![MrHonest]()
MrHonest
4
By water, wood, by reed and willow, look! Here comes Tom Bombadillo!
When I originally purchased this fragrance, I honestly thought I knew what I was getting into. Being familiar with scents like Paco Rabanne's Pour Homme (a curiously poor modern reformulation with a side of pool chlorine) and Puig's Quorum (the aftershave is better), I expected something darker, inkier, brooding and sludgy; but most of all, CHEAP. Instead, what I was greeted with from start to finish was so brilliantly constructed, that to sniff something of this quality and presence at such a low price (and from a brand like Bogart) was nothing short of shocking.
Firstly, no, the quality of the materials themselves is not astronomical and the bottle that it comes in is nothing fancy (cheap plastic cap, crimped atomizer and sticker labels); but ho ho ho....that juice...is something else. The opening starts off with an effervescent ginger ale. You read correctly - crisp, bubbly, fizzy cedar and a limey juniper on a blanket of sheer green moss. If you've ever smelled the first few seconds of Z-14 or Gucci's Pour Homme, you'll recognize the twinkling of notes. You'll also recognize the era. Yeah. NOT this one. In fact, within the first few seconds, the scent seems to transport me to a sunny clearing on the bank of a stream in Tolkien's Old Forest where the hobbits stop for a rest after losing their way. The sun is warm, the air is heavy and the babble of the brook muddles thoughts of a slow and perilous journey....right before the forest comes alive.
And so it does. Within 5 minutes of the opening, the juniper steps back to reveal what is unmistakably a confident birch-leafy russian leather accord married with rosemary as if Tom Bombadil himself is chuckling next to you in his suede boots and leather belt. You would THINK, that just being in such a dark and potentially dangerous forest you'd be engulfed by smells of aged wood, sodden rocks and rotting foliage, but this ain't Mirkwood. The uplifting and cheery vibe that Tom brings with his singing and sprightly demeanor is in stark contrast to the deep greenery reflected in the colour of the bottle. 30 minutes in, a dusting of woody eugenol powders the leather of Tom's suede boots as if he's just putting them on the rack near the entrance of his cabin home. He invites you in, you greet the Mrs., and swiftly head to the bathroom to wash up before eating.
And so it is, that as you reach the wash basin in the bathroom of Tom Bombadil's homely home, you're greeted with the comforting and unmistakably woodsman-ish scent of Bogart Signature coming from a small, brownish object with flecks of green and purple perched beside the absolute tub of a basin - the soap. Yes indeed, within the hour this stuff turns soapy AF. 70s soap to be exact. The kind of soap a burly yet chirpy dude with plenty of well manicured body hair would use before donning extraordinarly clean attire and going about his day.
But it's not smoky, just green and leathery. Professional, yet fatherly. Crisp, yet deep. Aromatic, yet warm. Rural like a mossy breeze through forest mushrooms, yet urban like indoor plumbing and marble countertops. Wonderful contrast. If you've ever smelled Cuir de Russie from Le Jardin Retrouve or any other excellent russian leather, you'll get the vibe. Minus the animalics of course. In fact, if I had to describe this fragrance in one sentence, it would be an elegant vintage russian leather perfume made into a green drugstore bar of soap. A step down in quality to be sure, but maintaining that rugged character and fatherly elegance. Solid performance. Says his evaluation.
Overall, to say that I'm impressed with the current formulation of Bogart Signature is a ruddy understatement. This stuff blows modern Z-14, Quorum and PR Pour Homme out of the water. Not quite on par with vintage Polo imo, but perhaps a more refined and frugal neighbour. Green suede soap for the outdoorsy gentleman and loving father....or perhaps....a cheery singing fat dude from a creepy forest. Take your pick. Signature remains an effing WIN.