Albatros Mendittorosa 2021

Actually, ‘Albatros’ combines quite a bit that I have long since grown tired of: a watery-ozonic opening in the style of the over-copied ‘Cool Water’, a rose that can confidently be counted among the usual - and exhausting - suspects (is there even a fragrance that comes without rose anymore?), a pineapple that I inevitably associate with ‘Aventus’ (Satan, begone!), and a double dose of cedar that instantly reminds me of ‘Terre d’Hermès’, which I have encountered over the years to such an extent that I can literally “no longer smell” it.

Strangely enough, I still like ‘Albatros’.
Yet something within me resists it.
When I spray the fragrance on, I instantly waver between horror and enthusiasm. If I hadn’t liked the predecessor fragrance ‘Orlo’ from the Versi series so incredibly well, if Anne-Sophie Behaghel hadn’t once again been responsible for the new one, she who not only created the fantastic ‘Orlo’ but also the no less magnificent ‘Le Mat’ for the same brand, or ‘Lacrima’ and ‘Phantasma’ for Liquides Imaginaires, if all these accolades hadn’t spoken for ‘Albatros’ - I would never have ordered the fragrance ‘blind’, especially not knowing the notes that are supposed to characterize it.

But the signs were good for the charming bird, because who doesn’t like him, this heart-meltingly clumsy king of the sea breezes, this “rois de l'azur” or “prince des nuées”, as Baudelaire calls him?!
Moreover, I had the opportunity to purchase it in advance, so I once again set aside all intentions of not further expanding my already far too extensive collection.

I could have been warned.
I struggle with aquatic fragrances, very much so. This is probably due to the aforementioned ‘Cool Water’ & Co. overkill, which still resonates today even in the most remote corners of functional perfumery.
On top of that, I acquired a fragrance some time ago without testing it beforehand (for the same reasons as with ‘Albatros’, only this time the brand is called Parfumerie Particuliere), namely ‘The Saint Mariner’.
When I finally had this fragrance on my skin, I was somewhat dumbfounded: Dihydromyrcenol, but so saturated, along with a good portion of rosemary and fresh, green-rubber-like vetiver. Everything was right, everything had its place and justification, was perfectly calibrated and blended - and yet smelled so incredibly ordinary.
Since I can hardly believe that such a banal fragrance comes from a house that gave birth to ‘Black Tar’, and where the rest turned out quite decently, I have made it a habit to spray this strange work on myself from time to time over the past weeks. There must be something to ‘Saint Mariner’ that the owners of this company, which calls itself a ‘special’ perfumery, deemed it worthy to adorn their own portfolio!
But what?

I believe I am slowly figuring it out.
And indeed, ‘Albatros’ has helped me with that.

Some of the ‘Saint Mariner’ DNA can also be found in ‘Albatros’.
Fortunately, however, there is also a bit more. While the holy seafarer is a thoroughly ozonic-marine fragrance, the “rois de l’azur” adds floral, fruity, and woody facets to the seemingly related construct. And it does so in a way that is breathtakingly skillful - everything flows, despite the richness of contrasts, seamlessly into one another: the distinctly aquatic-salty, ozonic opening, which washes over a bouquet of roses and a sliced unripe pineapple with crashing surf, and resonates in a silvery bright, almost mineral cedar accord, to which a bit of cashmere wood and a hint of musk lend body.

Interestingly, the roses, as well as the pineapple in the heart, do not smell at all like rose and the typical fruity nuances. Rather, their aromas merge with the maritime waves into a quirky metallic-bitter mélange, which initially irritated me, as it did not correspond at all to my expectations of the scent of a rose and a pineapple.
Mendittorosa notes in a footnote the special nature of this rose accord: “The rose accord is a composition of various natural and synthetic rose notes developed by Anne Sophie Behaghel for Albatros.”
Aha.
I assume that since a synthetic component has been so explicitly pointed out here, it could possibly be rose oxide, which already brings a metallic facet with it. In any case, in combination with the ozonic aquatic, a rather exciting power center develops in the heart of the fragrance, from which the bird gains considerable lift with its overly long wings and allows it to glide long and leisurely.
It is this pair of contrasts that makes the fragrance soar: salty aquatic here and fruitily accented rose there, and under the wings a forest of cedars, or as in the poem: the wooden planks of a ship.

I must say, the longer I engage with ‘Albatros’, the more I like it, and my initial skepticism is increasingly giving way to a growing admiration for this remarkable fragrance.
It doesn’t quite reach the extraordinary quality of its predecessor ‘Orlo’ in my opinion, but at least almost. In any case, it is more interesting to me than the somewhat generic ‘Ithaka’, the first fragrance from the Versi series, which in itself is not bad either, but possesses far less personality and refinement.
And a little bit, Anne-Sophie Behaghel allows the beleaguered albatross from Baudelaire’s poem to experience satisfaction here: her albatross is not teased by a ship's crew that has previously captured it, and that now merrily mocks its hanging wings and awkward gait, he, who had just moments before soared so majestically through the skies. No, her albatross is allowed to fly freely, like the poet in the poem, who is friendly to the storm and laughs at the archers.

So much for the inspiration from Baudelaire's poetry, which - I think - has been successfully implemented.

Since I apparently have now truly reconciled myself with the disturbing aquatic, perhaps I should give the holy seafarer another chance after all.
I think I will.