3lbows

Sunday afternoon, pie party at a friend's house, pre-Covid times, of course. Everyone brings something: There's Anne, with her homemade cheesecake, with reduced-fat rice milk only from happy barn-raised cows. Peter and Karin, who only had enough for cream puffs from the bakery, are also back, as is Janine (@Yay9), the DIY baking influencer who already spent more time the whole morning staging her nutella-free whole grain oat roll cookies than she did baking them herself. And then there's Torsten, with three leftover pieces of unspectacular apple strudel from Saturday coffee at mom's. Despite its sticky-sweet appearance at first glance, its juicy, fruity aroma surprises even the most rentitious aroma aristocrat, er, nutrition apostle. That mother did not spare with cinnamon, lets the apple pastry also olfactory to top forms and tempts the otherwise more differentiated aromas accustomed conoisseur to discreetly approach the olfactory organ to the source of smell and later even demand seconds.
Well, to which piece I have probably reached?
Paco Rabanne's One Million Prive is like the unhealthy piece of cake, uncomplicated but honestly tempting to snack. In addition to the impressions listed above, there is only the scent of moistened tobacco from the freshly opened vacuum pack. A delightfully simple but immensely seductive experience is this, in my opinion, best flanker of the Goldbarren series, even if it runs out of steam a bit in the later drydown, and the scent collapses into gushy sweetness - but that really only affects the end of its scent development.
More adult than the OG I find the Privé after longer testing no longer, and also the bottle is more than a matter of taste, but you do not smell it so often, and its fruitiness and less intrusive sillage because of I find it much more portable, even now in the spring.
My purchase recommendation to all Duftnärrischen, who can still admit to themselves, to reach sometimes to sweet - long is probably no longer available anyway.

From Coca-Cola to flowery-fresh, from powdery-soapy to carroty-herbaceous, from sweet to "sweet-is-nothing-at-all!", from less serious to the well-shaven gentleman, from eeeeewend durable to tender, gentle and fleeting, from masculine to old-fashioned feminine, from the hospital entrance to the wooden terrace by the sea - man, man, man there is really something for everyone. If you scroll through the commis and statements on Ermenegildo's Acqua di Iris, you wonder if they all had the same odeur under the olfactory bulb. But these descriptions certainly make you curious - and prove once again that our subjective impressions can drift apart like continental plates.
Therefore, I had to take a closer look at the thing, where I'm on powdery iris explosions and still looking for something summery, which does not constantly sting my eyes, but is still perceptible even under the mouth-nose protection.
The fragrance opens with a strong cloud of iris powder, which, as is also so common with its peers, quickly fades and passes into a floral, but woody grounded top note. Such a prelude can be found, for example, in Dior's Homme Eau for Men (here refreshed with citrus), Prada's L'Homme (paired with a hefty helping of Lux soap), or Givenchy's Gentleman (EdP and cologne). Dior's Homme Intense and Valentino Uomo also start like this, but clearly sweetened, which results in the so often cited "lipstick accord", the slightly old-fashioned but since DHI not only with metrosexual hipsters again salonfähigen smell from grandma's handbag.
Acqua di Iris starts conservatively tart, at times almost supercool but powerful and masculine - for me, the least unisex iteration of iris in a fragrance to date; woods and musk catch the scent already from the late top note and ground it warmly-earthy towards the base. I definitely associate leather here, though there shouldn't be any in there. At the same time, I detect nutmeg (shouldn't be in there either), which gives it a soft, spicy-nutty aspect. I can therefore understand that the fragrance tends towards sweetness for some, especially since labdanum and iris know how to play up quite sweet and soft. In its sum, and especially in comparison with really sweet fragrances, I find Acqua di Iris, as I said, rather tart. It is not really fresh, or rather refreshing, like Parda's L'Homme L'Eau or Givenchy's Gentleman Cologne, but still not too heavy not to be worn in summer. Acqua is a universal fragrance, not only in terms of the seasons. A good record collection, or in other words a few years should have its carrier, however, already on the hump.
Of the aforementioned iris scents from the designer mainstream, Zegna's Dior Eau for Men comes closest. Zegna's Acqua pleases me but still a tad better, because with the Dior on particularly hot days, I can not help the image of a business mid-forties in a light blue corporate jacket with greasy, half-long hair but neatly groomed full beard. I can identify much better with the calm, unagitated aura of the Zegna fragrance. Thanks to our esteemed fellow parfumos Fresh21 I may now enjoy this little water for just under 100ml.

The dimmed coffee note plus some synthetic leather struggle to compete with the basic sweetness from the Ur-Uomo. What remains is a poorly balanced, now rather generic gourmand, a wannabe rocker hiding away to eat his wimp dessert. Then when he emerges from the back alley, his mascarpone beard neatly spoils his entrance. So remember: Either coffee & cake, or biker meeting. In my eyes Signature doesn't manage the balancing act between both. I'd rather go for the original.

Take some Joop! homme and some body kouros - the underlying syrupy synthetic sweetness, remove the supporting cough sweet notes (cherry or eucalyptus) and you get the basic substance for a dark, deeply sweet but not sticky scent. A hearty pinch of cardamom adds spice and character to the concoction and - at least according to the forest fairies on YouTube - has an aphrodisiacal effect. Last but not least, the concoction on vanilla pudding from the bag - you know, the one that tastes like vanilla even though there is none in it.
The result is a fragrance elixir that creates an extremely present but hardly locatable, pleasantly sweet aura, which dresses the wearer appropriately, regardless of the time of day or the occasion, but always depending on the temperature.
Personally, I find this simple and extremely synthetic fragrance very appealing - probably because I like Joop! homme and Body Kouros. But if you expect high perfumery art or a challenging olfactory labyrinth, this is not the place for you. It is undisputed, however, that the concept has been realized in a coherent and valuable way
The trademark Gaultier body flacon, this time black in black with a golden spray button, my childish heart finds beautiful, the Knize Ten lover is more likely to get the gray chest toupee out of the Camp David shirt.
I see the closest similarities to Le Mâle Essence de Parfum, although here the spiciness of the leather is missing, or the original (less vanilla, no mint), but just as sweet for me. It can't be compared to Ultramale, except for the first 10 seconds after spraying.
Although I want to correct my initially exuberant 9.0 a little bit downwards, for me the best of the series!

All right - let's have the bottling, you want, no, you have to have a say in it.
While waiting for the parcel - at this point my thanks to #PabloMcOlson - I already visualize the moment of the first spray: The iron-clad double door slowly swings open with a raised creaking sound, in the background the music of the Chicago Bulls, and the broad-shouldered Persian king of a thousand and one nights enters his reception room, which is covered with heavy carpets. He is enveloped by a fragrance, an aura of power and sovereignty, which fills the concubines present with unrestrained ecstasy, and the male servants with the sole desire to be allowed to possess his noble fragrance - at least as a bottling.
So much for the 8.7 head theater
The actual experience was then shockingly ordinary. Herod is a tobacco scent. Not an inferior one, definitely not. But just a tobacco scent like many others, who play the chamber play of cinnamon, vanilla and tobacco in the leading roles. The only intimated, herb-smoky note at the beginning of the drydown cannot hold a candle to the sweet Christmas quails as an antagonist, and certainly does not pass for a creative outpouring. But at least it gives Herod a certain independence and quality, not to say a right to exist compared to the other spice bombs that are buzzing around the Advent markets.
And don't get me wrong - the scent is definitely my cup of tea: Spicebomb (especially the 2012 batch), as well as Spicebomb Extreme and Initio's Rehab create a warm and cosy pre-Christmas atmosphere, which makes me feel like a child without worries, but with cookies and presents
That does not really make Herod better, not really different, not really more creative. On the contrary: in the current formulation, the Persian client king of the Roman occupying power runs out of breath after only two hours. That's why I would resort to one of the alternatives mentioned above, depending on my wallet. And whoever prefers the archaic ambience of a medieval Advent spectacle with the clouds of smoke of the charcoal burning instead of fine tobacco notes to the Nuremberg Christmas Market, should try Replica's by the Fireplace.