Yatagan

Uncommented Fragrances No. 196

Trigonella foenum-graecum, or simply fenugreek, is not one of the more commonly used fragrance ingredients, although Wiki informs us that all parts of the plant have a strong scent (which one must like): very idiosyncratic, somewhat bitter, herbal, hay-like, almost a bit austere, but also in a certain way enchanting. The Prophet Mohammed is said to have stated that fenugreek must be weighed against gold, as so much healing power is contained in this small, inconspicuous plant, and the Christian saint and church teacher Hildegard (1098-1179) also appreciated its healing properties for skin ailments.
Since I like the idiosyncratic scent, I pay close attention to fragrances containing this ingredient, especially when it is perceptible, which is not too often the case. These include, for example, "ΓΦΛ Parfum Fin | Nabucco," "Personne | ICONOfly," "Fleur Cachée | Anatole Lebreton," or with certain reservations "Series Luxe: Patchouli (Eau de Parfum) | Comme des Garçons."

Now, here comes a cheap drugstore fragrance from Adidas, which in recent years has not exactly stood out for particular originality in the fragrance sector. In addition to fenugreek, Smooth Pace (who comes up with such names) contains other interesting ingredients like charcoal, salt, and strawflower.
Now, of course, I know what one generally thinks of such claims regarding drugstore fragrances, but occasionally one experiences small surprises - and so it is here as well.

Fenugreek, the scent of which I have tentatively described above, can indeed be perceived quite clearly, as can the salty tones (which naturally hint at sea water aquatic, something that may not appeal to everyone). Besides that, I primarily find a hesperidic component, which Adidas describes as bergamot, but it strongly resembles synthetic derivatives like citral, linalool, and myrtle, that is, everything one mixes in when it should smell like lemon or bergamot, but real essential oils cannot be used for cost reasons. So be it!
In the base, of course, an ambrocenide or ambroxan mixture comes into play, but the salty freshness and the green component (fenugreek) surprisingly remain present for a long time.
Anyone who is not afraid to venture to the fragrance shelves of drugstores can pick this gold-worthy healing herb up at a low price.

Tüff (red) by MAWA is a small German success story and now connects fragrance lovers (I will omit the feminine form here, as this is a shaving lotion) in the East (former GDR product) and West (more and more appreciate the quality).

Background: MAWA was probably founded in 1946 by M. Selinger in Leinefelde (Thuringia). Reliable sources about the person and founding legend are lacking, they can only be found on the company homepage. In 1972, MAWA was nationalized in the GDR and renamed VEB MAWA Kosmetik Leinefelde. The origin of the name MAWA remains unclear. The AI suspects a word combination from the components "MArken" and "WAren": Perhaps!
In 1990, the brand was returned to the former owners and still produces various well-known cosmetic products today, particularly fragrances such as Tüff (red), Tüff (green: unscented but with nourishing ingredients), and formerly also Tüff (blue), a light fougère scent, which has unfortunately been discontinued for some time. The company now resides almost appropriately on Ernst-Thälmann-Allee in Zeulenroda-Triebes.

The production of the shaving lotion Tüff (the term fits better here considering the affordable-rustic brand than After Shave) has been documented since 1968/69 and initially bore the name Tüff Rasiertonikum Tabacco herb: how nice! It would have been lovely to keep this nostalgic name. I simply imagine it when I use it.

Tüff was widely available in the GDR, but was also sold in the somewhat controversial Exquisit retail stores, where high-quality goods were offered at higher prices.
After the reunification, the formula of Tüff (as so often) was revised/reformulated, but it is still close enough to the original to maintain its identity. As always, it is difficult to make an exact comparison (at best with a ideally well-preserved vintage original). But who really remembers how the original recipe of Nutella tasted today?

A particular cult was the angular bottle, which is still depicted in the photo of the fragrance, but has since been replaced by a similarly beautiful glass bottle that tapers conically at the sides. I can live with this change; however, what I find hard to accept is the loss of the wonderful red Bakelite cap that adorned the old bottles (see also the photo above for illustration), while the new bottles feature a (still quite valuable) black plastic screw cap. The bottle still feels solid, heavy, and of high quality, and it brings me joy to hold it. A ritual for me every morning!

Now to the scent: The old name (Tüff Rasiertonikum Tabacco herb) already suggests it: The fragrance is oriented towards traditional tobacco scents for men, similar to its comparably venerable West brother "Tabac Original (After Shave Lotion) | Mäurer & Wirtz," but it takes its own path: while the tobacco note in Tabac Original After Shave Lotion is characterized by aldehydic-soapy nuances, with delicate lavender notes and hesperidic undertones, and has an amber base, Tüff Rasierwasser herb seems to reveal a birch tar note that gives the fragrance a rustic yet very subtle and distinguished leather vibe, beautifully rounding out the East tobacco scent. One might also suspect, as with the West brother, lavender and hesperidic notes that fit so well with men's fragrances, but here they recede a bit more into the background due to the spicy leather accents. The manufacturer specifically mentions a nourishing "herbal complex," namely chamomile flower, marigold, and woad plants, as well as menthol. However, this complex is likely to be very subtle in scent, as it is also said to be contained in the comparatively unscented Tüff (green: here notably listed as a pure care product). MAWA has been silent about the ingredients of the perfume formula in Tüff (red) for years. There is something mystical about it. Tüff smells great, but no one really knows why.

What does such a bottle with wonderful fragrance and politically unifying and caring sensitive effect cost for 100 ml? You don’t have to pay more than 5 euros, man, and if you order from the pleasantly traditional online shop, you can get the bottle for 3.80 (plus shipping costs, of course: I always order a whole case at once: it gets used up faster than you think): once again highly recommended! Not just on the Day of German Unity!

For several years, I have engaged with what can only be described as almost idiotic meticulousness in testing, evaluating, and documenting almost (and I really mean almost) all available classic men's fragrances (and many women's fragrances as well) from the beginning of the era until the early 90s. The 90s were, at that time, considered by me as the beginning of the synthetic fall from grace, a time when more and more fragrances took on a distinctly aroma-chemical character (since then, the use of fruit testers, fruit aldehydes, maltol/ethylmaltol, ambroxan and its derivatives, cashmeran, calone, dihydromyrcenol, etc. has dominated). For this reason, I apparently missed some classic fragrances from the 90s, especially from the middle of that decade, which I should have kept a better eye on; they could very well be considered classics of a better time from today's perspective, even though I couldn't and didn't want to appreciate them as much back then as I do now. This includes, above all, fougère fragrances from the late 80s, 90s, and early 2000s, such as "Jazz (1988) (Eau de Toilette) | Yves Saint Laurent," "Patrick | Fragrances of Ireland," and of course "Rive Gauche pour Homme (2003) (Eau de Toilette) | Yves Saint Laurent." As the progenitor of this modern fougère direction, Drakkar Noir Eau de Toilette might be considered, as it is likely one of the first very popular postmodern fougère fragrances. This list is by no means exhaustive. There were countless good and countless bad fougère fragrances during the mentioned time span, especially in the men's segment.

And now to Zorbas Eau de Toilette:
The year 1995 was marked for me by the beginning of our family phase, important professional orientations, and correspondingly little time remained for engaging with fragrance: Zorbas remained undiscovered at that time and even later.

When I think of "Zorbas" or Sorbas, I initially think of the 1946 novel of the same name by Nikos Kazantzakis or the Oscar-winning film adaptation from 1964 ("Zorba the Greek," German: "Alexis Sorbas") featuring the legendary Anthony Quinn and music by Mikis Theodorakis. The disturbingly harsh and archaic image of masculinity shaped by the film may have still had an impact in the 90s, at least it was vaguely known to the public.

Fitting to the rugged masculinity, the fragrance is characterized by the typical scent often referred to as barbershop, usually defined by fougère tones (the typical combination of bergamot, lavender, tonka/oakmoss, and the resulting coumarin notes).
Fougère fragrances can indeed vary greatly.

While the 90s were mostly characterized by bright fougères (often labeled "Sport"), the aforementioned more characterful representatives of this fragrance direction were darker, more pronounced, and more oriented towards old models - such as Geo F. Trumper's Wild Fern Cologne from 1877, Penhaligon's English Fern Eau de Toilette from 1910, or the original by Paul Paquet, the presumably first well-known fougère fragrance "Fougère Royale (1882) (Parfum) | Houbigant," which already contained fully synthetic coumarin (as is the norm today).

By the way, in the early days of this style type, it was not exclusively about men's fragrances, but also about perfumes worn by women in extrait strength. Penhaligon's promoted English Fern at times primarily for women, which is why the fragrance is consistently characterized as unisex here on Parfumo. From this shifting categorization between the genders, interesting conclusions can be drawn: While today many fragrance buyers reflexively think of so-called "barbershop" when it comes to fougère notes and thus automatically assign the fragrance to the male sphere, it was apparently much less clear in the past, thereby questioning certainties about supposedly clear gender-specific references.

If one considers the aforementioned patterns of more traditional, darker fougère fragrances vs. bright, "sport aesthetic" oriented fougère fragrances of the 90s, Zorbas Eau de Toilette confidently navigates between the boundaries: In the opening, the fragrance appears rather bright, fresh, and, as already aptly described in the helpful review below, alcoholic, but gains spicier accents with the heart note and, like most fougère fragrances, also shows floral notes (traditionally often geranium, rose, or garden carnation). Here, the geranium, with its rather harsh characteristic (sometimes referred to as the men's flower), takes on the spicy bitter properties of coumarin, while the rose, as a particularly sweet flower, sets a beautiful contrasting accent.
In "Zorbas (Eau de Toilette) | Franz Lütticke GmbH," it seems to me that geranium or carnation plays the main role; it could also be floral aldehydes (as in N°5 Parfum or Arpège (1927) Extrait), which would explain the nonspecific indication of "floral notes." Soft and warm accents are completely absent. The fragrance Zorbas aims to address men and tolerates no experiments. Over the course of its development towards the drydown, Zorbas becomes increasingly sweeter, yet never truly "sweet"; the woody base note is clearly recognizable. Sandalwood and cedarwood are the traditional ingredients in men's fragrances from past decades: here too, there are no experiments for Zorbas.

Anyone who now suspects that the fragrance is one of those many lost classics from past decades is mistaken. It can still be ordered directly from the manufacturer, who takes good care of his small, almost unknown classic. It is also remarkably inexpensive: highly recommended if you appreciate classic, somewhat conservative fougère fragrances.

My thanks go to Hapax, to whom I owe the rediscovery of this beautiful fragrance from the unfathomable depths of Parfumo.

Uncommented Scents No. 195

Some of you may still remember my blog about cornflowers, in which I also addressed the problematic political implications, their historical significance in Romanticism, and their special, quirky herbal scent.
You can read everything there:

“Cornflower Blue: In the Mirror of a Critically Political Consideration” (Blogs Yatagan)

What was not known back then: The Italian natural fragrance brand L'Erbolario (depending on the definition, it may or may not belong in this category) has since launched a cornflower scent: Fiordaliso

Since Fiordaliso focuses heavily on the cornflower not only by name (the rose remains quite subtle, amber and vanilla waft rather in the background, mandarin and cassis only form the top note), the character of this most beautiful of all blue flowers can be captured quite well: somewhat herbal, almost spicy, diffusely floral, the sweetness is certainly contributed more by the rose.

So, anyone interested in this flower, which can mainly be found at the field edge in sustainable organic farming, should take a sniff here, without expecting that something like a soliflore would actually be present. The cornflower is simply too shy for that.

The scent is, by the way, charming, simple, uncomplicated, and relatively original in character (even if you may have smelled something similar before).
With this likable brand, the verdict is: recommended!

It's too easy to criticize Guerlain for all their new releases and only celebrate the old classics, even though I tend to do the same myself.
Vétiver Fauve is at least once again an attempt to create a fragrance that does not conform to the uniform mass production that Guerlain has also heavily engaged in over the past years (Maltol in the countless little black La Petite Robe Noire (2012) Eau de Toilette, fruity notes in many Aqua Allegorias like Aqua Allegoria Mandarine Basilic, the much-criticized sweet almond note in L'Homme Idéal Eau de Toilette and its brothers, the rather unsuccessful re- and deconstructions like Habit Rouge Spirit).

This fragrance, on the other hand, is a somewhat less adapted composition with vetiver (classic, rather masculine, not so easily integrable), with grassy green notes (although - despite tonka - hardly a trace of fougère is noticeable), but unfortunately with the currently omnipresent fig, the cypriol note found in many niche fragrances (actually an essential oil that can have a woody, spicy, leathery effect) and unfortunately also with pineapple or furaneol (which makes one involuntarily fear that another fragrance might have caught the Aventus bug).

Responsible for the composition is once again Delphine Jelk, who often (skillfully) balances on the fine line between innovative twist and mainstream.
In my view, however, this does not apply so much to Vétiver Fauve, which does not chase any trend, not even the fig and the pineapple, which are interpreted here differently than one has often experienced in recent years, but probably rather - conversely - sets a trend: There is something quite new, idiosyncratic, but probably also relatively mass-compatible, easy to wear and, of course, intentionally released in the L'ART & LA MATIÈRE series - and not as an Aqua Allegoria, where the fragrance could also have found its place, because there are already fragrances with the aforementioned ingredients, which are, however, somewhat more tame, duller, and synthetic.

What makes the fragrance different now?

Vetiver is indeed interpreted here in the style of postmodern vetiverylacetate fragrances (Encre Noire, Sycomore, various Escentric Molecules), thus moving away from the old style of the house like Vetiver Eau de Toilette, which was earthier, juicier, less lacquer-like, less artificial, but shows in the interpretation of Vétiver Fauve also a green, grassy, acidic, and juicy note that brings a suitably new accent. The longer you wear the fragrance, however, the closer it comes to the aforementioned vetiverylacetate representatives, and the more it loses its charm.

It should also be added that the pineapple does not disturb, even appears a bit shy, and the fig remains modest in the background, tonka does not annoy with marzipan sweetness, and cypriol comes across more herbaceous than leathery. Everything just as I wish it.

Summary: My dearly beloved old aunt Guerlain wears a miniskirt - and contrary to my fears, she can wear it well.