English Fern Penhaligon's 1910 Eau de Toilette

Here and today, the gentleman (somewhat simplistically speaking) has three ways to olfactorily engage with the warm season: The first is the contemporary route through aquatic fragrances, often blended with various fruits. And while there may certainly be competent and quite fine representatives from this category - this is undoubtedly not the most elegant and subtle type of summer perfumes. As a second option, one could mention classic, hesperidic colognes or "Eau de Cologne." With this choice, one not only has the longest possible tradition behind them, dating back at least to the early eighteenth century; moreover, availability and wallet-friendliness are strong arguments: A small Cologne boom within the last five to ten years has flooded the market with many, sometimes very good and modern variations of this ancient fragrance direction - and not a few of the very best are available for comparatively little and minimal money. However, this eternally similar, pleasing refreshing citrus can also become tiresome.

Anyone wanting to bring a bit of excitement (also in the sense of mental tension) to the midday, shimmering streets might also want to sniff around in the timeless fragrance direction of classic, straight Fougères. For me, this is the most distinguished way to refresh the heat-battered mind through the nose. Why? Well, both aquatics and classic colognes evoke very obvious cooling associations in the minds of the wearer and those around them. For example: "It's hot? Just go to the outdoor pool and drink a cold lemonade."
Nice and good. But there is another possibility; less socializing, but consciously solitary: The solitary forest walk, the contemplative afternoon in a shady arbor, the hidden place where coolness has gathered. The place where the gentle summer breeze rustles through the foliage, sending soothing, cooling shivers down the back.

Such a detour into refreshment, refreshment through retreat and secrecy, is, for example, English Fern by Penhaligon's, one of the early Fougères following the debut work of Houbigant. Invigorating, not through obvious, clumsy tropical fruit, but through astringent bitterness and herbaceous, almost minty sharpness. Since ferns are known to have no significant scent of their own, I have often wondered what this primal Fougère actually reminds me of. Most closely, it resembles woodruff - an herb that I only consume with reluctance, but enjoy smelling all the more. In combination with lavender and sandalwood, the noble, ethereal bitterness of the imagined pseudo-woodruff is both intensified and civilized, so that English Fern conjures the image of a lean, older gentleman in me (think Hermann Hesse), who often sets off on long hikes even in the height of summer (in a light linen suit), but never sweats even after hours.

Because he - refuses.