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The Monster from the Green Lagoon
It may be shocking, but despite my love for classic and vintage fragrances, I am not a big fan of the Harry Lehmann portfolio. Just because something is charmingly out of date does not mean it is automatically good. And as much as I am tempted to see in this old model of "chemist perfumery" a lovable resistance against the mass and pseudo-niche model of the fragrance industry, I find little aesthetic value in it, even though it is a fascinating historical relic. It’s a bit like the tailors who existed in their thousands until the 1920s before being displaced by industrial ready-to-wear. They made tailored suits from cheap fabric and with mediocre talent for the lower middle class and the working class (Sunday suit!) - hardly Savile Row. And those who could not afford a scent from Poiret, Caron, or Guerlain in the early 20th century simply went to the pharmacist, who would mix standard fragrances based on recipes from Rimmel or other compendiums - until cheap mass fragrances from 4711, Mouson, and countless forgotten brands displaced this tradition. However, at Lehmann, you can still find standard fragrances today, such as various men’s colognes (like Fougère or the orange Boston, essentially an Eau du Portugal), replicas of classics like Habanera (i.e. Habanita), and also original compositions that follow current trends (Oud or Lehmann's version of Geza Schön's Escentric Molecules 01, i.e. diluted Iso-E-Super).
Now, I love old fragrances: classic Fougères like the one from Crown Perfumery, a complex leathery Chypre like Knize Ten, all the classics from Trumper, or even the vintage-styled scents from Creed like Baie de Genièvre, Royal English Leather, or Royal Scottish Lavender - the latter being rather simple formulations but made from the best materials. My problem with the Lehmann fragrances is the rather modest quality of the raw materials, the excessively high or poorly integrated synthetic content (which is not modern in itself but the foundation of classic haute perfumerie since the 1880s), and the ultimately rather clumsy nature of the formulations - although, to be honest, not much can be expected for the prices charged. For € 5- € 10 per 100ml Cologne or 10ml EdT/EdP, real sandalwood, Jasmine Sambac, or high-quality rose oil simply cannot be included. As with "real Oud" from the Arabic bazaar, the same applies here: you get what you pay for. I would rather pay more for a genuine luxury product, which I consider perfume. By this, I do not mean niche perfumes, in whose elegantly designed bottles only the cheapest aroma chemicals are contained, but either vintage fragrances or the works of artisans who take their craft seriously: Dominique Dubrana, Dawn Spencer Hurwitz, Antonio Gardoni, or Annette Neuffer, to name just a few. And here and there, there are still big noses in the "business" who get to work with decent budgets and top products. What the perfumers create for Roja from Robertet materials is certainly not bad, but it is clearly out of reach for precarious academics.
Now to Fougère Cologne, a ridiculously cheap product that I wish were more expensive. My first problem is nominal: for the longest time, this is not a Fougère. Where is the lavender, where is the coumarin? There are also no citrus top notes, actually just green, I suspect from galbanum, maybe artemisia and basil, and a brutal synthetic note somewhere between cheap pine needle bath foam and bathroom cleaner. It causes me nasal burns and headaches. A massive overdose of aldehydes, it seems to me. In the middle, a classic soapy note appears, without sweetness, with minimal florality, but plenty of austerity: ashy-dusty-gray, a truckload of moss, perhaps labdanum and a hint of soapy clove. This herbal-soapy-dismal appearance strongly reminds me of late-seventies Chypres like Léonard pour homme - a style that has never suited me: humorless, without playfulness or "feminine" elements that make a good men’s perfume for me (e.g. rose, jasmine, lily of the valley, ylang, violet, the sweetness of vanilla or tonka), but also free from spice or animalic notes. A green-anthracite concrete block. The base then becomes relatively classic-conventionally barbershoppy, but also significantly more bearable: soapy spice and also some wood and coumarin - here one could then also dare to mention the word Fougère - but the journey there is a torture that I gladly forgo, especially since I find it much more pleasant when served by Jacques Bogart, for example.
Conclusion: ultimately, at some point, a cheap-looking synthetic note always gives me the middle finger with the Lehmann fragrances, which makes me wave it off - even the citrus-beautiful Springfield (with Fougère EdC the only scent I purchased after retesting the entire range) comes with a meager wood base that unfortunately cannot hold a candle to the original - Monsieur Balmain. So, Harry Lehmann remains for me a fascinating cultural phenomenon from a bygone era, which certainly piques my interest - but I find olfactory enjoyment elsewhere.
Now, I love old fragrances: classic Fougères like the one from Crown Perfumery, a complex leathery Chypre like Knize Ten, all the classics from Trumper, or even the vintage-styled scents from Creed like Baie de Genièvre, Royal English Leather, or Royal Scottish Lavender - the latter being rather simple formulations but made from the best materials. My problem with the Lehmann fragrances is the rather modest quality of the raw materials, the excessively high or poorly integrated synthetic content (which is not modern in itself but the foundation of classic haute perfumerie since the 1880s), and the ultimately rather clumsy nature of the formulations - although, to be honest, not much can be expected for the prices charged. For € 5- € 10 per 100ml Cologne or 10ml EdT/EdP, real sandalwood, Jasmine Sambac, or high-quality rose oil simply cannot be included. As with "real Oud" from the Arabic bazaar, the same applies here: you get what you pay for. I would rather pay more for a genuine luxury product, which I consider perfume. By this, I do not mean niche perfumes, in whose elegantly designed bottles only the cheapest aroma chemicals are contained, but either vintage fragrances or the works of artisans who take their craft seriously: Dominique Dubrana, Dawn Spencer Hurwitz, Antonio Gardoni, or Annette Neuffer, to name just a few. And here and there, there are still big noses in the "business" who get to work with decent budgets and top products. What the perfumers create for Roja from Robertet materials is certainly not bad, but it is clearly out of reach for precarious academics.
Now to Fougère Cologne, a ridiculously cheap product that I wish were more expensive. My first problem is nominal: for the longest time, this is not a Fougère. Where is the lavender, where is the coumarin? There are also no citrus top notes, actually just green, I suspect from galbanum, maybe artemisia and basil, and a brutal synthetic note somewhere between cheap pine needle bath foam and bathroom cleaner. It causes me nasal burns and headaches. A massive overdose of aldehydes, it seems to me. In the middle, a classic soapy note appears, without sweetness, with minimal florality, but plenty of austerity: ashy-dusty-gray, a truckload of moss, perhaps labdanum and a hint of soapy clove. This herbal-soapy-dismal appearance strongly reminds me of late-seventies Chypres like Léonard pour homme - a style that has never suited me: humorless, without playfulness or "feminine" elements that make a good men’s perfume for me (e.g. rose, jasmine, lily of the valley, ylang, violet, the sweetness of vanilla or tonka), but also free from spice or animalic notes. A green-anthracite concrete block. The base then becomes relatively classic-conventionally barbershoppy, but also significantly more bearable: soapy spice and also some wood and coumarin - here one could then also dare to mention the word Fougère - but the journey there is a torture that I gladly forgo, especially since I find it much more pleasant when served by Jacques Bogart, for example.
Conclusion: ultimately, at some point, a cheap-looking synthetic note always gives me the middle finger with the Lehmann fragrances, which makes me wave it off - even the citrus-beautiful Springfield (with Fougère EdC the only scent I purchased after retesting the entire range) comes with a meager wood base that unfortunately cannot hold a candle to the original - Monsieur Balmain. So, Harry Lehmann remains for me a fascinating cultural phenomenon from a bygone era, which certainly piques my interest - but I find olfactory enjoyment elsewhere.
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