Ropanski2020

As a brand, one is always striving to meet expectations while simultaneously distancing oneself from these efforts to maintain integrity.

At Jinkoh Store, they have always pursued an intuitive approach characterized by accurate minimalism, allowing raw materials (primarily Oud) to speak rather than carefully calculated blending ratios. One could also say that the owner (Marius Pana) has so far acted uncompromisingly and without clear guidelines, entirely self-taught, with all the associated pros and cons.

Marius' implementations were wonderfully archaic, the raw materials of astonishing quality, even if in the end they were simply "just" attars filled with alcohol, the blending being only minimally targeted, probably not even well thought out; his understanding of the interplay of raw materials always condensed to the use of Oud distillates, surrounded by some bycatch (floral/animalic). But at its core, it was always one thing: authentic!

With the latest "Sunset offshoot," he has definitely not done himself any favors; it is so far removed from what the line originally stood for that I cannot understand why this is not specifically addressed in consequence!?

Yes, I would even go so far as to claim: with "Sunset in Capri | Jinkoh Store," the door to the mainstream has been flung wide open! Which is not inherently reprehensible, though it is a shame, as Marius has specifically launched a corresponding line at the end of 2023 (Niche Collection) where one would much more likely locate something like this.

What do you get? A slightly spicy, sultry, dirty citrus mix, with a green chlorophyll tint and an amber-woodsy undertone. That's it! The cold-pressed mixture initially appears linearly fresh, flanked by a somewhat sour chassis, but is quickly overwhelmed by a much too coarse bay leaf (too high-resolved), the sweaty-peppery ambrette seed usage is too prosaically integrated, while the woody base is disappointingly flat in dimension.

What is particularly bothersome is the binding amber, which suspiciously burns strongly in the base. As much as I regret it, it smells synthetic in the base; the glaring amber structure is too reactive for my heart (in terms of projection), I have never experienced this in a natural perfume! And even the distribution of the fragrance molecules in the spray mist seems somehow synthetically induced to me. Marius has never claimed to work free of synthetic additives, even if his product descriptions mostly settle for omissions in this regard and at most the general categorization on the homepage suggests otherwise - transparency looks different.

One gets the impression that Marius has been increasingly addressing the question for half a year of what a typical niche DNA could smell like with better smelling materials. Or it is increasingly being brought to him as a wish for implementation from his community. Otherwise, I cannot explain the recent excursions in the Sunset line. The results speak for themselves, and the answer is constantly shouted to him: "not necessarily better!" Perhaps the isolated bespoke inquiries have caused his coordinate system to wobble, who knows.

Whether one should now spend a three-digit amount on a nearly 30ml amber citrus fragrance or rather check out brands like Acqua di Parma, where one can get citrus fragrances in various forms for significantly less money, should at least be posed as a critical fundamental question before any potential purchase consideration.

As a devoted fan of the brand, I can no longer endorse this development; the speed at which the course has changed is astonishingly sad at the same time. The artisan gene is largely foreign to the present fragrance. Thus, Marius shares the fate of other representatives of his craft, such as Antonio Lasheras (Mallo) or Alp Veliogulliari (Katana). For some, this means a consistent evolution, for others, the idiosyncratic decay.

Some may now add that the journey to golden horizons has simply experienced another crash landing, and indeed, it would not surprise me if the next travel destination were some western metropolis as a source of inspiration; as a Central European, I hope the choice does not fall on Berlin, as I can already smell the linden sludge on the heel along with flavored tobacco and dysfunctional waste management.

In conclusion, a pure misstep with the "Noir" lettering wiped away. The brilliant Sunset in Hainan will likely remain Marius' peak, a conclusion, as a different wind will blow since 2025, and in multiple respects. It is going downhill harshly. What a shame - probably the next artisan brand that one should slowly write off, and the next bitter disappointment after Sunset in KSA Extrait de Parfum and "Sunset in Jumeirah | Jinkoh Store," which already deeply shook my artisan heart. I pass!

The scent of coconut wax has lingered in my memory, especially from the 90s, when it was used to style many a male hairstyle and became associated with the stuffy classrooms filled with the cutting auras of Axe-infused fruit fillings.

Nowadays, "coconut" epitomizes synthetic scents for me (e.g. Delta Decalactone) or chronically overrepresented off-notes of inferior sandalwood imitations, whose impact rivals that of some white musk fragrances, with their flat powdery to milky sort of aroma profiles. It has comparatively little in common with real, high-quality sandalwood.

It would be news to me if the brand "Goldfield & Banks" had recently committed to the predominant use of natural raw materials. Because Pacific Rock Flower is fundamentally a malt-heavy shower gel aquatic, whose supposedly tropical core is built around an artificially appearing methyl moss lichen, further refined with a hefty portion of cashmeran, ambroxan, or similar, which leads to (too) much driftwood in the barren machinery and eventually causes the flashy offshore operation to harden into a generic "ambery-woody" simulation over time.

It starts sweet-fresh, accompanied by a chlorinated note that radiates green-ethereal. Bright floral undertones (salicylate-like), surrounded by an ozone-like ironing mist, frame a slightly detached cedar note blend, which, although shaped by a creamy catalyst, cannot fully conceal its prototypical "hot iron" alloy - despite the sweet particle filter.

This strikingly floral, warm-powdery twist in the heart works only to a limited extent due to the woody one-dimensionality in the base, as the fundamental idea of a collaged steep coast is replaced by an all-too-common promenade, where all sorts of sunscreen and body spray flavors settle in a convoluted manner on composite wood. This robs the fragrance of its olfactory momentum, which it seeks to assert even beforehand.

Pacific Rock Flower ends as a sweet-creamy, diffusely woody aerosol. While it’s not a wild growth of plastic palms with a worn-out Mallorca feeling, it still represents quite a synthetic outpouring that reverently touches upon the Calone fraction from the drugstore aisle. Just this much: the sticky coconut mane definitely withstands the stiff coastal breeze!

Those who appreciate the rugged dryness of Oud Minérale or the spicy stealth of Unda Maris 8 will come away empty-handed, as will those seeking the delicate, sweet-salty interplay of Acqua di Sale! This is solely due to the restrictive underpinning in the base, which relentlessly drives the contemporary niche and lets the spray burst forth from the 3D printer. The added value eludes me.

The up-and-comers of the popular niche are rarely lacking in volume and persistence. New York is another representative of the industry armed with the stiletto of a notchwood despiser.

Responsible for this is none other than Jordi Fernández, also known in niche circles for his potent contributions to brands like Ex Nihilo or Maison Crivelli and something like a brand ambassador for the Swiss flavor master Givaudan.

The brand Widian, operating under the name AJ Arabia until 2016, was hardly on anyone's radar in its early years; at most, "Sahara | Widian," formerly known as Gold II, was known to some niche enthusiasts; Jean-Claude Astier's answer to the booming Oriental market, a sultry-resinous saffron desert veil of Western design. When consumers had grown tired of Tuscan Leather Eau de Parfum a few years ago, London Extrait de Parfum emerged from obscurity, powdered and pampered by the social media scene, although it had already been in circulation since 2018. Since that time, the brand has been firmly anchored in the contemporary niche mainstream.

The official PR text comes across as relatively tight-lipped, while the keyword rhetoric of the distributors almost impresses with a worn-out nobility. If we embrace the concept and understand Big Apple as a symbol of urban hustle and bustle, then Jordi Fernández makes a comprehensible point with New York! The synthetic focus in New York captures the urban flair as an "urban scent" surprisingly skillfully; where so much appears groundlessly artificial and multifaceted, so reactionary and simultaneously explosive, that the associative cinema lays out an exciting film. In the end, everyone dances the identical concrete waltz, which wafts somewhere between vibe lounge and late-night convenience store, both in the city canyons and in public transport. Just as little as some park stands out from the urban landscape, the natural components assert themselves here.

The ingredient list sounds more complex than it appears in interplay, and this is primarily due to the very potent musk accords with their ubiquitous (powdery-sweet fruity) profiles, which fuel each other throughout the scent journey and let the diffusion value soar. In close-up, a prominent ethyl maltol note runs through the scent progression, flanked by piperine-like sharpness contrasted with hesperidic notes, a dialed-down dihydromyrcenol lookalike. Classic phase transitions are not evident to me, as a hermetically dense harmonization is the focus for Jordi, while in the background a blend of musk-scented substances presses a familiar profile into the veins and allows for extrapolation over a warm-blooded skin fuzz (lovely to fresh-sweaty, clean-powdery). In between, a kind of lactonic curve squeezes through an abstractly diffuse-dry woody evergreen palette, inducing the murky melt of sandalwood (possibly Javanol, Ebanol, or similar), filtered through a no less iconic soft focus (ISO-E Super, is that you?!). Which brings us to the actual topic!

It is advisable to completely forgo scent pyramids in the niche segment, as they often disguise a predominantly highly synthetic mixed goods warehouse. Alessandro Gualtieri is known for this, and it has really harmed no one, neither consumers nor reviewers. On the contrary! The gain in freedom makes personal impressions appear more plausible and tangible than the - for some here necessary - contour theft of predetermined motifs. Which brings us to the next topic: perfume analyses are not Sunday horoscopes! And I also have no use for idle clichés of the AI or advertising text 2.0 variety. So, for those seeking sensual warmth and passionate depth, it’s better to head to the nearest massage salon in the backyard than to place overly frivolous expectations on high-fractional fragrance molecules.

New York is a very compact, dense fragrance that follows a stringent internal logic, but in my opinion has too much synthetic bias. Not nearly as stridently blaring as one might expect from other trend forges, but fundamentally conventional niche at an industrial scale, offering at its core everything the zeitgeist craves: durability, sillage, and redundancy. Would I want to smell like this? I think not. Spending nearly €250 at retail is almost unimaginable. Over 500 people say: "Sure, why not?!" As a declared fan of the artisan scene, I unfortunately have to pass.

Fragrances from Carbonnel have caused such a stir in the perfume world that even those who declare against them can hardly resist them for long; the associated discourse is too encompassing and inevitable.

Indeed, it cannot be denied that the name Carbonnel stands for a certain standard in the current perfume world. Some of the most successful niche fragrances of recent years have emerged from his pen. And I would be lying if I claimed to judge the present fragrance impartially.

Tulua presents itself with a southern flair and aims to encapsulate an extravagant lifestyle, La Dolce Vita olfactorily. It speaks of much hedonism, sun worship, and sweet pleasures. One might be inclined to believe such illusions, but less so to grant them a certified testimonial.

Fragrance profile:
If truly pure, essential oils have been used here, they are buried beneath a predominantly synthetic base. And since the truthfulness of fragrance pyramids is notoriously not to be taken too seriously, a soft musky touch can confidently be added to the mix, which reveals itself in the subtext as powdery-dry, but also sublimely icy to metallic.

Soberly considered, there seems to be a combination of various aromatic compounds of the sweet (Ethylmaltol, slightly buttery), fruity (tropical aldehyde mix), amber to dry-woody (Cedrol-like, some synthetic Amber Wood Kit) variety.

The sparkling opening is immediately surrounded by various sweet aromas with a slightly acidic character (fruity acidic note). Enhanced by a sweet coating, the base gradually envelops the wearer in a creamy-fruity aura that fades hermetically. Aside from the top note(s), presumably nothing here is of natural origin. It is difficult to properly unfold this "smells somewhat like" aerosol, as here more impressions than concrete ideas about the raw materials take the lead.

I have no choice but to resort to some heavily processed industrial products from the food industry as a concrete association. A certain slush ice flavor (from childhood days) comes to mind, but it could also be any random brand pudding or yogurt with a fruit filling or a lollipop from a well-known Spanish confectionery manufacturer. A certain fairground reminiscence cannot be concealed amidst all the perforated sweetness.

Classification & Evaluation:
If one were to measure the quality of the fragrance solely based on its current resonance online, the judgment might be somewhat more favorable. However, my passion for perfume resists such a latter judgment. I see the riddle unraveling, which such fragrance profiles pose to me due to their dreary molecular level, where everything gets lost in an almost indefinable complex of intersecting and overlapping connections - all manifoldly intertwined and reactively enhanced.

At least contemporarily it is (!), that cannot be denied, as fragrances like "Erba Pura | XerJoff," "Erba Gold | XerJoff," "Accento | XerJoff," "Kirkè (Extrait de Parfum) | Tiziana Terenzi," among others, enjoy great popularity. In this respect, the brand is likely to find success with this project as well. Nevertheless, I am left with a feeling of superficiality regarding "Tulua | Kinetic Perfumes," comparable to a nice but ultimately insubstantial liaison. The Mediterranean joie de vivre completely eludes me here as a reference point. Everything gets lost in this all-too-familiar Carbonnel-esque sweet-fruity mélange - rigid and without an interesting narrative arc.

Moreover, I see no development from the Spaniard, although many seem evidently overwhelmed to think of Carbonnel outside of his sphere. As a perfume enthusiast, I would have welcomed such a breakout from the comfort zone. Instead, a lackluster focus on fragrance prevails, which justifies criticism. For even if one were to rate the quality highly, the marginal gain from such recycling efforts, which aim primarily to appeal to an (still) unsuspecting, younger audience, remains minimal. In fact, this encapsulates the entire problem. It cannot be resolved simply by pointing out the diversity of tastes!

It rather seems that Carbonnel is no longer able to explore any worlds beyond the known material; he merely varies here and there, spinning on, rarely with effort, but quite skillfully when it comes to generating recognition effects, which he cannot move beyond. The rest is taken care of by the creative marketing department. Carbonnel somewhat completely immerses himself in this exteriority without (presumably) blushing. His conservatism consists of an almost reactionary clinging to long-overused formulas that resonate repetitively. Perhaps the good man has the same constant request in his inbox!? The responses and instructions to his staff in Barcelona seem to always be the same. This is less surprising, as such commissioned works are subject to hard sales calculations.

Conclusion:
Tulua does not appeal to me and can at best be understood as a meaningful description of a state and also as a retort, so to speak, as a reply to the current market, where comparatively big names and presumably little effort yield nothing but foam from dreams. I truly cannot recognize any heartfelt passion here. It simply feels too repetitive. The nice explanations from the distributors about the fragrance do not help either.

Product descriptions always have a somewhat idealistically faded quality, also something ephemeral, tend to colorful exaggerations and extravagance. They aim to cast the quiver and wait; it is no different here. Whether a nice story has been spun in the background, so to speak at the "Spezi regulars' table," is secondary, as it does not rise above the level of a teleshopping edition, where everything appears adorned with superlatives and exultantly charged. This certainly applies across fragrances and brands (!), so it should not be detrimental to the brand owner. However, the truth also includes: Anyone who raves about a "whiff of Italian summer nights" and cites "fundamental values and ethical principles" as guiding maxims that have partially flowed into the end product, and then presents and offers something so - sorry! - trivial as a "fantastic result," is likely to have only the laughter of Citizen Kane on their side in case of doubt.

What remains is the realization of a personal wish project, for which the client deserves congratulations. For a renowned perfumer has indeed been brought on board in Carbonnel, who delivers in the well-known manner. One may consider this good, but I increasingly find that the path back to the mainstream niche remains blocked for me. I can no longer derive anything from fragrances of this kind.

Not everything that glitters is perfume gold. And to be honest, there is currently a lived tristesse in the Artisan sky. Brands come, brands go, scents remain (the same); one learns that quickly!

The brand Jinx has recently become known for its astonishingly busy release policy. This time, Arthur is attempting a Mukhallat composition, thus staging a Far Eastern fragrance tradition typically consisting of oud, rose, and musk, a wonderful combination, provided an expert is at work.

I had great doubts beforehand about whether such an endeavor would bear fruit. My doubts were not dispelled by the lavishly outfitted fragrance pyramid, rather confirmed: resulting in an alkaline nightmare with a range of synthetic musk civet surrogates, completely overdone in the base and abominably persistent (longevity >20 hrs.). Furthermore, it is very monothematic - from start to finish.

J-D'Orient smells like soured rose soap that has recently passed its expiration date. The synthetic component in the base seems decidedly too expansive. Of the many ingredients, only a handful can be perceived; everything feels flattened. In the background, a slightly sweet note is added (presumably: tobacco and benzoin), which is supposed to pull some sharpness from the aldehydes. A hint of acetic acid and bitter limes in the top note further colors the already slightly sweaty to piercing scent profile. Enjoy!

I am by no means averse to trying new things and rarely inclined to make a hasty judgment about whether this or that interpretation is right or wrong, however, I allow myself to note here and there whether I consider it successful. I find the description of oriental-ambered to be poorly chosen in light of what is presented.

J-D'Orient strikes me as a slightly tipped-over, French, flowery ladies' vintage chypre from the previous century. So more Occident than Orient. One might like that, but it can probably be experienced much more cheaply elsewhere. Fans of this direction may forgive me, but with such a soapy aldehyde monster featuring scratchy all-in synthetic notes and a bit of zesty top note chirping, I take flight unbidden.

Arthur would do well to throttle his flood of releases or at least rethink them. It is one thing to joyfully mix and express one's creativity, another to release immediately. It does not help that now and then there is a hit among them.

His mixed-media releases do not convince (me), always appearing coarse and by no means polished, J-D'Orient stands as a representative of this. The previously comparatively high ratings for the scent do surprise me quite a bit. But tastes are known to differ, and to err is human.

Thanks go out to @Seejungfrau for the overly intense testing opportunity.