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I'm Thirsty!
Posca! No, it's not the namesake character from Puccini's opera "Tosca" that is meant, but actually Posca: This is what the Romans called a drink made from diluted wine or vinegar and water. They used it to disinfect the often not-so-clean water that was frequently available to them. Often, they would spice it up a bit with honey and spices. The tarragon from the fragrance pyramid and possibly some dill can definitely be detected in Oxygène Homme. However, the Romans probably did not use these two spices for their Posca for taste reasons.
So, the ancient Romans diluted their water for disinfection with vinegar. They had no idea of selling it as a fragrance - unlike Lanvin, who color it blue and market it as "Oxygène Homme." Additionally, one can also smell some aquatic notes and the unspecified Ambroxan quite well. Cool Water meets Hengstenberg, so to speak.
I don't need to say more about the scent. I'm glad I was able to swap it this week and wish the next owner more enjoyment with it than I had!
But this wouldn't be a review from me if I didn't drop a few loosely related historical facts; almost in time for the recently passed Easter holiday: Those raised in a Christian environment probably remember the story when Jesus was given a sponge soaked in vinegar by a Roman soldier (his name was Stephaton) while on the cross. At least three of the four evangelists report this; how John ended up with a hyssop branch instead of the sponge is another matter. What sounds like a cruel act - I think being on the cross already presents enough problems, one doesn't need vinegar in the face - was probably more an act of mercy: Jesus' penultimate words are said to have been - now back to John - "I thirst!" So, the soldier was more likely offering him some Posca from his field flask; the vinegar is a mistranslation.
Or was it actually a scent strip with Oxygène Homme?
So, the ancient Romans diluted their water for disinfection with vinegar. They had no idea of selling it as a fragrance - unlike Lanvin, who color it blue and market it as "Oxygène Homme." Additionally, one can also smell some aquatic notes and the unspecified Ambroxan quite well. Cool Water meets Hengstenberg, so to speak.
I don't need to say more about the scent. I'm glad I was able to swap it this week and wish the next owner more enjoyment with it than I had!
But this wouldn't be a review from me if I didn't drop a few loosely related historical facts; almost in time for the recently passed Easter holiday: Those raised in a Christian environment probably remember the story when Jesus was given a sponge soaked in vinegar by a Roman soldier (his name was Stephaton) while on the cross. At least three of the four evangelists report this; how John ended up with a hyssop branch instead of the sponge is another matter. What sounds like a cruel act - I think being on the cross already presents enough problems, one doesn't need vinegar in the face - was probably more an act of mercy: Jesus' penultimate words are said to have been - now back to John - "I thirst!" So, the soldier was more likely offering him some Posca from his field flask; the vinegar is a mistranslation.
Or was it actually a scent strip with Oxygène Homme?
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O tempora, o mores!
This saying - O times! O morals! - was coined by Cicero in his speeches against Catiline, recorded by his freedman Marcus Tullius Tiro in an early form of what we now know as shorthand. After losing the consul election for the year 63 BC, a certain Lucius Sergius Catilina planned a coup. The whole affair was uncovered and accused in some of Cicero's most famous speeches, as he had won the election against Catiline.
Cicero was awarded the title of pater patriae and is still known today as a famous orator, lawyer, and politician of the late Roman Republic. Catiline, on the other hand, was first exiled and later killed in battle when he confronted Rome with an army.
The time of upheaval, but also of the greatness of Rome, is reflected in Unguentum. Unguentarii were called salve or fragrance makers in ancient Rome. In ancient Rome, scents were presented in the form of balms or oils and not, as today, diluted with alcohol and water. It is therefore quite possible that Cicero, the homo novus, who had reached all public offices at the minimum age, regularly supplied himself with new scents from the Unguentarius, which he applied after visiting the baths.
Unguentum by Onyrico evokes a successful Roman politician and general like Cicero. It comes across as masculine, with a sharp aftershave note, reminiscent of what might have been used for shaving in the field. At the same time, the fragrance has a smoky quality, further recalling the military camp. When the successful general returns to Rome, he may cover his head with a laurel wreath as a triumphator - from a slave who whispers to him, always reminding him of his own mortality.
As he rides through Rome in his chariot, his own scent mingles with the fragrances wafting from the small alleys of the city. Honey from the parlors of confectioners, who set up their stalls during the triumphal procession to delight the people with their creations. But other exotic spices also mix in, such as vanilla, which at that time was still a great ocean away from the Roman Empire (I always struggle to incorporate vanilla notes in the descriptions of such historically inspired fragrances) - or saffron, cinnamon, and tea, which must have seemed very exotic in ancient Rome.
By the time he arrives at the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitol at the end of the triumphal procession, the exhalations of the massive wooden arches erected for the triumph mingle with this fragrance blend. Only a few of the triumphal arches have survived today, as some were permanently built from stone or marble. The cap on the closure of Onyrico's Unguentum is also made from that stone, the travertine from Tivoli.
Unguentum was one of the first fragrances that piqued my curiosity about niche scents and excited me, even though it does not rank at the top of my list of niche favorites. I had a few attempts with it before I could make sense of it. But it is quite good for a spicy-balsamic scent and, in my opinion, although I do not adhere to the strict classification of gendered fragrances, it is a very masculine scent. That one can certainly see or smell it differently than I do is evident from the current distribution of fragrance owners here. The price per milliliter is not insignificant and scratches at the level of mid-Roman decadence. In this sense: O tempora, o mores!
Cicero was awarded the title of pater patriae and is still known today as a famous orator, lawyer, and politician of the late Roman Republic. Catiline, on the other hand, was first exiled and later killed in battle when he confronted Rome with an army.
The time of upheaval, but also of the greatness of Rome, is reflected in Unguentum. Unguentarii were called salve or fragrance makers in ancient Rome. In ancient Rome, scents were presented in the form of balms or oils and not, as today, diluted with alcohol and water. It is therefore quite possible that Cicero, the homo novus, who had reached all public offices at the minimum age, regularly supplied himself with new scents from the Unguentarius, which he applied after visiting the baths.
Unguentum by Onyrico evokes a successful Roman politician and general like Cicero. It comes across as masculine, with a sharp aftershave note, reminiscent of what might have been used for shaving in the field. At the same time, the fragrance has a smoky quality, further recalling the military camp. When the successful general returns to Rome, he may cover his head with a laurel wreath as a triumphator - from a slave who whispers to him, always reminding him of his own mortality.
As he rides through Rome in his chariot, his own scent mingles with the fragrances wafting from the small alleys of the city. Honey from the parlors of confectioners, who set up their stalls during the triumphal procession to delight the people with their creations. But other exotic spices also mix in, such as vanilla, which at that time was still a great ocean away from the Roman Empire (I always struggle to incorporate vanilla notes in the descriptions of such historically inspired fragrances) - or saffron, cinnamon, and tea, which must have seemed very exotic in ancient Rome.
By the time he arrives at the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitol at the end of the triumphal procession, the exhalations of the massive wooden arches erected for the triumph mingle with this fragrance blend. Only a few of the triumphal arches have survived today, as some were permanently built from stone or marble. The cap on the closure of Onyrico's Unguentum is also made from that stone, the travertine from Tivoli.
Unguentum was one of the first fragrances that piqued my curiosity about niche scents and excited me, even though it does not rank at the top of my list of niche favorites. I had a few attempts with it before I could make sense of it. But it is quite good for a spicy-balsamic scent and, in my opinion, although I do not adhere to the strict classification of gendered fragrances, it is a very masculine scent. That one can certainly see or smell it differently than I do is evident from the current distribution of fragrance owners here. The price per milliliter is not insignificant and scratches at the level of mid-Roman decadence. In this sense: O tempora, o mores!
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Homo homini lupus
Friday eight in the morning, political science seminar. On this gray autumn morning, I threw on my old leather jacket, left the house unmotivated, and took the tram to an old concrete university building that will soon be demolished anyway. The room is not too full; Friday morning is not exactly the most popular time for university events.
For the first time, I read from Thomas Hobbes' Leviathan. It won't be the last time. The English political philosopher had made few friends in his time. In the state of nature, he viewed humans as "wolves" to their fellow beings, trapped in a war of all against all. The only way out, he argued, was to transfer one's natural rights to a sovereign who held the monopoly on violence and could end this state of war. Even if Hobbes may be considered one of the main theorists of absolutism, he simultaneously stepped on the toes of both monarchists and liberals. The latter quite obviously, as they wanted rights of defense against an all-powerful state. The former precisely because Hobbes left open who should hold the monopoly on violence - it could be a king just as easily as any other autocrat.
Back from the 17th century to the East Germany of the 21st century, the scent of black, sweetened coffee wafts through the room. You need something to stay awake at such an (un)timely hour or to recover from the beer too much from the previous night. Slowly, the coffee gets colder, but still everyone clings to their mugs - filled with coffee that has turned cold, becoming increasingly bitter and smoky.
The emanations of the wooden furniture in the seminar room are only faintly perceptible now. The old GDR furniture has served its purpose for too long and has been worn down, yet it is unexpectedly cozy.
Now, absolutist systems are neither the "hot stuff" in practical politics nor in political science today. Nevertheless, Hobbes has not lost his relevance. His description of the war of all against all remains one of the prevailing descriptions of the state between nations, where there is no central authority that could effectively hold a monopoly on power. This shapes the thoroughly pessimistic theory of neorealism, which describes relations between states primarily in terms of power and military force.
In the end, however, most people probably thought "power" on Friday morning towards the end of the seminar: "Just end it already!" By ten, everyone is free again and can be released into the war of all against all outside. With bared teeth (or perhaps yawning), everyone moves toward the tram stop and then back home to prepare for the weekend. Only there, at home, will the musk note of "Leviathan" likely come through. Most will probably not have worn this scent in the club, as I recall the fragrance preferences of the late 2000s. In the dim, alternative student pub, where an unknown band plays far too loudly, this heavy scent could indeed play its charm. The mélange of overflowing, spicy coffee, with a hint of leather and some woody notes, radiates a certain warmth, like one could find in such a packed pub. It certainly forms an interesting counterpoint to the patchouli that one will often smell there - not in the sense of a contrast, but rather as a complement to it.
For the first time, I read from Thomas Hobbes' Leviathan. It won't be the last time. The English political philosopher had made few friends in his time. In the state of nature, he viewed humans as "wolves" to their fellow beings, trapped in a war of all against all. The only way out, he argued, was to transfer one's natural rights to a sovereign who held the monopoly on violence and could end this state of war. Even if Hobbes may be considered one of the main theorists of absolutism, he simultaneously stepped on the toes of both monarchists and liberals. The latter quite obviously, as they wanted rights of defense against an all-powerful state. The former precisely because Hobbes left open who should hold the monopoly on violence - it could be a king just as easily as any other autocrat.
Back from the 17th century to the East Germany of the 21st century, the scent of black, sweetened coffee wafts through the room. You need something to stay awake at such an (un)timely hour or to recover from the beer too much from the previous night. Slowly, the coffee gets colder, but still everyone clings to their mugs - filled with coffee that has turned cold, becoming increasingly bitter and smoky.
The emanations of the wooden furniture in the seminar room are only faintly perceptible now. The old GDR furniture has served its purpose for too long and has been worn down, yet it is unexpectedly cozy.
Now, absolutist systems are neither the "hot stuff" in practical politics nor in political science today. Nevertheless, Hobbes has not lost his relevance. His description of the war of all against all remains one of the prevailing descriptions of the state between nations, where there is no central authority that could effectively hold a monopoly on power. This shapes the thoroughly pessimistic theory of neorealism, which describes relations between states primarily in terms of power and military force.
In the end, however, most people probably thought "power" on Friday morning towards the end of the seminar: "Just end it already!" By ten, everyone is free again and can be released into the war of all against all outside. With bared teeth (or perhaps yawning), everyone moves toward the tram stop and then back home to prepare for the weekend. Only there, at home, will the musk note of "Leviathan" likely come through. Most will probably not have worn this scent in the club, as I recall the fragrance preferences of the late 2000s. In the dim, alternative student pub, where an unknown band plays far too loudly, this heavy scent could indeed play its charm. The mélange of overflowing, spicy coffee, with a hint of leather and some woody notes, radiates a certain warmth, like one could find in such a packed pub. It certainly forms an interesting counterpoint to the patchouli that one will often smell there - not in the sense of a contrast, but rather as a complement to it.
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Earth, Sweat, and Cow Manure...
...this is how I imagine the "scent" of an average person in the Fertile Crescent during the early Bronze Age. Perhaps there’s also a brackish water accord from the swamps of the water-rich rivers Euphrates and Tigris. Akkad carries none of this mixture, which represents more of a stench than a fragrance, but perhaps describes rather the opposite of the life reality of the farmers and herders in the land between the rivers. The fragrance, created by Delphine Thierry together with Lubin's Gilles Thévenin, is dedicated to the legendary King Sargon of Akkad. Many myths surround him: son of a gardener, cupbearer of the king of Kiš, and later loved by the goddess Ištar, who made him the ruler of Akkad. A fragrance creation by Lubin seems fitting for such a divine ruler.
En-hedu-Ana, Sargon's daughter, became a priestess and called upon the goddess Ištar as follows: "My lady, beloved by An, I want to proclaim all your wrath! // I have piled up the coals, prepared the purification rites." Incense and other noble resins were slowly burned in the temple as part of the purification ceremony, and their scent must have spread far beyond the temple boundaries. Just like his daughter, Sargon must have smelled of incense. However, his scent of incense, elemi, styrax, and patchouli is, unlike his daughter's, not sacred: instead, the cold, resinous scent hangs in the cooling stone walls of his palace, which he had built in his newly chosen royal city of Akkad. The smoke is very present, yet always remains mild and never sharp, as befits a king. Sargon likely mixed a bit of spices into his sweet wine - a technique he learned as a cupbearer - thus overlaying the incense aroma with a sweet note.
The amber (and the vanilla and tonka notes that he probably did not know apart from amber at that time) that envelops the fragrance towards the end could have been easily procured by him, who had created an empire that stretched between both seas - the Mediterranean and the Persian Gulf - at the northern and southern borders of his realm.
For me, one of the most refined and interesting fragrances I own. That’s why it served for my second comment. A ruler can certainly wear it and present himself in monumental architecture. Today, I see it more on the type of "intellectual," who wears a lot of black or a blazer with a turtleneck underneath, if I may allow such cliché simplifications. Truly an inspiring fragrance that does not convey a brutal masculinity, as one might expect from an early Bronze Age king. It brings a subtle, intelligent kind of masculinity for its wearer, and due to its sweetness, it is just as unisex to wear as it is marketed and obviously (if one believes the statistics here) also worn. My entry into niche fragrances, and I have not regretted my purchase to this day!
En-hedu-Ana, Sargon's daughter, became a priestess and called upon the goddess Ištar as follows: "My lady, beloved by An, I want to proclaim all your wrath! // I have piled up the coals, prepared the purification rites." Incense and other noble resins were slowly burned in the temple as part of the purification ceremony, and their scent must have spread far beyond the temple boundaries. Just like his daughter, Sargon must have smelled of incense. However, his scent of incense, elemi, styrax, and patchouli is, unlike his daughter's, not sacred: instead, the cold, resinous scent hangs in the cooling stone walls of his palace, which he had built in his newly chosen royal city of Akkad. The smoke is very present, yet always remains mild and never sharp, as befits a king. Sargon likely mixed a bit of spices into his sweet wine - a technique he learned as a cupbearer - thus overlaying the incense aroma with a sweet note.
The amber (and the vanilla and tonka notes that he probably did not know apart from amber at that time) that envelops the fragrance towards the end could have been easily procured by him, who had created an empire that stretched between both seas - the Mediterranean and the Persian Gulf - at the northern and southern borders of his realm.
For me, one of the most refined and interesting fragrances I own. That’s why it served for my second comment. A ruler can certainly wear it and present himself in monumental architecture. Today, I see it more on the type of "intellectual," who wears a lot of black or a blazer with a turtleneck underneath, if I may allow such cliché simplifications. Truly an inspiring fragrance that does not convey a brutal masculinity, as one might expect from an early Bronze Age king. It brings a subtle, intelligent kind of masculinity for its wearer, and due to its sweetness, it is just as unisex to wear as it is marketed and obviously (if one believes the statistics here) also worn. My entry into niche fragrances, and I have not regretted my purchase to this day!
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Caracalla...
...was perhaps the last of the great Roman emperors before the onset of late antiquity and the crisis of the 3rd century. He was reviled by his contemporaries, and (only partially) untrue legends from senatorial historiography have shaped our negative image of him. Nevertheless, he remains the only resonant name on the Roman imperial throne for many years until Diocletian ascends it in Nicomedia. At least he seems well-known enough to adorn the bottle of this MDCI fragrance - at least that is the majority opinion from a survey among those knowledgeable in ancient art history. I do find the bust quite stylish, but that is a matter of taste. However, whether the almost double price for the bottle with the resin bust or even a four-digit amount for the bottle version with Limoges porcelain is truly justified, one must decide for themselves.
Even without Caracalla on top, the scent is certainly not a cheapie, but for me, it is worth the money. So much I can reveal in advance. Here follows my first detailed comment, and I hope to perhaps even inspire some with this scent.
Caracalla's foreign policy was more characterized by his expansionist policies in the east of the empire than by defense against barbarian invasions. So why does this emperor adorn the bottle of "Invasion Barbare"? Perhaps we will never know.
Herb would certainly be an understatement for the emperor, who, out of sheer paranoia, had a five-digit number of people murdered. However, for the start of IB, it is quite a good description. At the same time, it is also fresh, and I believe I have detected a few small aquatic notes - perhaps it is just the waters of the Tiber flowing towards the imperial palace. The wind seems to be shifting, as I only had that note in my nose for a very brief moment.
The heavy hooded cloak, which the emperor had tailored according to a self-designed pattern, is deeply soaked with the scent of lavender from Caracalla's Gallic homeland. The lavender is absolutely present in this fragrance, and I am amazed at how much I still like it. As a confessed lavender skeptic, IB still manages to excite me. Because the lavender is very well integrated into the overall composition and only emerges as a standalone scent part at the very end of the drydown.
From the Germanic campaign (should those be the barbarians referred to in Invasion Barbare?) at the beginning of his reign, Caracalla brings hints of moss, as well as juniper and various other herbs. At this point, the scent also becomes very masculine - which it has been all along, but at this juncture, this accent becomes particularly pronounced.
As described, the defining aspect of his foreign policy should rather be the eastern policy in the empire. One can also detect intensely aromatic woods from the eastern Mediterranean here, as well as a pepper note. Through the already flourishing trade with India at that time, the emperor surely found a good source here in Asia Minor.
As time draws to a close, a certain mellowing is always said to set in. With Caracalla, that was hardly the case: At just 29, he fell victim to an assassination attempt made possible by his own paranoia and reign of terror. The scent, however, becomes creamier towards the end. I can distinctly smell vanilla and tonka. Caracalla would have known neither of these scents, just as his barbarian contemporaries would not have, as both plants are native to North and South America and only began their journey across the world several centuries later.
Lavender, oak moss, tonka - essentially everything one needs for a classic barbershop scent. And perhaps here lies the connection to Caracalla: For he had a huge, free-entry thermal complex built in the city to win the Roman people over to his side.
Despite all the inconsistencies in naming and bust selection: The complex scent development is definitely worthy of an emperor - whether Caracalla, with his extremely questionable methods of governance that did not even spare his own immediate family, is the right emperor for that? I do not know. Unlike ancient and modern historiography regarding Caracalla's qualities as an emperor, this scent is indeed a great one. For me, IB is a wonderful fragrance with one of the most complex and interesting scent developments I have had the pleasure of experiencing. The various components can be detected quite well, but above all, they merge into an overall scent that can simply be described as interesting, stimulating, and pleasant. Perhaps not suitable for the midsummer of central Italy; but on special occasions, I can imagine it both on the campaign, after a visit to the baths, or during the celebrations of the great games!
Even without Caracalla on top, the scent is certainly not a cheapie, but for me, it is worth the money. So much I can reveal in advance. Here follows my first detailed comment, and I hope to perhaps even inspire some with this scent.
Caracalla's foreign policy was more characterized by his expansionist policies in the east of the empire than by defense against barbarian invasions. So why does this emperor adorn the bottle of "Invasion Barbare"? Perhaps we will never know.
Herb would certainly be an understatement for the emperor, who, out of sheer paranoia, had a five-digit number of people murdered. However, for the start of IB, it is quite a good description. At the same time, it is also fresh, and I believe I have detected a few small aquatic notes - perhaps it is just the waters of the Tiber flowing towards the imperial palace. The wind seems to be shifting, as I only had that note in my nose for a very brief moment.
The heavy hooded cloak, which the emperor had tailored according to a self-designed pattern, is deeply soaked with the scent of lavender from Caracalla's Gallic homeland. The lavender is absolutely present in this fragrance, and I am amazed at how much I still like it. As a confessed lavender skeptic, IB still manages to excite me. Because the lavender is very well integrated into the overall composition and only emerges as a standalone scent part at the very end of the drydown.
From the Germanic campaign (should those be the barbarians referred to in Invasion Barbare?) at the beginning of his reign, Caracalla brings hints of moss, as well as juniper and various other herbs. At this point, the scent also becomes very masculine - which it has been all along, but at this juncture, this accent becomes particularly pronounced.
As described, the defining aspect of his foreign policy should rather be the eastern policy in the empire. One can also detect intensely aromatic woods from the eastern Mediterranean here, as well as a pepper note. Through the already flourishing trade with India at that time, the emperor surely found a good source here in Asia Minor.
As time draws to a close, a certain mellowing is always said to set in. With Caracalla, that was hardly the case: At just 29, he fell victim to an assassination attempt made possible by his own paranoia and reign of terror. The scent, however, becomes creamier towards the end. I can distinctly smell vanilla and tonka. Caracalla would have known neither of these scents, just as his barbarian contemporaries would not have, as both plants are native to North and South America and only began their journey across the world several centuries later.
Lavender, oak moss, tonka - essentially everything one needs for a classic barbershop scent. And perhaps here lies the connection to Caracalla: For he had a huge, free-entry thermal complex built in the city to win the Roman people over to his side.
Despite all the inconsistencies in naming and bust selection: The complex scent development is definitely worthy of an emperor - whether Caracalla, with his extremely questionable methods of governance that did not even spare his own immediate family, is the right emperor for that? I do not know. Unlike ancient and modern historiography regarding Caracalla's qualities as an emperor, this scent is indeed a great one. For me, IB is a wonderful fragrance with one of the most complex and interesting scent developments I have had the pleasure of experiencing. The various components can be detected quite well, but above all, they merge into an overall scent that can simply be described as interesting, stimulating, and pleasant. Perhaps not suitable for the midsummer of central Italy; but on special occasions, I can imagine it both on the campaign, after a visit to the baths, or during the celebrations of the great games!
11 Comments
