DN1982

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Something clever from the house of D.? Or just another repellent like Cool Water?
Well, the ingredients are rich and sound intriguing, even in the top notes: mint, tarragon, marigold, lemon, lavender, and bergamot. Yes, they are all there, faintly, you can sense them.
That doesn't mean the fragrance is a mild breeze. No, the presence is there, but it is not easy to pick out the details. No single note stands out; it is a web where each component supports the others.
Harsh and bitter, almost sharp is the marigold. And here, it is not the scent of the flower, which is standard in every country garden, that is meant, but the herb of the plant, which comes across as repulsive to me.
But don't worry, the marigold, which holds on into the heart, is not overdosed but integrates into the web, which would inevitably have a hole if it were removed.

As for the heart. For me, it is no longer a men's fragrance, very floral, feminine - I definitely miss more depth from vetiver, bay leaf, rosemary, which would give Davidoff's Relaxing the masculinity that is simply lacking at this point.

The base becomes more interesting again. The excess of flowers does not completely fade away for a long time, making way for tonka and vanilla. Tonka? Hey, I thought that stuff was a modern invention?!? Apparently not, but I actually don't like these two components. However, Davidoff has managed a good dose here, because despite the clear presence of these sweet ingredients, they never come across as overwhelming; on the contrary, they fit excellently with amber, a typical ingredient in many men's fragrances at the base. A bit of leather vibe supports the classic feel, and there’s also a hint of something bitter in there. Benzoin? It's there, but too subtle. Moss? Same. It must be patchouli. But why do I have the impression that marigold sends its X-ray flashes for milliseconds? I actually wanted to relax...

Those of us who didn't just hatch yesterday might still remember that absolutely dreadful advertisement, in which a handful of wind-tousled puppies rattle the shutters and scream Egoist.

I still don't understand this low point - yes, absolute zero point of advertising! But do I understand what was being advertised?

From an egoist, an alpha male, one expects an appearance with edges and corners. So, do angular droplets fly into our noses from the spray head? Well, the opening is straightforward on one hand, but not really understandable. It’s a rather peculiar mélange of woods plus a bit of citrus and the cinnamon that shamelessly pushes its way to the front at the checkout. Rose and clove provide a strong base that strongly reminds one of (sun) creams that were available during the launch times of Egoist and even before that. Only weakly leathery does the Egoist parade come to an end, with the flowers still sweetened in a vanilla-tobacco manner. What reads briefly here feels like it lasts forever because the old egomaniac certainly has endurance.

The scent development shows itself to be lacking in facets. It levels out in the first half hour and then nothing happens anymore. With Egoist, there is usually always action; the world revolves around them, and they constantly pout and throw tantrums, those spoiled figures. However, here there is no action. Straightforward like the torque curve of a turbo diesel.

What about Eck's and Kant's? For the time, the edges and corners were already given. However, not in the form one might expect from the name: harsh and masculine. And what do you get? Contrary to all claims, nothing overly masculine, but a unisex scent, even before this category even existed.
Jil Sander picked up this concept just a few years later and refined it with her milestone Background. Was there even a men’s fragrance from good old Jil that cannot be considered a milestone? Never mind, another topic. Take Jil's Background, throw out the raspberry, and replace it with a weak mandarin, which is overwhelmed by tropical wood and pulsating cinnamon, and you have - Egoist! And now you may rattle the shutters.

When it says synthetic-aquatic, that’s usually a reason for me to run away screaming, because searching for something good in either of these genres is like looking for the (non-existent) needle in a haystack. But should I carelessly toss away the samples that were in my package from S. Oliver?

Indeed, the opening is a bit off-putting: I wondered why Sidolin is now available as an Eau de Toilette - from the pre-reformulated era, of course. But that feeling passes quickly, as cardamom and pink pepper have no interest in window cleaning.
The rosemary does quite well here - in a classic way, I like it! I generally have issues with moss: if it's missing, I notice it immediately, but as a single note, it's hard for me to detect; it's a note that forms the network without playing a prominent role. I have the impression that the top and base notes quickly intertwine, or the base note already comes forward early before it retreats again, celebrating the rosemary-moss duo in pure classic style. It’s also interesting that the cedar doesn’t come across as too dry, but adds a slightly resinous note, which is usually never the case with this conifer.
Yes, this fragrance fits the mentioned genre. However, practically everything on the market that is synthetic and/or aquatic is completely overdone in at least one component and thus a real nuisance. Here, however, there is a balanced blend with quite classic references, making it a good all-rounder. However, this guy lacks endurance and projection, and not just a little! Was there simply cost-cutting involved, and should this little aquatic actually be called Eau de Cologne? Or do the synthetics and aquatics have to first be a nuisance in parts of their composition to achieve endurance and projection in the sum? Here, I definitely miss a bit of "pressure," even though this fragrance is truly not to be underestimated.

I have a good acquaintance who has at least as great a passion for good fragrances as I do. However, he is a good bit ahead of me in one respect: he has no qualms about shelling out a three-digit sum for a little Eau, while my threshold is as insurmountable as the death strip of the inner-German border. We don't see each other that often, and at one of our last meetings, he made me incredibly happy with Ford's Tobacco Vanilla. This time, he was holding Ombré Leather in his hand. "Check it out, it's from the same house as the summer gingerbread."
Since I didn't have a cold at the time, I was happy to oblige. Leather... - is always good! But I only know Hombre; Ombré is unfamiliar to me. So, better to be a bit cautious. I take off the cap and - it definitely won't go unnoticed on my wrist! Basically, the top and heart notes consist of just two things: black leather and Arabian jasmine. Black leather, how can one best describe that? Well, it's not the skin of some exotic animal, but rather leather that has seen quite a bit. This scent reminds me a bit of leather that has been soaked, yes, practically drowned, in wheel grease. Not clean grease, but a black, dirty sludge that carries the scent of the street: dust and metal abrasion. The actual leather note thus becomes black and harsh.
And now comes the fatal part: jasmine. The greasy leather note, which is already not one of the pleasant scents, becomes something that inevitably makes me think of PAHs: polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons, among others found in tar oils.
Thank goodness I only tested it on a strip contrary to my usual habits, because this is truly too much of a good thing.
Unfortunately, this base mood lingers for hours. A little bit of light sharpness is brought in by the cardamom, while vetiver repeatedly delivers small sharp needle pricks and never intends or has the power to give more, which patchouli also cannot achieve, remaining rather diffuse.
Only at the base does this fragrance become bearable for me. Amber and moss do not take away the blackness of the leather; they do not strip it of its grease. But they do something with it. They allow the leather to age. It still hangs on the old cart, but it hasn't come into contact with the grease for 20, 30, or even 50 years. What still clings to it is dried out and lets a little sweetness shine through. However, when I scratch the thicker grease spots on the leather, I find that it is, in places, still not completely dried out and spreads its PAH-typical scent.
I associate the scent with an old-timer driver, whether it's old trucks, cars, motorcycles, or tractors; they just shouldn't be younger than from the 1930s. I also associate the scent with old crafts that are now partly extinct or with the stoker on a steam locomotive. It doesn't fit with a Daytona 675 or a GTI.

And unisex? Whose twisted mind came up with this classification? Show me the girl who loves the smell of wooden railway sleepers and uses creosote instead of shower gel. No amount of stupid talking and camera grinning on YouTube helps - it's all just flattering comments for products provided for free...

I have never given a fragrance a full 10 - not even to my all-time favorite Drakkar Noir. Always hoping that something would come along that would blow me away like nothing before. Now, the phase of 9 is finally over thanks to Man Pure, a milestone in men's fragrances. It was a few months ago when I dug out a few minis from the good Jil that had been languishing in the back of a drawer. There were Background and Man Pure. I had already disposed of one of the Man Pure minis years ago because it was no longer quite right. But I had a subtle feeling that MP was not entirely unknown to me. Time passed, and then there was still this little gem in the drawer. I expected nothing, as the other one had also gone off, or at least that’s how I felt at the time.

No, the Eau was not spoiled; this one was okay. When applied - it was like seeing an old friend again whom you haven't seen in a quarter of a century, like a rebirth in the early eighties. Man, I don't even know where to start from all the excitement. Okay, let’s start over: apply, rebirth in the eighties. Sweet basil meets sage and oregano. Sage is one of the few spices that can behave either like Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde. I have the stuff in my garden, and there is a difference like day and night whether you use it dried or processed in some way or fresh. In the first case, it can spread its typical herbaceous-sour tingling kick, like you know from various cough drops, or in the second case, it can show its filthy side and become urinous and even foul-pestilent like a bouquet of flowers that has been sitting in the same water for a week. In MP, the sage primarily showcases the gentlemanly part, and together with citrus, clove, geranium, and patchouli, it creates a wonderful scent: a fresh-green-herbaceous soap. You’re groaning about the soap? I usually do too, because it always reminds me so much of cheap aftershaves and Toni's barber shop. Here, it looks a bit different. Even though the soapy note is the dominant part in large parts of the late top and early heart notes, nothing here feels cheap. Nothing is overwhelming, and nothing is lost; the right balance has been struck. It doesn’t even bother me that the soapy note makes itself comfortable in the heart of the fragrance for several hours before the previously bombastic scent elevates to the divine as it transitions from heart to base! Oakmoss in its purest form - sure, back then it was still allowed, the allergy issue was only spun out later - with the earthy patchouli, the beaver musk plays with the labdanum, unmistakably bitter is the nutmeg. Dominantly above, but never intrusive, the cinnamon perfectly rounds everything off.

But there was something else. Right, MP also has an animalistic side, and here Mr. Artarit has done no less than a good job, as it cannot be determined 100% whether it is just the beaver musk. I say no, because at this point, at least the sage is involved, which lets a little bit of the filthy side of the spices show and thus reveals its other side. And I strongly tend to believe that the labdanum also has its fingers in the animalistic game, and here too, the right measure has been found to the thousandth.

This fragrance, which had escaped my memories of the last 20 years, is one of THE fragrances of the 1980s! It presents itself multifaceted with clean freshness, is herbaceous-spicy-green, feels grounded and noble. It is above all doubt and is simultaneously damn sexy, not to say, even a little bit wicked.
The scent is clearly perceptible in all its phases, with a very high radiance. This is one that you don’t just drag behind you, but also push ahead of you, yet due to its perfect composition, it always remains a gentleman. For at least 12+x hours, of course. Yes, back then you still got something for your money (I would really be interested to know what it cost in Deutschmark in '81)! Where other fragrances from this era might elicit a "Hey, you smell like Dad (or Grandpa)," here it would likely be "Hey, you smell like Pa... But you... You smell... unfortunately awesome!"
MP was heard well into the nineties, yes, omnipresent, in my eyes one of the few milestones of men's perfumes, and it is truly a shame that it no longer exists. Yes, I know, allergenic and toxic stuff and the "EU of the cosmetics industry," which is trimmed similarly to the automotive industry... Or maybe it was just outdated? But hey, this was a fragrance for which it would have really been worth dying. And it still is... - damn!

Unfortunately, MP is not so easy to find today and certainly not cheap. If you want the DNA and are willing to forgo a few percent of the finest details of MP, feel free to contact me via PM, and I will name an alternative. And if you enjoy the also long-gone Halston Catalyst for Men and have no objections to an animalistic touch, you will find something you might like with MP (or the 719).