Ameise

However, in a very special sense.

A test:
On my left thumb pad: 1 Million
On my right thumb pad: Cool Water, the current version.

I have been sniffing from left to right and back again for almost an hour now.
I can’t help it, but the similarity is astonishing.

I admit, I can’t really say whether it’s a true or just a stylistic kinship. But still: The two scents definitely belong to the same family for me. 1 Million is a bit more almondy, while Cool Water has more minty freshness.

Personally, I have no prejudices regarding the scent. I have never smelled it before, nor do I know any men who fit the stereotype of the user. But the bottle alone has raised different expectations for me.
I would not have expected a - I’m being a bit nasty - Cool Water clone.

Maybe my nose is playing tricks on me. It wouldn’t be the first time. Recently, I’ve come across so many Cool Water imitations (Ferrari Red) that I’m starting to doubt my perception. On the other hand, I wouldn’t be surprised if the unimaginative profit optimizers of the big fragrance producers thought that audacity wins: Take the x-th obvious copy of one of the most successful modern fragrances ever and disguise this fact with marketing that doesn’t allow any associative connections to the original.

So: I’m done with Cool Water. The current version even gives me a headache after a while of continued sniffing.
As I said: It’s quite possible that I’m completely off with my perception of 1 Million and someone with a finer nose could enlighten me otherwise.
Nevertheless, while I wouldn’t come up with a million reasons, I could certainly think of a few dozen reasons why I don’t like this scent. In the end, probably especially because I feel, without it being true, that I have smelled it a million times already.

This fragrance is a good example of how a brand can be compromised when its good name is transferred to another product, without striving for the craftsmanship and quality that this name actually stands for.
Ferrari Red doesn't even attempt to connect with the images and testosterone-laden emotions one might associate with a red (!) Italian sports car. One might find this cool and "technical" or simply passionless and banal. There was so much that talented and dedicated developers could have evoked: the tar of the road, the leather seats, the rubber of the tires, the grumpy engine noise, the color red, or even just the wind in your hair. (Fahrenheit, Carbon de Balmain, or Aeroplane show how to design a thematic fragrance.) Instead, we are left with a lukewarm, meaningless synthetic citrus breeze that persistently hovers over an all-too-obvious "blue" (!) Cool Water clone. Ferrari Red reveals itself within seconds of spraying as a bloodless and calculating merchandising construct - without greater ambitions and completely devoid of any connection to the Ferrari brand or the world of expensive sports cars.
This is worn either by freaks whose enthusiasm for Ferrari is so great that they must place the logo on their bathroom shelf, or by guys who don't really care about fragrances but want to impress women in the passenger seats by wearing any scent at all. Those who want to avoid body odor should rather reach for a good antiperspirant.

When I was a very young teenager, I received a nearly full 100ml tester of this fragrance as a gift from the mother of a school friend. At that time, I had already chosen the robust Antaeus as my hero, but I still remember very clearly how this completely unknown Monsieur Patou knocked me off my feet with the first sniff. And quite literally: wood! That was, at least back then, strangely my first impression. Dark, tropical precious wood. Strange because the "language of perfume," that jargon with which fragrances are communicated among enthusiasts or insiders, was certainly not familiar to me, and I had no actual experience with fragrant woods that would explain such a description. However, this association remained in my memory even almost 25 years after I last smelled PpH.
The mentioned bottle was in my possession for a good 8 or 9 years. It even accompanied me to various countries. Somewhere in England at the end of the 80s, its trail then disappears, or rather, my memory does. I believe I notably gifted it to a friend. Patou pH always felt a bit "too much - just too heavy" for me back then. Although I loved it dearly, it was more "for me." To my regret, I used it rather rarely because I never quite dared to wear it. (Which really means something: We are talking about the 80s, and even real "stinkers" couldn't embarrass me that quickly.) But PpH always had something very sensual, yes, feminine for me. Perhaps because of its opulence, its balsamic softness, those oriental spice notes missing any citrus sharpness. Maybe I was simply too young or too timid for this slightly sultry eroticism, which struck me as strong but - without being androgynous - also sexually indefinable.

For a good two decades, I had almost forgotten PpH. Last summer, for sentimental reasons - and because I hadn't really found a contemporary favorite fragrance - I began to gather my all-time favorites once again. Only through this and after registering with Parfumo did I realize the status PpH now enjoys among aficionados. And above all, what adventurous prices even tiny amounts now fetch. In the meantime, I feared my "project" would fail because it seemed I couldn't track down this fragrance anymore. (At least not at any "acceptable" price.) However, now a full 10 ml bottle stands before me, which I was able to acquire for the ridiculous sum of just a few euros.
But what is most beautiful is: It smells exactly as I remembered it. Even better, because it no longer intimidates me. I am now quite comfortable with it. (And when I see the fervent following that Gucci Pour Homme I has, I would suspect that such opulent fragrances are indeed socially acceptable.)

Today, I can certainly expand my perception with a few adjectives or images: Soft and full-bodied like toasted wood-aged single malt, cinnamon and vanilla, even a bit of licorice (sweet wood) and definitely a distinct trace of peppery nutmeg. It sounds a bit gourmand, but in my opinion, it is not. It doesn't become herbal, no green, but rather the earthy palette one sees in the souk of spice merchants. I know that this description is not necessarily supported by the list of ingredients and the fragrance pyramid, but I cannot help but have these impressions. What is certainly true - and has already been mentioned by others - is the complete absence of citrus or fresh notes, which, however, does not make PpH dull or musty.

PpH is, in the truest sense of the word, a truly impressive fragrance. Not a loud or vulgar macho, but an oriental potentate, powerful, cultivated, elegant, and self-assured. With a distinctly voluptuous side. Whether it is, as some say, the king of men's perfumes, I would not swear to. Nevertheless, in my opinion, its almost legendary fame is not primarily based on absence and exclusivity ("If you want to be valued, make yourself rare!"), but rather on actual complexity and mastery.
Of course, it does not stand alone. After all, there have been many fragrances before and since its introduction, some of which are themselves shining winners. However, Patou pour Homme ranks at the top of the medal table. It has certainly earned its place on the podium and the laurel wreath in the history of perfume.

If I had grandchildren, I would tell them reverently about Patou pour Homme... "Back in Woodstock..."

OK. I admit, the title is partly stolen. In his almost eponymous column in the style magazine, the author Dr. Tom Clark examines four "sartorial" fragrances. Among them is Grey Flannel. He arrives at a revealing conclusion that I allow myself to quote:

"The identification of sartorial perfumes with the classic men's wardrobe only works remotely through associations with fabrics or tailoring. It occurs rather through a reference to a traditional frame of 'gentility,' in which classic forms of clothing have always been associated with certain fragrance conventions of body and facial care and tempered masculinity: fresh-green florality (citrus, violet, little rose), bitter moss and herb notes (lavender, oakmoss), soapy cleanliness and hay-like sweetness (lavender, coumarin, tonka) with warm woody components (amber, sandalwood, cedar). Within this framework, creativity and diversity are certainly possible, as our examples show, and in the best cases, sartorial fragrances, like fine clothing, combine an aesthetic that can be enjoyed sensually without reflection with craftsmanship and an awareness of living tradition, which also makes an intellectual engagement with the details of these objects pleasurable."

I did not know Grey Flannel for a long time. My hope - or rather: my expectation - that it must be a overtly "thematic" fragrance evoking that snug, soft, and warming fabric was, however, disappointed. Grey Flannel is anything but a tactile, cozy, or life-affirming skin scent. On the contrary. Rather, it oscillates with its strong, almost medicinal violet note in an irritating way between metallic-cool detachment and moist, fern-green mossiness - which subtly fades into a core-soapy scent towards the end.
Grey Flannel is not dandyish, hedonistic, or sensual, but comes - as Profumo aptly put it - rather ascetic and "stiff linen."

It took me some time to recover from the discrepancy between my initial expectations and the actual scent experience. In the meantime, Grey Flannel has taken me on a remarkable inner journey through landscapes and associations. I think this fragrance deserves some time to unfold its special brittle and cool charm. Even though I will probably never completely succumb to it personally, I must acknowledge that something of high quality and individuality has been created here, which makes it - with a completely different theme - a precursor to Fahrenheit for me.

At the current prices, one can confidently buy it blindly. The timeless, valuable bottle fits well in the hand and is an (syn)aesthetic pleasure. Grey Flannel is rightly a milestone in perfume history and should not be missing as a reference in any collection.

G-Man has completely passed me by until recently. There are several reasons for this: On the one hand, because I had such a good memory of Exception by Gainsboro and I didn't want to let that go with G-Man. On the other hand, there is the truly terrible bottle in my eyes. Black and gold as a combination strikes me as unattractively old-fashioned and very difficult. It just about works when the angular cap is on, but as soon as you see the gold-black spray head, it becomes too much for me personally. (Interestingly, Exception had the exact same glass body, just in transparent cherry red, with an even more unbearable cap.)

Only last month did I impulsively spray a little of it on - and was quite surprised. I can actually relate to almost all the previous descriptions published here.

Right from the top note, it hits hard. At the beginning, really toilet blocks! White porcelain and also a lot - very much - soap! Where have I landed here? Barbershop is a very fitting association. Especially when the thick leather of the strop comes into play, on which you sharpen the blades. The image is so complete and also in its way so charmingly unmistakably retro that one could actually leave it at that.

However, if I detach myself from this superficial image of the groomed gentleman of old school, something else actually emerges - like in a puzzle image. Something I know from construction sites. Something slightly shrill, metallic, machine-like. Like the spark-spraying cutting disc of a grinder.

What I hardly perceive are roses. However, towards the end, it does become a bit more herbal for me. (As I said: Compliments to the previous speakers: I usually agree with them.)

I am still unsure when and on what occasion I will wear G-Man. (Not only in this respect does this scent remind me of Fahrenheit.) To be honest, I am not even sure if I like it unconditionally, because I might find it quite demanding - in the worst case and over time - exhausting due to the partly contradictory associations.
However, I am pleased that it has obviously survived the last 40 years unscathed and is still available. G-Man is a very self-confident, somehow uncompromising, and at the same time slightly schizophrenic guy. One who may seem out of time to some, but at least does not pander. A charming unique piece that I wouldn't be ashamed to call a friend.