Jjcolbourne

This obscurity comes from the same house that brought us the classic Tea Rose along with Samba and its zillion flankers; an impressively rendered macho-aldehydic, zippy herbs-n- leather IBQ driven musky juggernaut. It rivals, if not exceeds, the chutzpah of such open-collar studs as Balenciaga Portos or Marbert Man, and perhaps even foreshadows King Kouros.

What's amusing is that this is named Foulard, a silk scarf as dandy as an ascot, which would be donned exactly within that wedge of an open collar! This officially challenges my association with these striking, dauntless masculines of the era. The dichotomy has me noticing the gentler side of the bristly green mugwort and biting galbanum. The castoreum is a furry old bean using a walking stick along to emphasize its swagger.

There's even this gin-like quality in the heart of Foulard, pungent and refreshing juniper berries swimming among jocular manliness, bobbing around, washed over by man-musk. If it hasn't occurred to you already, the eroticism and sensuality of 'fumes, whether or latent or blatant, so fascinates me. This exploration of male sexuality is underlined by scents like Foulard that shows a hornier side past the kabuki theater exterior of propriety. What a smashing discovery!

Color me spellbound: this is, for me, special reserve, special occasion material. With as many facets as a radiant cut diamond, Rouge de Lubin delivers a feast for the nose, It opens with a salmagundi of green, aromatic herbs—basil, rosemary, oregano—it also has a pinch of aniseed that punctuates the aromatics with a twinkle.

The green herbaceousness merges with a dry clove, cinnamic undertones, smoky cedar and coniferous splendor. My nose feels a granular texture; warm ripples, a sensuous potency, an accelerated heartbeat. Growing, tenting, it seems to inhabit a now mythic world in a present that seems riddled with impotent ennui and smartphone hypnosis. It's catnip for a sorry sod like me who loses himself in nostalgia—but I digress!

The base feels like castoreum-tinged leather imbued with frankincense, shaded with a loamy patchouli, and a broad brush stroke of forest flourish. My mind doesn't turn to tycoons, nor mobsters, nor mafioso when imagining the persona of Rouge. I think of one who is far more noble, statesman-like, and perhaps philanthropic. Good guys can be sexy, too...

We could reduce Rouge to a luxury fragrance marketed to men, embodying trope in fashion during the release; we could compare it to other fragrances, Derby, Le Troisieme Homme, and drain all the mystique out of it. Just like its delightfully peculiar translucent red enclosure, Rouge is an anomaly, a legend, and I only want to be in rapturous wonder while wearing it and musing about it, relishing each moment of its ephemera.

I am fastidious when it comes to natural perfumery. It just so happens that when I started exploring fragrance composition, I aspired to be a natural perfumer. It wasn't very long that I felt restricted by the limited palette and was challenged by the tendency for materials to collapse into each other, resulting in muddled, confusing concoctions that did not resemble perfumery. I felt more at home with "mixed media."

Be that as it may, while I find most natural perfumery leaves much to be desired, there are of course those whose works are quite impressive and compelling, such as Mandy Aftel and Dawn Spencer Hurwitz. There is also the work of Janna Sheehan of Ojai Wild, who seems to illuminate the most favorable qualities of natural botanical materials (many of which are locally sourced by the brand), having developed the skill in having them cooperate, rather than work against each other, on the olfactory canvas.

One such example is the stirring beauty of Chamomile Flowers, which takes the note of chamomile, built around an extract of chamomile flower grown on site, and fleshes it out with grapefruit,and cognac oils, champaca, linden blossom absolute, white sage, neroli bigarade, and Australian sandalwood. There is a hint of tonka that sweetens its drydown. The end result is the smell of peace, fit for full inhalation, with no element feeling out of place. Agrestic in nature, it appeals to my back-to-nature sensibility, where I feel most at home, away from heavy traffic and noise pollution; places for quiet contemplation and spaces for inspiration. It smells like sipping chamomile wine at sunset, with a view of asters and goldenrod in the meadow. It's easily one of my favorite natural perfumes.

The initial blast of geosmin truly sets the tone for a rather discordant affair. No. 44 (Fire and Rain) immediately reveals that characteristic self-taught perfumer dauntlessness. The elements of fire and rain are obscured by other...matter, of the sour, dour, and unsettled kind. Woody aromachems suspend in a strange blur of shapeless elements that appear to be represent notes in the presented pyramid, but with visible seams.

The result is an olfactory cloudcuckooland that is foreign to my idea of balanced perfumery gestalt. The cardinal rule was also broken, the geosmin was dosed just a tiddly amount more so than it should have. This is a big no-no. None of this is pleasant.

I will not examine the veracity of the claim that Eau Dyanmisante a "treatment fragrance" that provides "firmness," but I will say it does embody vitality and freshness. It's opening flourish delights my nose with a lemon and rosemary, soon giving way to a stimulating accord reminding me of herbes de provence. It's rendered mildly spicy, cool, and earthy in its dry down. It's a pick-me-up, a spa treatment in bottled form, but not merely a means to an end that descends with a murmur.

Granted, one may want to apply more than once throughout the day, but there are a number of other fragrances, niche, designer, you name it, that are less substantive than Eau Dynamisante. Attractive sillage and an aromatherapy quality: who could ask for more? Fans of Sisley Eau de Campagne and Goutal Eau de Sud would surely approve. Even the clinical red glass bottle has charm.