Konsalik

Only rarely has a new release from Penhaligon's in recent years received such a unanimous positive echo as Belgravia Chypre. One might even think that only eight years after the perfectly shaped Sartorial, the big, old brand has succeeded in bringing another neo-classic of the highest quality to the field - not a bad rate, which would make the numerous failures and zeitgeisty snapshots of past years seem forgivable. So on the occasion of the transaction in the Souk, I ask the seller (one of the most famous and knowledgeable ladies on Parfumo) about the reason for the sale. The answer is charmingly refused, my judgement should not be influenced. Understandable. So I was all the more curious to find out what could be so offensive about this alleged super fragrance that a deserved perfuma is tempted to say "No, thank you" after 0.5 of the 10 millilitres available. After weeks of tests I have a guess

But first my voice must join the chorus of praise: Belgravia Chypre is remarkable. A thoroughly modern, fruity chypre, yet in the top and bottom notes it breathes such an unmistakably old world that it is a joy to behold. And it is the raspberry note, of all things, that is so hip at the moment, that is the hinge on which the fragrance effortlessly swings back and forth between the 19th and 21st centuries. In connection with the loosened up, never waxy or sultry chypre framework (shimmering flowery, slightly woody, sourly fresh), a peculiarly utopian, cheerful, well-behaved, doll's house retrovintage constellation results, which - at least my imagination - strongly stimulates. The good user Loewenherz already spoke in his review about the London district of Belgravia and the way in which this fragrance depicts its "genius loci". I would only add that he draws a pastel-colored, almost steampunky alternative version of this district. Enter "Belgravia house fronts" in the Google image search and think of a low-flying, brass-studded airship from which a friendly gentleman of indeterminate age with a twirled moustache casually greets you.

It all sounds like at least a 9.5 so far, doesn't it? Indeed, and my 8.5 points, although it sounds strange, are to be taken as disappointed praise. Because the scent loses its magic and substance towards the back or the bottom. As with so many contemporary compositions, a slightly pointed, synthetic-smelling, common woodiness increasingly pushes its way into the picture from about the middle of the fragrance's course, which does not devalue what has gone before, but makes it appear questionable and strangely hollow in its construction: Were the walls of the houses only facades? Were the suits and Sunday dresses by Zalando? Does the airship even hang from nylon threads? That sounds more esoteric than it is: In retrospect, Belgravia Chypre really does give me the impression that everything was designed on a base that was used to create a certain effect right down to the top note. This impression upsets me noticeably and makes me want to commission Fabrice Pellegrin with a reformulation without budget limits; a kind of "Belgravia Chypre - Premium Edition", so to speak.

Despite all its limitations, Penhaligon's is to be praised for having the courage to launch such a peculiar, yet timeless and out-of-time fragrance. And if the new series of "Downton Abbey" creators called "Belgravia" hadn't just been launched this year: According to the trailers, this fragrance could have been the inspiration for all of them.

The basic framework of the meeting was already there, was to be written up the following evening and - well, a comment on Alt-Innsbruck pops up in my mailbox. And not from MaybachClubber93, but from one of the best known noble feathers on these pages, FvSpee himself. The analysis is, of course, excellent, informative, full of references, a pleasure to read. Hmph. Fortunately, I perceive Alt-Innsbruck a little differently in some respects and I also have another ace up my sleeve (keyword: balloon atomizer!). In this respect, maybe not everything is for the barrel after all; but I still wanted to keep a few weeks of respectful distance, which has now happened.

In the comments column below the mentioned review, the esteemed MonsieurTest is quite rightly surprised about the peculiar design of the label. Pale violet mountain ranges, one has to admit, seem a little peculiar and perhaps raise the question whether the people at R. Neuner or Proderma in the fifties were perhaps familiar with the good Albert Hofman. But no: In my opinion, the label in combination with the font gives the viewer a very excellent impression of the character of the content. To explain this now needs a short approach:
Besides menthol, this fragrance is known to consist mainly of a tobacco accord(?). Now tobacco is a fragrance component that I have never before been able to isolate reliably from any(!) fragrance with recurring success and with some matter of course - which I should be able to do easily as a long-time smoker of natural pipe tobacco. After the first sprays from the supplied balloon atomizer (a spitting, wheezing and whistling toy, by the way; you don't have to have one) I was once again at a loss: a thoroughly flowery, creamy (not powdery!) unisexer fills the bathroom. Not complex, but very distinctly smelling like my idea of an economic miracle fragrance. A lead crystal bowl full of dried flowers on a bobbin lace tablecloth, tending to be rather feminine. The methol note, on the other hand, was almost restrained. To stay in the picture: On the side table is merely a tin can of ice cream candy from Cavendish & Harvey opened.

I kind of liked it, but tobacco? As time went by it dawned on me: Alt-Innsbruck first and foremost quotes the delicate pink to bright purple inflorescences(!) of the tobacco plant (try Google image search)! This finding did not solve my basic identification problem with tobacco in perfumes, but it did open up the present fragrance to me completely: Pretty cosmetic, a thought of skin cream, violet flowers and a touch of mountain freshness thanks to menthol. Hence the complete absence of any fragrance development, despite a very decent shelf life. For me, Alt-Innsbruck was stamped as a "wellness" and care product of its epoch, not a perfume in the common sense. Sympathetic, but not quite mine. Seven points.

After a few weeks, the coughing one-hole atomizer got on my nerves completely. Unscrewed, put it back into the packaging, screwed on the regular lid: Next time you'll have a splashing, what the heck. A few days later, after a shave, I remembered that a reviewer had declared the EdC suitable for shaving and even insisted that it was an excellent after shave. I'll make it short: It's true! And not only that: the suddenly incomparably more powerful menthol (my cheeks felt for minutes as if they had been brought back from Everest by a narrow margin) gives the fragrance a clearly different balance. The flowery-purple kidney-table cheerfulness is pushed back, while the basically creamy impression remains; the unisex pendulum swings clearly in the direction of "masculine" and my face brightens up. Alt-Innsbruck is not only lively and pleasant, but timelessly good. The critical post-purchase candidate threshold (which I would place between seven and eight points) has been exceeded and in the meantime I am no longer happy to own Alt-Innsbruck just for scent archaeological reasons.

One thought remains: What is the reason why a change in the way some fragrances are applied causes such considerable differences in the scent impression, while others remain almost unaffected? Puzzling. But it's nice that even the simplest of scents can surprise us in this way.

It was one of those small changes in everyday life that, in retrospect, gave a considerable boost to the way we lead our lives, and whose reversal now seems all the more impossible, since these changes were followed by a whole series of other changes in the way we cope with existence, which, like coupled freight cars, now form a whole of not inconsiderable gravity and interdependence. In short: About two and a half years ago I shaved for the first time.

This means that I have already removed my facial hair regularly in the past. First with an electric razor (from Braun, received for my sixteenth birthday, initiatic experience), then over more than ten years with changing "cartridge" system razors (Gilette Mach 3, 4, 5; Wilkinson Sword 3D, 4D, 5D etc.) - and with that I thought that was it. This is the way to shave. For external reasons, which can be reconstructed later but do not belong here, and a sudden, in its genesis somewhat obscure, space-consuming will to shape, I stood one day with an old-school razor plane, a jar of shaving soap and a shaving brush made of synthetic bristle in front of the bathroom mirror. And it was wonderful! An unprecedentedly thorough and satisfying shave! But it wasn't just the result, it was also the experience that was inspiring: the almost meditative, calmly prepared and followed up sequence of necessary actions only cost time on the clock face, because in reality it formed a period of time, gave it quality and "taste", which had previously only half-heartedly or reluctantly been linked to the regular shower routine: can foam on the face, scraped, scraped, scraped, foam residue quickly showered off. "Convenient, but basically annoying. But in this way, I had actually conquered fifteen minutes for myself (!) all at once on three days of the week, which in a bourgeois society, please consider a medium-sized triumph. Please send flowers and congratulatory notes to my post office box.

From the very beginning, this oasis-like feeling of well-being was due in part to the exquisitely scented shaving soaps from Proraso, an old Italian company for barber products of all kinds, whose product design still evokes eternal 50s Italian summers; you want to cheer. In the following months I lost my 30cm beard (model "Nordmann rustic"), which had not been touched since my school days, because I exchanged it for 5cm of the model "Cardinal Richelieu" at the inner city barbershop. And also with oils and balsam, the active brand from the Florentine Fiesole again stood out: Good care properties with a tasteful olfactory balance and at the same time very humane pricing! I particularly liked "Wood and Spice" right from the start: A quite powerfully tuned, but very balanced triad of mentholy freshness, hearty woodiness and warming sweetness. And even though my image of a barbershop fragrance signature has changed and deepened considerably since I joined the Perfume Order, I still consider "Wood and Spice" a successful update of the old barbershop theme. At least, as long as it's not about the cologne out of line...

I don't know whether Proraso has made a big effort in the composition of the fragrance notes when composing the perfume version of "Wood and Spice", or whether it simply lacks the oily or balsamic "carrier mass" that is responsible for the balanced and high-quality scent impression of the other products in this series, but somehow the above-mentioned balance has been thrown a little out of joint in this cologne: The sweetness takes over shortly after spraying on and robs the very mentholated mint of the bearded oil of its nurturing freshness, which shifts the overall impression more in the direction of Wrigley's Spearmint (the scents speak of "violet leaf" - maybe that's what it is; "violet candy" would be more appropriate). In addition, the wood, which is actually so neatly tied in, suddenly appears comparatively dry, prickly and clearly synthetic. Also the missing scent (with cosmetic products God knows no malus) is suddenly a bit annoying, even if this finding may be objectively unfair.

"Wood and Spice Cologne" is certainly not a mistake in itself, but compared to its colleagues it seems a bit like a piece of buckwheat. Hence my recommendation for the bearded people among you: try instead either the beard oil of the same name or (if you prefer a three-day beard) the "Balsamo cura barba". Both of them convey much more value and radiate almost as long and intense as the cologne - at a smaller course. Have I already advertised enough for Proraso products?

Attempts to find classic scent signatures in connection with oud have so far failed for me: Synthetic oud and traditional compositions either didn't go well together (Colonia Oud) or the character of classical houses was distorted and the result seemed strangely half-hearted (Floris' Leather Oud). If I didn't want to spend a small fortune on - admittedly great - real oudlers like those from Ormonde Jayne, for example, all that was left for me to do was to put the formula "Old European Perfume School + Oud" with the remark "not satisfactorily dissolved" aside and turn to a more promising game. Fortunately, I don't only like the ancient obscurities of Anno Kautabak, as seen from the mainstream, but also fragrances from the time of the so-called Powerhouse Era. Their representatives from the core time between about 1975 and 1990 like to turn everything up to 10 when it comes to spices, soap and animalics and behave to many classics of the previous decades like "Bat out of Hell" to "All you need is Love". In the style of the Ratiopharm twins, one would like to ask: Is there also something with Oud?

There shouldn't be, should there? After all, the hype about the fragrance only started a good ten years ago, long after the end of the period mentioned above. But a review by the esteemed user MonsieurTest drew my attention (once again!) to a fragrance from Jacques Bogart's One Man Show series. While the original One Man Show from the 70s has a reputation of being one of the most archetypal hits from the powerhouse line-up, MonsieurTest's review of the "Gold Edition" flanker also read as if the basic substance (brand: Elegant Steam Pile) had remained largely untouched. A house, then, that has been flanking a classic for forty(!) years without betraying its basic character? That deserves applause. And then there should even be an oud version of this one? For far under 20€?! There is not petty rumgesoukt, there is bought.

After a first test shower (the spray head of our glass cleaner doses more sparingly) I came to an intermediate conclusion within a few minutes, which did not change even after several test runs: This is exactly how you have to handle synthetic oud! Don't step quietly, don't turn it down, but join a gang of similarly polarizing, dominant colleagues who confidently take the "newcomer" under their wings.
The meanwhile almost standardized, prickly-woody and slightly medicinal scent impression of the commonly known synthie oud is framed after a somehow crumbly-fruity alcoholic opening (professionally matured Obstler) mainly by strong green, bitter-adstringent galbanum - which strangely enough reminds me of Grey Flannel of all things - and a no less strong leather soap note. The vintage spice bouquet (I suspect cinnamon and basil in addition to thyme) almost takes a back seat, but, like the comparatively sparingly dosed patchouli, gives the fragrance its actual "perfumery". Jacques Bogart was told by a co-parfumo that perfumes were not composed with a pipette but with a measuring cup. I have the same impression, but they did compose there. And that's good!

The Oud Edition of One Man Show is as broad-legged and long-lasting as the great powerhouses of yesteryear (Kouros, Santos etc.), but has been carefully adapted to the present day with noticeable love for the fragrance signature of that era. Whoever wears it reflects his or her preference for that time, without wanting to ironize it clumsily: OMS - Oud Edition is, to put it in a formula, "0% Hipster". If you want a musical comparison, we would like to refer you to one of the best Retrowave projects, which transfer the melancholic synthiepop of the 80s into the here and now with equally tenderly updated interventions: Look on Youtube for FM-84 with the song "Running in the Night" - my personal soundtrack for this fragrance.

It's wonderful to infect a good friend from your school days with your perfume-related passion, who at the same time tends to approach your hobbies in a similarly analytical/complete/exploratory way as you do. During visits, boxes of perfumes are put together and in the end it's the gentlemen who sit sniffing and talking shop at the dining table, which has been converted into a micro-osmotheque, while the ladies in the garden saw around the bamboo stock and now and then put their heads into the room in a grumpy mood. "Oh, are you done?" - "Yes, we're comparing shaving soaps now The texture and creaminess of Tabac Original soap doesn't really compare to the low price, does it?" - "..."

Well, well, um, otherwise we're very charming and entertaining. Really. I'm sure. *cough* Said friend has also developed a decided preference for products from the old - in Germany largely unknown - American house of Pinaud or Clubman. Their products are characterized by their really low price and the equally low price of the cheapest (!) soft plastic bottles. No reason to turn up your nose, because both the price and the presentation are in perfect harmony with the purpose of the products. I quote the inside of the label (an own back label would have been too expensive):

"- bold, masculine fragrance
- instantly cools, tones, refreshes the skin
- exhilerating freshener after bath, splash on freely all over body"

We conclude sharply: Clubman Special Reserve's in-house designation as "After Shave Cologne" was probably the semantically broadest that could be found. "Universal Fragrance Broth", "Emergency Shower Kit" or "Olfactory WD-40 for Oil Platform and Opera Ball" would be my alternative suggestions. So how exactly does this somewhat dirty green-brown, brackish water-like stuff smell that you shake in your hand? The manufacturer owes us a list of notes (which I always find exciting, since one is so impartial about the scent and does not easily fall for embarrassments such as "After half an hour the Lombard sable pine showed up clearly")...

Cappellusman ascribed a "chubby" nature to Clubman Special Reserve in his statement two years ago, and that's true. Here the Marlboro Man rides at full gallop from the old billboard. But quite differently than European fragrances have interpreted masculinity in the past decades: Behind the alcoholic, snappy opening with a hint of orange citric, which is rather undesirable in "real" perfumes, but very welcome in shaving lotions, there is a peculiar triad of clove, Bay Rum-like bay leaf and leather accord, although I couldn't say whether the leathery impression is not created by this peculiar combination of spices. A very unique fragrance: reduced yet opulent, shirt-sleeved yet with an exotic charm. Even the base remains peculiar, as the classic aftershave soap is accompanied by a distinct sweetness that is difficult for me to define and reminds me a bit of (highly diluted!) Dr. Pepper-Cola. Very American, the whole thing. By the way, don't let yourself be fooled by the weak self-projection: The (closer) surroundings have something of Clubman Special Reserve for a few hours.

All in all one of the strongest representatives of a strangely likeable brand. Anyone who now and then likes fragrances that are strong in character and were not composed with a pipette but with a circular saw will certainly find something here. Bonus tip for fans of the Cologne type of fragrance: The "Eau de Portugal" hair tonic is suitable as a bitter orange-orange (also with the in-house laurel note) universal body scent