Achilles

Certain fragrance concentrations and combinations are indeed capable of triggering associations, and I am always alert when it comes to ideas of scents like gasoline, oils, lacquers, and lubricants. PG's latest creation aims to convey this notion, inviting you on an olfactory journey to his father's workshop filled with vintage cars and the memory of "dirty engine grease," which he calls "motor sweat."

In direct comparison to original fragrance materials that are supposed to be chopped up in such conceptual scents, everything smells quite different, or a fragrance only partially manages to hit the notes accurately. The note, or idea of motor oil, is definitely present, although not as "motor sweat."
The top note is immediately sharp, very fresh, very masculine, but by no means mainstream, which one might think right away (Aventus, etc.).
The whole concept is indeed emphasized by this high dose of blackcurrant with a splash of mandarin, which is well-suited because many fragrances with this note can be found in workshop associations in statements or fragrances that contain them more than average.
What initially sounds paradoxical is actually true.

Through extensive research and inquiries, I was able to find out that there is a correlation between fragrances with recurring notes and people who can identify associations of kerosene, turpentine, gasoline, etc., without having a prior idea like here. It is often the case that fragrances are "prejudged," and based on previously made statements, one also desperately searches for the same associations. In plain language: 100 people write they smell gasoline in Fahrenheit. The 101st will expect to smell it too, influenced by others' perceptions. But they might only discern cucumber and violet and leather at the highest level, like I do. It could be a part of influence, another part lack of research, but one cannot blame anyone for that.
This "Fruit/Fuel Paradox" appears, for example, in Diesel Fuel for Femme, where many detect gasoline, or Aqua Allegoria Pamplelune, which produces sharp notes through grapefruit and, conversely, reminds one of nail polish remover, gasoline, or turpentine. I can understand it, but - everywhere it lacks that greasy, dirty note that Mecanique has - without smelling like gasoline. Perhaps layering would be necessary.
Often, something similar is also detected in rose and oud or a combination of both, as well as in leather, rubber, etc.
However, here the motor oil component is definitely prominent, fresh cold, well-stored oil, none that has already been used in a machine. Anyone expecting a whiff of exhaust fumes / exhaust fuel will be disappointed. One must like the characteristic smell of cold oil to wear this. "Motor sweat" cools down, one could say.

Fuel has characteristic, oily crude oil components due to its properties as a refined petroleum product, which are unmistakable. PG manages to create these only in the realm of motor oil; overall, it smells like a cold mineral oil distillate with a blackcurrant garnish. This "grease" note is achieved not least through aldehydes, I assume. Aside from the powerful top note, there is no notable progression, except for a direct dull fall into a seductive musk bed with a few scent pillows, which also remains that way for hours.

Those who do not like musk or cannot handle it well will also have difficulties here, as the fragrance is, beyond the mechanical aspect, also pure lure, where we would be at desir, which is excellently captured. Thus, the fragrance is, in summary, a successful interpretation of seduction without the usual or expected ingredients or associations.
Musk here is velvety, quickly omnipotent; one cannot resist it in the slightest. Interestingly, there is a certain similarity to Nasomatto's Nudiflorum, unmistakably angelica, biting woody, herb-sweet, but attractive, without jasmine narcotic. This is underscored by the violet leaf, which smells as if it had been cut out of Fahrenheit, no violet pastille scent, thankfully.
All in all, the idea is well executed, and the mixture of workshop/seduction is strangely harmoniously interpreted. However, for my understanding and taste, necessary components or aspects of working on cars are missing, such as entering a garage, plastic, dust, fuel scent, solvents, etc.
Understandably, this is a special preference, and PG had to ensure that the whole thing sells, which is why it was implemented in a more mass-compatible and safer way.

Oh, an update. Well, at least a date. First off: it’s called (in the third person singular: needs. Not "need". You’re driving me crazy.)
Regarding the general situation (Germany, Austria, Switzerland, accent is Arial). When it’s around 45° in the shade in the Republic, I have to wear the most malignant, heavy, and third-ugliest scents from my collection (in public). Why? Sadism perhaps, no, for sure it’s sadism. I love it when people in the train are gasping (when I’m riding along, otherwise I get nothing out of it - Esoterics, you’re called upon), and not because one of the busiest routes from Berlin consists of the fact that you can’t open a window for fear that Grandma from the sixth row on the left croaks: "to close it, I have gout!!". Strictly speaking, I wish I had had the scent for longer than 2 years, because the public deserves to be preemptively throttled.

Metal Hurlant is an answer to people who can’t even see themselves spending cents on deodorant early in the morning, BEFORE they can spare 5 minutes of their precious time to shower - Kouros and Duro are rather stimulating, which is why I avoid these testosterone braggarts in public. Horror. As far as I know, most households are supplied with hot water (please don’t just stand there like a raw lasagna sheet).
It helps me to internalize: "just get dumber for a few hours, this way you’ll internalize your own mortality less." The fat man who bent my seat grip beyond recognition when he wanted to reach his own, and who is stuck in tight cycling shorts in inverted pyramids, should suffer just as much as the philosophy student in her 20th semester, who cheekily stares at the displays of other passengers. Oh, and let’s not forget (insert name), who is desperately clutching her oboe (is that what it’s called? Goethe isn’t called Göthe either o_O) and hopes not to have to interrupt music class due to a disturbance of the otherwise so meticulous Berlin S-Bahn traffic.

Meanwhile, I feel incredibly comfortable smelling like nail polish remover and brush cleaner, oil change, bicycle chain, and gasoline, hoping (present active - damn participle.) - although after long experience I have no expectation - the rows may thin out. A hoped-for outcome (finally, gerund - secretly my favorite in Latin class, and luckily - the Bachelorette is on tonight) would be to exist in a Hellraiser (Pinhead!)-like aura in the train. May they be tormented just as I am, by their underarm-under-mustache ignorance. This also applies to the gym. Not that I had visions of getting a hose.

About the scent: it epilates the relations west and east. From the wearer. Unless you love the scent of: ATU. Motor oil that has a small leak in every fourth bottle, Sonax, Nigrin (I can’t help it that it’s called that), the gas station where the greasy fuel hoses are the reference and not the meat rolls, entering a garage in winter, stone floor, collar of a leather jacket... Musk in the blazing sun while refueling, that’s Metal Hurlant. Although, this "calculation" doesn’t always work out, there are few who find exactly THAT great (except for me, among misanthropes best case the similarly minded partner, you have to consider it in context, situationally it rarely becomes clear). If you find it: hold on tight until the eyeballs bleed.

"Kinski". What kind of nonsense is that? The article is missing. It should be "The Kinski," shouldn't it? Illiterates...! Crétin, crétin, vraiment crétin!
Aldehydes, castoreum, bergamot, leather, blackcurrant...what is this...?
Cannabis, vetiver, benzoin, labdanum, patchouli....can't you think of anything else....and can't you imagine that so many fragrance notes mixed together can be that loud, and that a person who has to distinguish 300 of them should at least be able to keep one quiet?!
If you don't understand, then let someone hammer it into you!
...these fragrance notes are so trampled that you could paint the walls with them! Is this a mass event, because then I'll keep my mouth shut...wait, this isn't how it works, did you understand that or not?! Who am I doing this for, for the audience or for myself, or for you? I'm working here, you're disturbing me!!

Musk? Rose, maritime notes!? You don't exist for me at all! Completely ridiculous, I can't answer such questions. These are all just half measures, I'll change that....I'll make a stir in America, you'll see! I'm saying what I smell now, down with it and that's it!
Oh, castoreum! Am I shouting, or am I not!!! The moment has come where I want to punch you in the face! This time I'm going to hit you in the face, you can count on it! You stupid pig!
Just like the cannabis - I'll knock you out if you get too cheeky!
He needs to be locked up because he's not normal anymore, this juniper, get him out of here, get him out of here!
Leather and vetiver, I will send you back to your places where you belong! The interplay is so stupid that it doesn't even realize the consequences, it's that stupid! And if I want the birds to fall dead from the tree because of it, then the birds will fall dead from the tree! The scent is a head taller than me. That can change! The longevity is at least 155 years. I know exactly what I'm talking about! I'm going home right now, I feel provoked, such nonsense here! Yet I'm very easy to handle, if you just treat me carefully!

You must learn from me!!! Roja Dove, François Demachy, even a Tom Ford! And you will do it too, my dear! We will see, we will see! We will see! You stupid pig!

100 ml / converted to €2900. Malicious tongues claim that Roger Dove has lost his mind when it comes to his pricing policy, and with this, he is likely propelling himself even further into an abstract dualism of supposed genius and (well) madness.

With Enigma pour Homme, he created a bespoke fragrance for me, I can truly say that. The brand itself and his other creations usually do not fare well with me; fortunately, no "second Enigma" has won my love. A Midsummer Dream made it into the collection, Britannia and Diaghilev are beautiful craftsmanship, but the rest I find olfactorily, at the demanded price and also qualitatively, simply not appealing enough to trigger a purchase reflex.

But I was more than curious about "Roja." Perhaps it's just a price that has that effect, making one want to find out what is so special about it and what justifies this price. Here I can simply say: nothing.

The fragrance is by no means bad; it is well-made, and you can smell the typical Roja powdery-chalky accords at the start, as they appeared in Britannia and smell intensely like a laundry detergent package (inside, still with white powder). A clear rose resonates and provides a distinguished and confident beginning to the scent. The clove-iris-cocoa mixture soon joins in, as in Britannia. Here, only vanilla and peach are missing. At some point, the high and mighty Amber grants a brief audience to the base, but it makes its exit with court ladies: Jasmine and Ylang-Ylang, eagerly off and away. The latter two are incredibly shy, appearing more like the two ugly sisters Hybris and Nemesis in the overall context of Roja.

What is simply unforgivable is the almost nonexistent sillage. The scent is simply skin-close after 15 minutes. After 15 minutes. Roja emphasizes on its website that the dominant components include cinnamon and rose; well... Kurkdijan makes a nicer cinnamon-rose with Lumiere Noire pour Homme, and that at a fraction of the price, without dedicating a tribute to it here, it's just the comparison for me. The rose is briefly present at the start, cinnamon is completely absent.

The €2900 Roja simply lacks spirit, soul, and even just a hint of something special. It is a solid floral powder scent with a forced outward effect that cannot do justice to the true essence.
With the added claim to demand such a price, the fragrance unfortunately comes off more like slapstick a la "Floral & Hardy" rather than a grand show. If this were a fragrance in the price category up to €200, most people, including myself, would still find it overpriced, and I am sure the scent will evoke some disillusionment not only for me. All in all, however, it is the best thing that could happen to me.

Once again, too much fragrance impression for me that a statement could suffice.
A grotesque unites opposites in its representation, whether as an image, sculpture, or here, the perfume. Fougere meets the Orient, and Amouage has, in its men's sector, emphasized rather oriental perfumes in its range, aside from a few "lighter" scents like Sunshine or Reflection, which is quite clear.

Even the ferns on the bottle and the arabesque on the packaging suggest contrasts that initially spark curiosity about whether they could be compatible without appearing odd or failed together, when one thinks about the fragrance categories. A fougere is classically characterized by the interplay of lavender, oak moss, and coumarin, while an oriental is usually heavy, lush, spicy, sweet, balsamic, and also smoky.

Bracken surprisingly unites both worlds, and not poorly! Even skillfully, subtly, elegantly, and classically masculine, the entire fragrance impression. One spray is also completely sufficient to create a scent cloud with the turning radius of a tank.
The opening is bergamot and patchouli, which initially depicts a rather hideous face, bringing us back to the grotesque; the damp cellar scent or the wrapped wet tent that was forgotten and that one somehow fears unpacking is unfortunately undeniable here. Soon, however, this tragedy subsides, and a primeval strong note of familiar, benevolent, and elegant lavender (without the sometimes sour personal note) joins in, which is flanked by the fire of double the strength of clove, as piquant and juicy as in Tobacco Vanille - which comes particularly oily-aromatic and peppery in Bracken.

Until the heart note, this triumvirate of lavender, clove, and patchouli rules with an iron fist and simply smells fantastic. So far, so good; until this point, it is already a truly fine, strong, distinctive fragrance, a refined balance of East and West, with fine traces of cinnamon and rose geranium like in Chanel's Egoiste, truly quite fabulous. Then, in the heart note, a lovely surprise: orange! But not a freshly cut, sun-drenched orange, rather a Christmas candied one. These amber to golden shimmering fruits, or the orange segments that float in mulled wine along with cloves, releasing their charming aroma.

The base is a subdued mixture of everything, and patchouli comes through stronger again, giving the whole a more masculine nuance towards the end. There’s also spice cake in there, and nutmeg.
So all in all, an opulent composition of a selection of strong notes, which will surely be too intense for many and may cause them to cough, but for those still searching for something expressive for winter, this could be a happy find.