Zerostar

So far, I haven't been a big fan of the A*Men fragrances. They don't directly offend my nose, but they also don't really blow me away. Generally, I don't find anything edgy, offensive, or even borderline about them. On the contrary, I perceive the typical A*Men note as a more or less pleasant gourmand shower gel scent, which I would actually describe as totally agreeable. This A*Men DNA even somewhat ruins Pure Havane for me, which I otherwise find quite wonderful, due to its banalizing nature. For fans, it's of course nice to still clearly recognize the beloved original in the various flankers. However, I tend to conclude that I particularly prefer those interpretations that are as far removed from the original work as possible. So far, I've only tested 5 variants, and leather, wood & coffee are still on my To-Smell list, but Le Goût du Parfum is clearly the most interesting and also the most beautiful representative of its kind for me, whereas, for example, Pure Malt, which seems to me like an extreme version of the original, I find almost unpleasant.

The opening and simultaneously the central theme of Le Goût is a very intense herbal-spicy note that initially made me think of a fresh and slightly sweet mix of anise and licorice. This scent is indeed very special, but I find it interesting precisely for that reason and not too extreme to give the perfume an aura of unwearability. Looking at the fragrance pyramid, I would say that it is particularly coriander and peppermint that stand out prominently here, lightly underlined by lavender - that could certainly result in a scent similar to what I perceive here.

The further development then pushes this extravagance to the limit before the startled senses are soothed again with a creamy sweetness: the piercing-spicy note initially becomes ever more dominant. With a lot of imagination, it actually reminds me of the mentioned currywurst or perhaps a rather hearty stew, but in a way as if one were not eating it messily at a dingy snack bar, but rather as if it were being served in a gourmet restaurant. And the neat waiter carries a light spritz of the original A*Men, as the typical note always remains in the background and is only subtly hinted at. If we want to stick with the imagery, the base then represents the dessert: the tonka bean smells particularly honey-sweet and combines with the persistent spiciness to create a chai latte-like composition. By now, I have gotten used to the very special base note of the Le Goût flanker and have embraced it so much that I would like to start the whole menu all over again :-)

Do you know that feeling? You unexpectedly test a new perfume and after the first sniff, you feel like all your previous perfume ratings need to be adjusted down by 10% to do justice to a new masterpiece? That’s how I felt about a month ago when I received a sample of Ambre Loup from Laurel. Since then, I have tested the scent repeatedly, on various occasions as well as at different times of the day and night, and my first impression has steadily solidified.

Ambre Loup is, for me, a new reference class; it is happiness in a spray, ecstasy as a perfume, pure beauty in a bottle, a pinnacle of olfactory aesthetics. I really struggle to find the right words for this scent because I always fear that I won’t be able to do it justice with any verbal grasp. I am so fascinated by the grace, elegance, and sensuality of Ambre Loup that I don’t even know where to start and where to stop in describing it.

The most obvious thing: Ambre Loup is a very sweet scent. Anyone who cannot stand sweetness will surely not be able to relate to my emotional outbursts in any way. But for those who enjoy sweet and warm fragrances, Ambre Loup is definitely worth a test or two.

Otherwise, I find it difficult to discern a fragrance progression or exact notes. I cannot clearly identify either the amber that gives the perfume its name or the vanilla or oud notes mentioned in the fragrance pyramid. While the perfume does become somewhat woodier in the dry down, I really don’t smell any oud at all. Vanilla could be responsible for the sweetness, but that is more of a collective contribution from all the notes rather than something that can be highlighted separately. And amber? Well, according to the sample card, the amber note consists of Peru balsam oil, labdanum, and vanilla. This aligns much more closely with my perception than a pure amber note. In any case, Ambre Loup is unlike any amber fragrance I have encountered so far. It is neither a lightly floral-pungent amber, like I find exemplarily in L’Eau d’Ambre by L’Artisan, nor a sweet amber like in Dior’s Ambre Nuit, and it is certainly not a spicy amber in the sense that Ambre 114 by Histoires or Ambre Orient by Armani are spicy. Instead, a gentle woody resinous quality defines the sweet “amber” scent, and its spicy warmth is further enhanced by a dreamy clove note, which I wish more perfumes that claim to include cloves would feature.

The facts at a glance:
Characteristics: sweet, resinous, spicy
Longevity: 4 to 8 hours
Sillage: very good for up to 4 hours, then gradually becoming more intimate. (sprayed in the hair >12h)
Gender: unisex as unisex can be

After receiving a manufacturer sample of "Bloody Wood" from Les Liquides Imaginaires with a perfume order, I was unexpectedly positively surprised by this scent, to say the least: I was completely thrilled. Since then, I have been on the lookout for the other fragrances from the brand. Tumultu was even quite high on my wish list, and some time ago I was lucky enough to snag a sample of it. Grapefruit and coconut - that sounded quite promising. Although I couldn't quite imagine the daring blend of patchouli and woods in the base, I was full of high expectations since I generally enjoy these notes as well.

However, as is often the case with such anticipations, they were quite clearly disappointed in the case of Tumultu and me. Unfortunately, this perfume fails to impress me either through aspects like the beauty or uniqueness of the individual notes, which I generally like, or through a successful overall composition of its inherent contradictions. Quite the opposite: I would almost say that this scent is simply not particularly well crafted, to put it nicely.

The top note is immediately overshadowed by the cool smokiness and the fresh wood from the base, and a clean grapefruit or any somewhat pure fruity note does not come through at all. What was presumably meant to provide a bitter-citrusy start seems to me rather fresh, herbal, and green, always enveloped by a woody smoke.

I would mark the transition to the heart note after about 10 minutes by the fact that the base recedes once again into the background, making way for a grassy-green moisture with a mild sweetness, which requires a bit of imagination to perceive as coconut milk. But at least Tumultu is now closer to the aforementioned coconut milk than the smoky wood fruit in the top note could ever get near a grapefruit. Overall, I still have to think more of a dew-covered high meadow on a foggy morning, while from the other end of the city the sweet scent of the bakery wafts over, rather than the fresh juice of a coconut. But at least I already find this little water somewhat pleasant.

However, after half an hour, the base has spread out overwhelmingly again and has gained an unpleasant metallic nuance, which initially made me wonder if the coconut milk was perhaps meant to be more like the stuff from a can. But all jokes aside: I don't know if the metallic smell is supposed to be the patchouli or where it would otherwise be found, or what it is doing in this perfume at all. The fact is: the base is not a hit either - solid wood freshness that somewhat resembles a small, pale brother of Wonderwood, which also annoyingly rattles around with old tin cans. This is, like Tumultu overall, simply nothing half and nothing whole. Perhaps this scent is too intellectual for me or my nose is still too provincial for it; maybe my perception isn't so far off after all, and it is simply really not particularly well made. In any case, it will not find its way into my shelf.

A huge thank you goes first to Sensual, to whom I owe the sample of Cologne Sologne ;-)

Now to the topic: I don't find it easy with Cologne scents. While the flagship fragrances from Atelier Cologne, Cedrat Enivrant and Orange Sanguine, are among my absolute favorites, I have some issues with the waters that follow a more classic Cologne style, such as the Colonias from Acqua di Parma. The green herbs are too herbal and bitter for me, and the citrus fruits are too subtle. Moreover, the whole thing always slightly reminds me of the 4711 scent in my great-grandmother's old apartment. Nevertheless, I am somehow fascinated by this fragrance direction, and the also not entirely unclassic variant Vettiveru from the Cologne series by Comme de Garcons actually appeals to me quite a lot with its distinctly woody-spicy character.

So, which direction does Cologne Sologne take? The answer becomes relatively clear to me at the latest after the second test on the skin: The thumb and the corners of the mouth are definitely pointing upwards! Sologne combines the three components mentioned at the beginning: The citrus notes are juicy-fresh, authentic, and they don't hide away immediately after the first few minutes. The green notes of the fragrance are not unpleasantly herbal but wonderfully rich yet mild. Additionally, there is a woody undertone that does not overpower the classic Cologne note. All in all, the composition is really quite perfect.

The only drawback of this little water, however, is unfortunately the typical Cologne longevity. While the sillage remains within reasonable limits, in terms of endurance, it unfortunately ends after a maximum of 3 hours - rather even after about 2. So, a lot of re-spraying is necessary, which does diminish the otherwise very positive impression for me. Therefore, instead of 80, there are only 70 points, sorry ;)

I do feel a bit uneasy when I often only comment on the fragrances that I really, really love, or those - as is the case here - that I find absolutely dreadful. But since such extreme cases are the most tempting to write about, and especially because there hasn't been a particularly negative comment that addresses what troubles me about this scent, I just have to get my thoughts out - it will be short and painless:

I know household and/or toilet cleaners with heavily marketed "citrus freshness" that smell more authentic and natural than this concoction! Mandarine Osmo is, upon spraying, a synthetic citrus scent in the most horrendous sense imaginable. Far from even remotely capturing the smell of a freshly peeled or cut mandarin, it unfolds a piercing, ultra-artificial mandarin/clementine aroma that is aesthetically undercut only by the equally artificial, nauseating sweetness that accompanies the citrus cleaner stench. After 2 minutes, I have unbearable headaches and just want to get rid of the stuff, but even after vigorous washing, cleaning, and scrubbing, it remains far too clearly perceptible and stays my annoying companion for the rest of the day.

Things only get better after a few hours in the drydown, when this so-called mandarin is only faintly detectable and its syrupy sweetener coating seems to be somewhat restrained by the unspecified spices. For that, and for the (unfortunately) relatively good sillage and longevity, I am willing to give it a small star. The rest of this olfactory adventure, however, is to be forgotten, if only it were that simple...

PS: Thanks nonetheless to Morgaina for the little "sample" :)