Timmeteq

Kuhstall
Longevity is underground
Smells animalistic

It almost seems to me that Mr. Gebauer has overestimated his followers.

After several mainstream-compatible releases that sold primarily due to their brutal longevity and projection brought about by massive use of ambroxan, a fragrance with normal performance now appears on the influenced perfume market. The realistic 4-6 hours with pleasant sillage are, of course, very disappointing for the 24-hour beast mode following, who navigate from "Top 10 Longest Lasting Fragrances" to "Top 10 Panty Droppers" and discuss the latest Erba Pura, Orange Flamingo, or Air Tiger releases on the playground or at university, saying "I could still smell it after three showers."

If longevity is the most important selling point, and this trend seems to be advancing among young men aged 15-25, Marc Gebauer must ask himself whether he has ultimately spoiled his loyal following.

Now let’s make one thing clear: the performance of Arabian Cherry is completely normal. Yes. You heard that right. NORMAL. I spray this fragrance on and get it transported into my nose in regular waves. It lasts about 4-6 hours. That is not "groundless" but simply, some newer perfume enthusiasts may be surprised, normal. You may not like that, then feel free to grab Carbonnel's next ambro bombs and be happy when the room smells like your floral fragrances three days later. This is real life.

And the Kuhstall? Oh dear! When you buy an oud fragrance and then wonder why it contains oud, it amuses me. This fragrance is very subtle in terms of oud intensity. In no world is this fragrance animalistic. But here we are again with Erba Pura and Orange Flamingo. If you only know sweet fruity and floral fragrances or smooth designer releases pushed by Douglas and think that oud smells like "Oud Wood (Eau de Parfum) | Tom Ford," you might want to familiarize yourself with the product before writing such unfounded comments here. After all, I wouldn’t buy a Latte Pistachio if I hate pistachios. What irony. The fragrance can’t help it if you don’t know these notes.

For me, the fragrance is primarily a pleasant rose/oud scent with, admittedly, a somewhat synthetic cherry note that spreads very sweetly in the opening but quickly makes way for the rose/oud combination. Oud comes across beautifully woody-intense. Not animalistic or stinky or even cheesy. Ultimately, the whole combination is based on a sandalwood-musk base that allows the fragrance to dry down creamy. I really like it. Super pleasant to wear!

I can understand if one finds the fragrance too synthetic and wishes for a more natural cherry. But to downgrade the fragrance because of its oud or label the longevity as "groundless" I find amusing. Grow up!

Many statements about this fragrance throw words like "urine," "cat litter," or "public toilet" into the pot of scent descriptions. Many comments and opinions from other users, with whom I have exchanged thoughts about this fragrance, also lean in this direction. "Too animalistic"; "Too intense"; "Too sweaty."

Other users, on the other hand, describe a reduced-intensity reissue of the original version from 2010. Another fragrance, to which the discerning tester attributes certain similarities to this one, "Musc Ravageur (Eau de Parfum) | Editions de Parfums Frédéric Malle," has largely been stripped of its animalic qualities over time since its release in 2000.

Looking at slightly older classics like Antaeus Eau de Toilette or "Kouros (Eau de Toilette) | Yves Saint Laurent," it quickly becomes clear that this type of "animalic" was once a common scent note in the mainstream. Many other classics from back then were much more angular. Think of strong patchouli or oakmoss bombers. Even women's classics like Shalimar Eau de Parfum or N°5 Parfum contain more edges and corners than 95% of our current mainstream representatives. Yes, I also count supposed niche brands like Xerjoff, Parfums de Marly, or MFK among the mainstream.

Is it surprising? If we look at which releases have dominated the top 10 lists, the happenings here, and the social media accounts for years, they are softened fruity-sweet, vanilla-dominated, or other gourmand fragrances where the most important thing seems to be longevity. I am not surprised.

We have forgotten to recognize what stands out from the crowd.

This fragrance, "Absolue Pour le Soir (2024) | Maison Francis Kurkdjian," is not a monstrous beast that unleashes a primal animalic force; rather, it is a sweet amber scent, with honey, with creamy vanilla in the base, that has a slightly musky-animalic opening. The fact that even this toned-down version is received so controversially actually shows that designers should dare more again.

Thank you, MFK, please more of this. Dare to!

I like to reminisce about carefree days gone by, such as a family vacation in Turkey. The sun covers the golden beach and the only scents one thinks of are those of the grilled Sucuk sandwiches being prepared at the beach bar. My towel, wet and fallen in the sand, scratched against my skin as I lay down under the sunshade. During the swimming breaks, it was all about the sea, the hotel, the view, and the next dinner.

There was no smartphone
There was no Parfumo
There was no chase for "The next big Thing"
There was no ticker
There was no Kayra telling me about "Sunshine Man | Amouage," raving about it in the highest tones (https://www.parfumo.de/Parfums/Amouage/Sunshine_Man/rezensionen/478581)

I was alone with my thoughts and the joy of the here and now.

When I recently looked at my collection and reflected on my consumption habits, an inner pain overcame me. It was more about the hunt for the next "Holy Grail" and the consumption, the buying, the building of my collection than about the fragrances I already loved. Why do I wear decants 50% of the time while my collection remains unused on the shelf? Why don't I enjoy the fragrances I have, but always seek the next one? Partly, this is a part of the hobby and the passion for collecting, yes, but I am someone who also wants to use my fragrances. So, in a small moment of clarity, I reduced my collection by 50%. Within a month, from 55-60 to 25 fragrances. I want to wear my fragrances, to enjoy them. I don’t want to see them just as part of my outward appearance or as a complementary accompaniment to my outfit, but to actively enjoy them.

I read about Sunshine Man in the tracker. So much "Sunshine Man | Amouage." It is only available as remaining stock directly from Amouage. Retail price. Expensive. Plus shipping. Ouch. After weeks, months of raving, I ordered a sample here in the Souk. Sprayed it. 1 spray on my arm. Nice. Very nice. I expected something different. It doesn’t smell like sunscreen at all at first. What does sunscreen smell like? Like Nivea Sun? Yes, maybe. I put the sample away.

Two weeks later. I have to go. Taking my daughter to the horse. Oh right, I still have a decant of "Sunshine Man | Amouage." It’s there, I apply it. The scent starts with an intense lavender note and a wonderful orange liqueur. Then the juniper comes in, not so intense, gentle. Bergamot joins in. Lavender takes a back seat, but the orange liqueur remains and creates a wonderful marriage of the top and heart notes. The sillage carries this perfection in lasting waves into my nose. I am enchanted. The dry down comes with a creamy, wonderful tonka and vanilla. So beautiful! The sunscreen vibe is present, but the orange, the tonka, and the liqueur are next level. Creamy, slightly sweet, slightly fruity, this scent stays in your nose for an entire day.

So, of course, I ordered the bottle.

It is one of the fragrances that I actively enjoy. I actively choose to spray the scent on myself to enjoy it. I only do that with "Musc Ravageur (Eau de Parfum) | Editions de Parfums Frédéric Malle."

And so we come to the point. Active enjoyment instead of collecting frenzy.

And if I only had 2-3 fragrances in my life, Sunshine Man would be one of them!

Sometimes it takes several attempts to learn to appreciate something. Like between two friends who suddenly fall in love after years of good friendship. Or like the new colleague you initially thought was totally ridiculous, who turned out to be a pretty cool guy, and now you enjoy spending time together outside of work. Or like Brussels sprouts, which you rolled from the left side of the plate to the right and back again as a child - oh, let’s leave the damn... Brussels sprouts out of this!

When I first tested Reflection Man - and I truly had completely the wrong expectations of this scent - I turned away slightly disgusted. Test strips, the back of my hand, on the spray head, it didn’t matter. No. This was not what I had anticipated. Some weird floral scent hit my nose. Pungent laundry detergent. Fabric softener. "So this is the hyped super scent - how stupid is that," I thought as I sorted the sample I had received into my ‘To-Go’ folder. It was winter, and I was really into it. Into completely sweet-warm, vanilla and tonka scents. Layton, Althaïr, Naxos, Tuxedo. And then this scent as a caricature of my beloved sweet-sticky winter fragrances. My mind and my olfactory development were both not yet, or at least at that very moment in the phase of my scent timeline, ready for the floral waves that Amouage had in store for me. I didn’t understand that this feminine creation held something wonderful for me. Not yet.

Of course, I didn’t tire of tearing apart Reflection Man under the bewildered gazes of some fellow perfume lovers: "What do you even find in this scent? If I want to smell like that, I’ll just pour two caps of extra fabric softener into the laundry." I was foolish to believe that this arrogance wouldn’t come back to haunt me.

In late spring, during one of my regular testing trips to the numerous perfumeries in Hamburg, it happened. I found myself back at the Amouage display. In the reflection of the silver-capped bottle, I saw my reflection and had to acknowledge what an exquisite bottle the niche house from Oman had created. I looked at it, ultimately took it in my hand, and admired it. The magnetic cap convinced me as an admirer of beautiful things. I removed the cap from the bottle and sprayed - more out of curiosity than for testing purposes - a generous amount on my forearm. The scent smelled different than I expected. No, it smelled exactly as I had expected, but something had changed within me. My nose was ready for the floral outpourings that day. I was surprised and confused, yet I left the store with the certainty that I didn’t like this floral scent. I had fallen for a delusion. I smelled my arm a few more times and wasn’t opposed. But deep down, I knew that I didn’t actually like the scent. At least that’s how it was stored in my mind.

A few weeks later. By now, I had acquired the floral scent Gris Dior Eau de Parfum and loved it dearly, I ventured into downtown Hamburg again. At Breuninger, I stood in front of the Amouage stand. Abandoned, lonely, unattended, the expensive extracts and perfumes from Oman lay there. Adorned with their magnetic caps, they received no attention amidst the Xerjoff and Montale-influenced clientele. Once again, I strolled around the shielding bottles and once again, a generous spray found its way onto my arm.

1000 times nothing happened, 1000 and one night and it clicked.

The bottle in its wonderful splendor now stands in the midst of my collection. In the last two months, I have worn no scent more often. Sometimes I walk past my shelf, stop, and briefly smell the spray head. The powdery iris in masterful composition with the neroli and jasmine notes leaves me happy every time.

And so I had to first find myself in my olfactory development in order to find my favorite office scent.

The more I engage with this fragrance and the more I exchange thoughts with other Parfumo users about it, the more I get the feeling that Alexandria 2 is like coriander. A large part of humanity loves coriander and enhances their dishes with it - another part detests the kitchen herb with every fiber of their being. It seems to depend on a genetic mutation whether one perceives the taste as delicious or soapy.

With Alex II, we read exuberant reviews and opinions from Parfumos who rave about a noble-elegant scent with woody creaminess. Often, luxury in the bottle is mentioned. A large part of other fragrance enthusiasts, however, only smells a mix of pencil and hairspray.

I belong to the latter group. This fragrance catapults me straight back to my school days. I sit in class, having finished the task our teacher assigned. Other children are still working on it. I look around, seeing concentrated little heads pondering over their workbooks. I take my colored pencil, nibble on the lacquered coating. The lacquer, the wood of the pencil creates a special smell that blends with the slight mustiness of a classroom in the 90s. That is the scent that catapults me back to my childhood, that is the scent that Alex II reproduces quite accurately for me.

For me, this fragrance has nothing luxurious about it, is neither noble nor elegant, and certainly not creamy. I don't smell any oud (if you want oud, you have to go for Alexandria Orientale) and there's no apple to be found anywhere for me. It smells like colored pencils. I attribute this to the sandalwood mixed with ambroxan.

In contrast, very wonderful fragrances are Alexandria III, Alexandria Orientale, or Alexandria Imperiale. Multi-layered and special.

What I then noticed was a scent that was extremely close to the skin and completely vanished after 2-3 hours. This did not match what was being rated here.

I couldn't believe what I was smelling and looked for the "fault" in myself. In the meantime, I have acquired 3 decants of different vintages and an original sample from Xerjoff. Additionally, I have certainly smelled the fragrance 4-5 times directly in the perfumery, including at Xerjoff. The result is relatively clear. The batches from 2022/2023 are extremely potent. The current batches (my tests were all between Feb-May 2025) are extremely close to the skin and last very briefly. I have rarely tested a fragrance that is as close to the skin as the current Alex 2 among the certainly 800-1000 fragrances I have tested. This may look different after a "maturation period" of several months or years, but it is unacceptable for a fragrance with a price tag of 325 euros for 50ml.

However, what was the same across all batches was: no luxury, no oud, no apple, no creaminess, no elegance, but just one thing. Colored pencil.

And so I wonder, do we have a new coriander situation here, where part of our beloved community is unable to perceive this scent at all? Am I onto something big? Am I a mutant?