Merteuil

well, here we go again with bad mood regarding THIS designer nonsense, maybe I should slowly change my username to Statler and Waldorf, since I apparently just want to grumble about almost all newer fragrance releases ... - even though I finally had an epiphany about what feels like eighty percent of the postmodern fashion populists from the Berlin-Mitte faction, somewhere between Acne (the Swedish label, not the dermatological condition, and yes, I know they moved to Potsdamer Straße) and shopping at the Nike store, alongside Encre Noir, Geza Schön's molecules, and if I'm lucky, Sycomore (okay, I have to admit that one has more than just something, but it falls into the same category as the latter) smell like - ... since this piece of work really has nothing to do with the pioneer of literary modernism and also nothing to do with 'self-important' - daring dandyism, or pale-bloodless and eye-ringed Parisian fin-de-siècle decadence, which the manufacturers here probably wanted to conjure up: all I smell, albeit not in this order and also not listed in the fragrance pyramid, are DOMESTOS pickled PLUMS on a bed of charred-candied SANDALWOOD, and this with a longevity and sillage that the dead poet will surely roll in his grave in a hundred years begging for a bottle of laudanum.
I'm now having a glass of absinthe and hoping ... to forget ;-)
p.s. l'air de rien is, as a tribute to the namesake, a better choice here, in my opinion.

the ultimate hippie-chic perfume for fur-wearing ladies from the Taunus in 1978; clean and dirty at the same time, it truly reminds one of the scent of old furrier goods, when they were still so to speak 'politically correct' and unproblematic. chamomile, patchouli, and oakmoss play the leading roles here, the overall effect is completely different from many Bernard Chants of that time, which all somehow revolve around Aramis and/or cinnamon/clove. this is a classic chypre and in its combination with patchouli, unique. diluted, it makes a great ironing water (which I certainly do not mean disrespectfully)! the scent to the film 'Eyes of Laura Mars', in which Faye Dunaway plays the female version of Helmut Newton.

an olfactory reconstruction of a wooden baroque roof structure under shimmering summer heat; bodies indulging in clouds of raisins soaked in cognac and traces of rusty iron on heated skin under damp batiste; dry cracked leather beneath mutually warming loins; carmine lipstick on pale, powdered cheeks; wilting rose petals floating in a glass of Chateau Petrus on ochre-yellow velvet - the name is a program, a journey through time ... and virtually a golden shot of PATCHOULI.

I place this scent somewhere between Givenchy Gentleman (without the civet) and a flat-cut Eau du Fier (which has unfortunately long been taken off the market) without its jus de veau - or smoked ham - aspect and campfire realism, to which a wound plaster note was added - an interesting statement that obviously winks towards Tom Ford's golden design era and aims to pay homage to the Texan grandmaster of porn chic, confidently elevating the now tacky image of the house to make it appealing to a new and young generation. Unfortunately, the perfume lacks a bit of juice and 'grime' to make it feel more three-dimensional and natural...
Still: hats off to a scent that finally dares to do without sugar!
p.s.
Could work wonderfully as a base under other leather and patchouli perfumes.

this perfume, seemingly scorned by many here, cannot be judged, in my opinion, by its fragrance pyramid or directly from the scent strip, as the holistic impression only reveals itself on one's own skin. as the first scent, even before doblis, the house decided at the beginning of the fifties to create one of the most authentic birch tar fragrances "haute gamme" ever, a perfume about which edmond roudnitska said it was inspired by the 'scent emanating from a hermès handbag.' a scent that - even though one can almost taste the cardamom and lavender when isolated - alternately throws at your feet, in a quasi-dueling manner, delicate powdery notes of the finest goat suede of a kelly bag's lining and the icy glaze of a perfectly fitting men's leather glove. never loud, robust and delicate at the same time, pleasantly warm, then again cool in its radiance, this is an olfactory exceptional experience that is absolutely wearable in any season, embracing its wearer while supporting the natural skin scent, never appearing disguised or forced, and as a masterpiece (and "uni-sexer"!) must still find its equal in class, style, and timelessness.