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Constrained Raw Material
Right from the start, the scent is difficult to describe and can only be formulated in images.
It begins wonderfully leathery, but not just that. With a dried-fruit depth, Accord Oud smells old, not necessarily antiquated as the scent is modern. More like old furniture, very old dark brown wooden furniture, the kind you discover through the haze of dust stirred up in your grandparents' attic. They are simple yet possess an undefined elegance.
The scent evokes for me a sense of the past and loneliness. Nevertheless, it conveys a muted elegance, not so much a dull thud but rather pulsating and awakening.
It is a craftfully great composition. You can feel how raspberry, rum, and leather notes enter into a symbiosis here, but you can't really smell it; this scent is too intertwined.
When I am in my parents' attic during the height of summer, I feel the stuffy dry air in my throat, the unbearable heat, and the longing for a refreshing fruit ice that only dries my throat out more. That's somewhat how Accord Oud is. Dry, dusty with a hint of withered fruitiness. Around me, old wood and old armchairs.
The transition to the top note is very subtly progressing.
The sage gives itself completely to its light note and smoothly replaces the fruity dry notes of the top note with equally dry but wood-heavy notes. A bitter, harsh note sets in and firmly establishes the end of the top note.
Accord Oud somehow comes across as a constrained scent. It doesn't fully open up and hides itself more and more as the scent develops. It also becomes weaker.
Cinnamon is supposed to be in there as well. I actually smell nothing of spicy cinnamon and saffron. I probably missed that.
After a promising start, I was also waiting for something to be expected. Nothing.
The scent becomes downright boring. The dry down is merely a subtle patchouli.
The oud, as the name promises, is found in a new interpretation. Formerly the prima ballerina of the scent, it is here very subtle and shy. You can smell the resinous, sultry wood character with an earthy undertone.
Unfortunately, I don't know Oud Immortel, but both are said to be "exaggerations" of original ideas. But read for yourself.
Ben Gorham on Accord Oud:
“I got to know the smell of oud in India and the Middle East. Its distinctive and intense character impressed me greatly. I felt the need to focus entirely on the uniqueness of this raw material and create a scent that draws exclusively from the character of oud. During the development, I found that different facets of this complex wood type were even more pronounced when combined with other essences. In the end, I liked two very different interpretations the best, and I decided to present them as a pair. In both cases, they are exaggerations of the original idea.”
Although I find the idea to be great in my opinion and nose, the execution leaves much to be desired. It's as if the perfumer lost interest after the heart note. The realization of the idea is too simple and too unremarkable for me. More than up to the top note doesn't reach me; after that, Accord Oud loses itself in woody pseudo-minimalism. Accord Oud feels unfinished, going from initial greatness to being unremarkable.
The opening was so promising, the ending so unremarkable.
It begins wonderfully leathery, but not just that. With a dried-fruit depth, Accord Oud smells old, not necessarily antiquated as the scent is modern. More like old furniture, very old dark brown wooden furniture, the kind you discover through the haze of dust stirred up in your grandparents' attic. They are simple yet possess an undefined elegance.
The scent evokes for me a sense of the past and loneliness. Nevertheless, it conveys a muted elegance, not so much a dull thud but rather pulsating and awakening.
It is a craftfully great composition. You can feel how raspberry, rum, and leather notes enter into a symbiosis here, but you can't really smell it; this scent is too intertwined.
When I am in my parents' attic during the height of summer, I feel the stuffy dry air in my throat, the unbearable heat, and the longing for a refreshing fruit ice that only dries my throat out more. That's somewhat how Accord Oud is. Dry, dusty with a hint of withered fruitiness. Around me, old wood and old armchairs.
The transition to the top note is very subtly progressing.
The sage gives itself completely to its light note and smoothly replaces the fruity dry notes of the top note with equally dry but wood-heavy notes. A bitter, harsh note sets in and firmly establishes the end of the top note.
Accord Oud somehow comes across as a constrained scent. It doesn't fully open up and hides itself more and more as the scent develops. It also becomes weaker.
Cinnamon is supposed to be in there as well. I actually smell nothing of spicy cinnamon and saffron. I probably missed that.
After a promising start, I was also waiting for something to be expected. Nothing.
The scent becomes downright boring. The dry down is merely a subtle patchouli.
The oud, as the name promises, is found in a new interpretation. Formerly the prima ballerina of the scent, it is here very subtle and shy. You can smell the resinous, sultry wood character with an earthy undertone.
Unfortunately, I don't know Oud Immortel, but both are said to be "exaggerations" of original ideas. But read for yourself.
Ben Gorham on Accord Oud:
“I got to know the smell of oud in India and the Middle East. Its distinctive and intense character impressed me greatly. I felt the need to focus entirely on the uniqueness of this raw material and create a scent that draws exclusively from the character of oud. During the development, I found that different facets of this complex wood type were even more pronounced when combined with other essences. In the end, I liked two very different interpretations the best, and I decided to present them as a pair. In both cases, they are exaggerations of the original idea.”
Although I find the idea to be great in my opinion and nose, the execution leaves much to be desired. It's as if the perfumer lost interest after the heart note. The realization of the idea is too simple and too unremarkable for me. More than up to the top note doesn't reach me; after that, Accord Oud loses itself in woody pseudo-minimalism. Accord Oud feels unfinished, going from initial greatness to being unremarkable.
The opening was so promising, the ending so unremarkable.
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The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing
The opening confuses me, not in a negative sense, but is there something missing in the fragrance pyramid? Perhaps something animalistic? Even the comments below do not suggest anything of the sort, and the classification of the fragrance type does not indicate it either.
Nevertheless, XPEC Original clearly begins with a spicy scent of animalistic notes. Not too offensive, yet the typical hints of animal notes rise up within me, swirling through my nose.
At the same time: Lemons are still quite bright and clear, making the fragrance shine. They contrast with the milky spice of thyme. Otherwise, the fragrance accord of the top note is quite difficult to explain, as a monstrous depth quickly and very complexly reveals itself.
Tuberose, as such, does not stand out distinctly here; rather, it shapes the character of the fragrance. A bit buttery, rather vaguely sweet. One can already feel the gentle bitterness rising from the oak moss of the base and the spicy hints of piquant pepper. In between, the herbal nuances of the heart note join in. This gentle outline of a chypre fragrance is sweetly enveloped by the aforementioned warmth of tuberose.
The top note alone is already a masterpiece; it alone offers a deep insight into the complexity of the fragrance and is thankfully long-lasting. I cannot smell anything medicinal here, nor do I want to.
As the fragrance develops, the tuberose increasingly surrenders to its floral character and allows itself to be enveloped by the woody character that slowly rises from the base, embracing the fragrance and guiding it directly in a specific direction.
My first thought after the top note was nonetheless that the fragrance would lie in the contrast of sweet tuberose and bitter oak moss. That is not the case.
For reasons I cannot explain, a complex yet penetrating harmony unfolds and blossoms slowly. The fragrance somehow creates itself and does not rely solely on its notes; it pushes itself forward without engaging in a tiresome interplay but allows for a harmonious resonance. Even before the finish.
We surely all know harmonious, coherent fragrances, well-made and equally magnificent in their uniqueness. We know that. However, XPEC is particularly special in that it transcends a certain degree of complexity, leaves behind pompous creativity, and allows enough space, even in its vastness, for authenticity. The fragrance radiates a consistent and unforced character of dignity without stretching the nose too high and losing sight of the essentials, wandering aimlessly.
As the fragrance progresses, the animalistic notes are indispensable; they remain subtly in the background but do not hide under the growing accord of earthy and spicy notes. Together, they capture a herbal quality. All notes are very gently and neatly placed; nothing screams or whines or sits forgotten in the corner.
I can hardly perceive the tuberose as a flower anymore. Expecting such a character, a honey-like unsweetness emerges instead.
A somewhat similar fragrance is Frankincense & Myrrh by Czech & Speake. Both convey this herbal sweetness without being sweet in the slightest, and both achieve this with completely different fragrance ingredients. The perfumer is the same one who provided me with this direct fragrance comparison. What XPEC adds, especially in comparison, is the bitter aftertaste. Since No. 88 also provided a comparison, I have come to the conclusion that the comparable character is the signature, or better yet, the nose, of the perfumer.
Instead of the tuberose, something entirely different is responsible for the floral character here. Not mentioned above: The rose, which, not overly pronounced, subtly underscores a pleasant sensitivity, leading the fragrance away from the primal man to the gentleman. This may not appeal to everyone, but it does the fragrance good, and a suit suits it here at least better than a piece of mammoth fur. But who knows, the gentleman of tomorrow might wear it again.
Overall, the fragrance forms a bitter, not scratchy character; it is not beautiful, but it looks good.
As it continues, the fragrance meanders amidst warming cedar woods, resting on earthy oak moss. Here, faint hints of leather can be perceived from a distance. The finish is as it should be, grand and unobtrusive. Bitter notes weave through heavy wood accords with the liveliness of fruity hints of something great that represents warmth and security. More, but also no less than a "Something," is this base, as it is difficult to describe.
In my perception, a similar hint of animalistic notes is indispensable, perhaps just an imagined glimpse of the harmonious depth of the fragrance, or I am fortunate to perceive the fragrance as the olfactory synthesis of man and beast without either daring to take the upper hand. In this comparison, I happily think of Harry Haller, the protagonist of one of my favorite works, "Steppenwolf" by Hermann Hesse. The book, dealing with a struggle between man and beast and the question of the winner, is reflected in the fragrance as this tension field, harmonized in terms of scent but still striving for the answer, XPEC Original achieves a personal character with which one gladly identifies.
It is beautiful how the fragrance embraces this "ancient" character without annoying me with the tedious immaturity of overly citrusy undertones and skillfully avoids the classic lemon-flower-wood character of a men's fragrance, with the powerful steps of animalistic notes.
Thank you, XPEC, I finally get to enjoy a classic fragrance without having to be more and older than myself.
Thanks also to Apicius and all the other writers after him, whose assessments I gladly accept and whose comments invited me to the fragrance experience of XPEC Original Man.
XPEC Original Man - A fragrance for explorers.
Nevertheless, XPEC Original clearly begins with a spicy scent of animalistic notes. Not too offensive, yet the typical hints of animal notes rise up within me, swirling through my nose.
At the same time: Lemons are still quite bright and clear, making the fragrance shine. They contrast with the milky spice of thyme. Otherwise, the fragrance accord of the top note is quite difficult to explain, as a monstrous depth quickly and very complexly reveals itself.
Tuberose, as such, does not stand out distinctly here; rather, it shapes the character of the fragrance. A bit buttery, rather vaguely sweet. One can already feel the gentle bitterness rising from the oak moss of the base and the spicy hints of piquant pepper. In between, the herbal nuances of the heart note join in. This gentle outline of a chypre fragrance is sweetly enveloped by the aforementioned warmth of tuberose.
The top note alone is already a masterpiece; it alone offers a deep insight into the complexity of the fragrance and is thankfully long-lasting. I cannot smell anything medicinal here, nor do I want to.
As the fragrance develops, the tuberose increasingly surrenders to its floral character and allows itself to be enveloped by the woody character that slowly rises from the base, embracing the fragrance and guiding it directly in a specific direction.
My first thought after the top note was nonetheless that the fragrance would lie in the contrast of sweet tuberose and bitter oak moss. That is not the case.
For reasons I cannot explain, a complex yet penetrating harmony unfolds and blossoms slowly. The fragrance somehow creates itself and does not rely solely on its notes; it pushes itself forward without engaging in a tiresome interplay but allows for a harmonious resonance. Even before the finish.
We surely all know harmonious, coherent fragrances, well-made and equally magnificent in their uniqueness. We know that. However, XPEC is particularly special in that it transcends a certain degree of complexity, leaves behind pompous creativity, and allows enough space, even in its vastness, for authenticity. The fragrance radiates a consistent and unforced character of dignity without stretching the nose too high and losing sight of the essentials, wandering aimlessly.
As the fragrance progresses, the animalistic notes are indispensable; they remain subtly in the background but do not hide under the growing accord of earthy and spicy notes. Together, they capture a herbal quality. All notes are very gently and neatly placed; nothing screams or whines or sits forgotten in the corner.
I can hardly perceive the tuberose as a flower anymore. Expecting such a character, a honey-like unsweetness emerges instead.
A somewhat similar fragrance is Frankincense & Myrrh by Czech & Speake. Both convey this herbal sweetness without being sweet in the slightest, and both achieve this with completely different fragrance ingredients. The perfumer is the same one who provided me with this direct fragrance comparison. What XPEC adds, especially in comparison, is the bitter aftertaste. Since No. 88 also provided a comparison, I have come to the conclusion that the comparable character is the signature, or better yet, the nose, of the perfumer.
Instead of the tuberose, something entirely different is responsible for the floral character here. Not mentioned above: The rose, which, not overly pronounced, subtly underscores a pleasant sensitivity, leading the fragrance away from the primal man to the gentleman. This may not appeal to everyone, but it does the fragrance good, and a suit suits it here at least better than a piece of mammoth fur. But who knows, the gentleman of tomorrow might wear it again.
Overall, the fragrance forms a bitter, not scratchy character; it is not beautiful, but it looks good.
As it continues, the fragrance meanders amidst warming cedar woods, resting on earthy oak moss. Here, faint hints of leather can be perceived from a distance. The finish is as it should be, grand and unobtrusive. Bitter notes weave through heavy wood accords with the liveliness of fruity hints of something great that represents warmth and security. More, but also no less than a "Something," is this base, as it is difficult to describe.
In my perception, a similar hint of animalistic notes is indispensable, perhaps just an imagined glimpse of the harmonious depth of the fragrance, or I am fortunate to perceive the fragrance as the olfactory synthesis of man and beast without either daring to take the upper hand. In this comparison, I happily think of Harry Haller, the protagonist of one of my favorite works, "Steppenwolf" by Hermann Hesse. The book, dealing with a struggle between man and beast and the question of the winner, is reflected in the fragrance as this tension field, harmonized in terms of scent but still striving for the answer, XPEC Original achieves a personal character with which one gladly identifies.
It is beautiful how the fragrance embraces this "ancient" character without annoying me with the tedious immaturity of overly citrusy undertones and skillfully avoids the classic lemon-flower-wood character of a men's fragrance, with the powerful steps of animalistic notes.
Thank you, XPEC, I finally get to enjoy a classic fragrance without having to be more and older than myself.
Thanks also to Apicius and all the other writers after him, whose assessments I gladly accept and whose comments invited me to the fragrance experience of XPEC Original Man.
XPEC Original Man - A fragrance for explorers.
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Incense Winter in a Bed of Flowers
Incense rosé is a fragrance that should be tested, whether you like it or not. Firstly, because it is crafted brilliantly, and secondly, it is not just an olfactory spectacle. It is a captivatingly serene visual spectacle. The scent is not comfortably cozy or beautifully pleasant in a similar way, but rather deliberately clear and of pure beauty.
It begins with what Lav has already described so aptly. It evokes frosty winter forests, trees sharply outlined by silvery moonlight under a clear starry sky. This image is infused with a love for naturalness. So, it is not a colorful fairy-tale forest but simply silence and peace, with a hint of secrecy that runs through the movements of the scent's development. It is beautiful to see the head note ingredients united to create something new. One is aware of bergamot and rose, but they release their own character in Incense rosé, merging into something new and more exciting.
Gradually, the fragrance changes, becoming spicier, more delicate, and less powerful than the opening, yet still mystical and inexplicably mysterious. It feels as if one is increasingly peering into the infinite depths of the forest, pondering the witch in the gingerbread house.
The scent of iris quickly asserts itself, creating a certain feminine sweetness that still stands in contrast to the heavy incense. The beaver musk does not necessarily take center stage here but supports the sweetness and promises a touch of daring for the fragrance.
Towards the base, the scent rolls towards the woods and promises not too much with vetiver, patchouli, and cedar. All three are quite clearly perceptible. Only subtly do myrrh resins suggest the character of the fragrance, but they are not as distorted or connected as the components of the head note, and do not come across as new or differently characterized. Amber along with labdanum further supports the sweetness and allows Incense rosé to descend from its sacred incense-laden heights down to us on Earth. The accord is harmonious, uniting green-woody notes with balsamic sweetness, all the while surrounded by dark, spicy incense. Somewhere on the edge of the fragrance, I can still perceive some nuances of floral notes. Here ends for me the grandiosity of Andy Tauer's rose fragrance. As unique as it remains throughout, I find the base note somewhat displeasing. The sweetness of the amber, masterfully framed in contrast within the scent, does not harmonize well with my nose and my perception in the interplay with the herbal notes. However, anyone who wishes to engage with an exciting olfactory experience, enjoys mental imagery, and is not averse to incense should take a moment to appreciate Incense rosé. The concept of a contrast as presented here, a play of cool incense and warm, erotic resins on the bed of frivolous flowers, presenting itself in the mind as an aesthetic synthesis, is truly unique.
It begins with what Lav has already described so aptly. It evokes frosty winter forests, trees sharply outlined by silvery moonlight under a clear starry sky. This image is infused with a love for naturalness. So, it is not a colorful fairy-tale forest but simply silence and peace, with a hint of secrecy that runs through the movements of the scent's development. It is beautiful to see the head note ingredients united to create something new. One is aware of bergamot and rose, but they release their own character in Incense rosé, merging into something new and more exciting.
Gradually, the fragrance changes, becoming spicier, more delicate, and less powerful than the opening, yet still mystical and inexplicably mysterious. It feels as if one is increasingly peering into the infinite depths of the forest, pondering the witch in the gingerbread house.
The scent of iris quickly asserts itself, creating a certain feminine sweetness that still stands in contrast to the heavy incense. The beaver musk does not necessarily take center stage here but supports the sweetness and promises a touch of daring for the fragrance.
Towards the base, the scent rolls towards the woods and promises not too much with vetiver, patchouli, and cedar. All three are quite clearly perceptible. Only subtly do myrrh resins suggest the character of the fragrance, but they are not as distorted or connected as the components of the head note, and do not come across as new or differently characterized. Amber along with labdanum further supports the sweetness and allows Incense rosé to descend from its sacred incense-laden heights down to us on Earth. The accord is harmonious, uniting green-woody notes with balsamic sweetness, all the while surrounded by dark, spicy incense. Somewhere on the edge of the fragrance, I can still perceive some nuances of floral notes. Here ends for me the grandiosity of Andy Tauer's rose fragrance. As unique as it remains throughout, I find the base note somewhat displeasing. The sweetness of the amber, masterfully framed in contrast within the scent, does not harmonize well with my nose and my perception in the interplay with the herbal notes. However, anyone who wishes to engage with an exciting olfactory experience, enjoys mental imagery, and is not averse to incense should take a moment to appreciate Incense rosé. The concept of a contrast as presented here, a play of cool incense and warm, erotic resins on the bed of frivolous flowers, presenting itself in the mind as an aesthetic synthesis, is truly unique.
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Village Idyl
When a scent wafts through my senses and settles there, it often creates an image in my mind's eye. I prefer abstract constructions of unreal visual power, but I often find satisfaction in an explainable impression of beautiful memories.
Serge Lutens' creations are quite different. Instead of evoking an image, his fragrances create a scene, a whole scenario.
So it is here.
Musc Koublai Khan proves to be both animalistic and gentle. It is not as dark as other representatives, but soft and delicately bright. Not dirty and sweaty, but clean, clear, and still extremely sexy.
I wouldn’t completely rule out rose here, but that should probably remain a question of skin chemistry.
Other animals might carry a well-considered trump card of irony up their sleeve, but Musc Koublai Khan openly plays its animal side, presenting it in an appealing way.
The opening is simply pleasant. Very soft and mild, yet herbaceous but not unpleasantly scratchy. No irregular, piercing three-day stubble, but rather a cozy, woolly man’s beard. So masculine, ultra-masculine, brimming with wildness, yet preserving elegance and a charming demeanor with the dilettante sufferers.
Thus, Musc Koublai Khan is neither malicious nor stinky.
The herd of animals is surprisingly announced. Still soft and warm, the scent, once the top note has faded, exudes an animalistic character. Like a whole horde, they trot through the underbrush. The woody notes of the fragrance return elegance to the animalistic. Castoreum and civet no longer smell wild and untamable but rather subtly exude a monstrous potency of the wild man-beast.
There isn’t much development after that. The wild animals graze peacefully, and the little bees hum softly around the ear.
An olfactory village idyl in the last rays of the sun before the night of the animals threatens to break. *Grunt*
Serge Lutens' creations are quite different. Instead of evoking an image, his fragrances create a scene, a whole scenario.
So it is here.
Musc Koublai Khan proves to be both animalistic and gentle. It is not as dark as other representatives, but soft and delicately bright. Not dirty and sweaty, but clean, clear, and still extremely sexy.
I wouldn’t completely rule out rose here, but that should probably remain a question of skin chemistry.
Other animals might carry a well-considered trump card of irony up their sleeve, but Musc Koublai Khan openly plays its animal side, presenting it in an appealing way.
The opening is simply pleasant. Very soft and mild, yet herbaceous but not unpleasantly scratchy. No irregular, piercing three-day stubble, but rather a cozy, woolly man’s beard. So masculine, ultra-masculine, brimming with wildness, yet preserving elegance and a charming demeanor with the dilettante sufferers.
Thus, Musc Koublai Khan is neither malicious nor stinky.
The herd of animals is surprisingly announced. Still soft and warm, the scent, once the top note has faded, exudes an animalistic character. Like a whole horde, they trot through the underbrush. The woody notes of the fragrance return elegance to the animalistic. Castoreum and civet no longer smell wild and untamable but rather subtly exude a monstrous potency of the wild man-beast.
There isn’t much development after that. The wild animals graze peacefully, and the little bees hum softly around the ear.
An olfactory village idyl in the last rays of the sun before the night of the animals threatens to break. *Grunt*
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All Roads Lead to Rome
A "Ghostly Violet" or - "Purple". So the title.
I hate purple. Not just because it seems to have to descend to the lifestyle icon of the nation, purple is simply not beautiful. It wants to be some kind of interplay between dark, mysterious and pleasurable, strong and still unisex. Purple is really a stupid idea.
Hopefully, the scent is violet.
The opening immediately makes me take a hop to the side.
A bitter-sour lime rushes forward, chased by a papery raspberry sweetness.
Together they either cancel each other out or argue with one another, and here it’s both in moderation. At the back, some herbal green galbanum is still lingering around. A synthetic citrus note banter emerges. Not really fresh and pleasantly refreshing but somehow just a tangle of individual notes. The lime holds its ground better than the raspberry. The latter soon sneaks away quietly. This scent doesn’t really pick up speed but is not unpleasant, and one could imagine a worse opening.
So far, the scent is more masculine than unisex. But let’s wait for the violet.
The galbanum stands here between the top and heart notes and creates a homogeneous transition. All the time, I sense a bitter-sour note in the background that has, on one hand, something refreshing and on the other hand, something intrusive.
What then joins in is so shy that it becomes annoying. So shy that the violet doesn’t address me but just yells around. I had hoped for more gentleness from a flower.
I am very pleased to notice how it slowly calms down later.
Now the scent becomes pleasant. One must exercise patience, but as so often, one is rewarded. The bitter note I mentioned is still present but begins an interesting interplay with the soft loveliness of the floral notes. It’s no longer a struggle but rather a mutual tickling. The citrus notes give the violet clarity and purity. The flower itself, however, completely surrenders to its floral character. The scent misses what would make it feminine. Despite the violets and a feminine floral quality, it doesn’t really glow but is rather dull and almost herbaceous.
If someone perceives this as just a metallic slush, I would completely agree. I have only tried to see the best in everything. As always. Meanwhile, the scent indulges in idleness and is a bit too vague for me, more on that later.
I would like to say it disappears for a good half hour of heart note only to later and even more strongly re-emerge. The following scent progression now delights lovers of sweeter fragrances and turns to its more feminine side.
A wave of sweet scent notes precedes the next, and the scent becomes rounder and softer. First, a dancing musk along with iris enters, both with a round fruity accent. The fruity notes from the top note also find themselves in the base and form a bearable counterpart to the sweet didledum. The sweetness in Spectral Violet comes, considering the formerly so bitter character, quite unexpectedly, yet fittingly in a strong conclusion of a baroque, pompous iris note. This accord presents itself as a kind of summary, alternating floral, fruity, and herbaceous accents appear on a plush sweet carpet.
But I am still waiting for some woody nuances of sandalwood.
As the scent progresses, it indeed shows incentives towards oriental and woody realms. However, those expecting a masculine opulence will be disappointed. The notes are further submerged in musk, creating a soft base tone, a smooth lake, not a roaring sea full of mysterious depths. We who know musk cannot say that the scent is boring or unpleasant. In a natural way, it is pleasant, so soft and animalistic, accented with a few little fruits. So, it’s standard and of good quality.
In its effort to make the scent equally wearable for men and women, thus creating a unisex fragrance, Spectral Violet somewhat forgets its own authenticity. Only a few manage that anyway. Often, as here, it’s just a masculine part alongside a feminine one, less truly gender-neutral.
It wants to be too much perfume and too little artwork.
All roads lead to Rome, but must it always just be Rome? Everyone knows Rome.
Thanks to the generous Don for the sample of Spectral Violet.
If this comment isn’t enough for anyone, I’d be happy to send it on request.
I hate purple. Not just because it seems to have to descend to the lifestyle icon of the nation, purple is simply not beautiful. It wants to be some kind of interplay between dark, mysterious and pleasurable, strong and still unisex. Purple is really a stupid idea.
Hopefully, the scent is violet.
The opening immediately makes me take a hop to the side.
A bitter-sour lime rushes forward, chased by a papery raspberry sweetness.
Together they either cancel each other out or argue with one another, and here it’s both in moderation. At the back, some herbal green galbanum is still lingering around. A synthetic citrus note banter emerges. Not really fresh and pleasantly refreshing but somehow just a tangle of individual notes. The lime holds its ground better than the raspberry. The latter soon sneaks away quietly. This scent doesn’t really pick up speed but is not unpleasant, and one could imagine a worse opening.
So far, the scent is more masculine than unisex. But let’s wait for the violet.
The galbanum stands here between the top and heart notes and creates a homogeneous transition. All the time, I sense a bitter-sour note in the background that has, on one hand, something refreshing and on the other hand, something intrusive.
What then joins in is so shy that it becomes annoying. So shy that the violet doesn’t address me but just yells around. I had hoped for more gentleness from a flower.
I am very pleased to notice how it slowly calms down later.
Now the scent becomes pleasant. One must exercise patience, but as so often, one is rewarded. The bitter note I mentioned is still present but begins an interesting interplay with the soft loveliness of the floral notes. It’s no longer a struggle but rather a mutual tickling. The citrus notes give the violet clarity and purity. The flower itself, however, completely surrenders to its floral character. The scent misses what would make it feminine. Despite the violets and a feminine floral quality, it doesn’t really glow but is rather dull and almost herbaceous.
If someone perceives this as just a metallic slush, I would completely agree. I have only tried to see the best in everything. As always. Meanwhile, the scent indulges in idleness and is a bit too vague for me, more on that later.
I would like to say it disappears for a good half hour of heart note only to later and even more strongly re-emerge. The following scent progression now delights lovers of sweeter fragrances and turns to its more feminine side.
A wave of sweet scent notes precedes the next, and the scent becomes rounder and softer. First, a dancing musk along with iris enters, both with a round fruity accent. The fruity notes from the top note also find themselves in the base and form a bearable counterpart to the sweet didledum. The sweetness in Spectral Violet comes, considering the formerly so bitter character, quite unexpectedly, yet fittingly in a strong conclusion of a baroque, pompous iris note. This accord presents itself as a kind of summary, alternating floral, fruity, and herbaceous accents appear on a plush sweet carpet.
But I am still waiting for some woody nuances of sandalwood.
As the scent progresses, it indeed shows incentives towards oriental and woody realms. However, those expecting a masculine opulence will be disappointed. The notes are further submerged in musk, creating a soft base tone, a smooth lake, not a roaring sea full of mysterious depths. We who know musk cannot say that the scent is boring or unpleasant. In a natural way, it is pleasant, so soft and animalistic, accented with a few little fruits. So, it’s standard and of good quality.
In its effort to make the scent equally wearable for men and women, thus creating a unisex fragrance, Spectral Violet somewhat forgets its own authenticity. Only a few manage that anyway. Often, as here, it’s just a masculine part alongside a feminine one, less truly gender-neutral.
It wants to be too much perfume and too little artwork.
All roads lead to Rome, but must it always just be Rome? Everyone knows Rome.
Thanks to the generous Don for the sample of Spectral Violet.
If this comment isn’t enough for anyone, I’d be happy to send it on request.
2 Comments
