
layered with thought and mastery.
Leather, herbal, citrus green, oud soapy.
Scent for a grand evening
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7 Comments
10
4
Subtle, gently herbal, discreetly fresh, serious, retro. No oud for me.
Office scent of the 80s?
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4 Comments
6
1
A classic men's fragrance with modern elements. It starts fresh, becomes slightly herbal, and ends sweetly woody-resinous. Not a candidate for purchase.
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1 Comment
5
3
From bright-toned oud, tropical flower nectar & the barber's soap to rose powder & the almost lemony-minty smoke of a candle. OK!
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3 Comments
7 years ago
5
Vintage sage without grandpa's oak moss, how great!
Too soon to celebrate: the heavy imbalance of the base ruins what the top has built so nicely.
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0 Comments
4
2
The lemon is followed by blossoms and finally sweet ivy. A green-herbaceous note is clearly present throughout. Overall, classic.
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2 Comments
4
Fresh oriental for the refined field commander of Moorish descent.
So classic that the scent remains unobtrusive.
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0 Comments
4
2
Othello retires after the 1st act and settles in Morocco: Creamy woods, sage cocktails, tobacco oranges. Easy livin'.
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2 Comments
3
Starts citrusy, floral, slightly soapy. Later, green notes, wood, and spice come in, ending more woody-spicy. Great scent progression. Try it!
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