schnauzer

Oud and leather are two notes that I really struggle with. They usually just ruin fragrances for me. And yet here they're presented so incredibly gently, so exquisitely balanced, that they compose a fragrance I find hard not to adore.

I think the magic lies in the balsam fir, which serves as a perfect counterweight to the leathery oud. Its sharp aroma lifts the fragrance without feeling "out of place" — unlike many other popular foils of oud, like raspberry or apple. The result is a remarkably coherent and accessible scent.

Unfortunately, it doesn't last all that long, or project all that well.

A perfume that needs no introduction. The flanker that eclipsed its originator, in a series whose powdery DNA has a following like few others. For many people, the GOAT of "men's fragrances", or at least designer ones. I shall tread carefully.

It's potent. So when I set to salvage my old sample from years of disuse and enthusiastically squeezed its plastic nozzle not once, but twice (!), that was a mistake. I was oblivious at first, of course.

"Wow, a clear 9/10", I thought to myself. "A scent that punches well above its weight." Only I soon realized that it's my stomach that was about to get punched, through my nose, by a Trojan horse made of gently toasted orris butter and concealing a boatload of powdered sugar. It reminds me of how some dark chocolate manages to balance cocoa powder with sugar in such a way that the bitterness and sweetness perfectly neutralize one another. The sweetness in Dior Homme Intense is similarly balanced, concealed so well that it had me wondering why this innocuous concoction was making me nauseous.

"Okay, maybe an 8/10". I thought it was just the opening that would be this intense, and that surely, things would mellow soon enough. But the fragrance lives up to its name, remaining intense for at least as long as it took me to give up and scrub it off.

"Well, at least a 7/10".

Dior Homme Intense (DHI) features sweet, somewhat powdery orris butter with woody undertones. The orris note reminds me a little bit of Bois d'Argent Eau de Parfum or Black Tie Eau de Parfum, in that it's too strong and/or sweet for me. I prefer gentler orris-heavy scents like Rimbaud or Iris Trousseau, both of which are lighter on the nose, but heavier on the wallet than DHI.

I'll have to give DHI another chance, but until then, that's my preliminary 2 cents.

I barely smell lavender here. Instead, I mostly just get slightly powdery orris butter. It's incredibly simple and linear, but executed so incredibly well. It's deliciously warm and slightly sweet, while nowhere close to cloying. It also smells rather natural, unlike many powdery scents, which are often reminiscent of cosmetics. A soft and gentle perfume.

A really interesting scent.

"Steam" is centered around very gentle, soft green notes, reminiscent of high-quality loose-leaf green tea, mellow and balanced. It's not crisp like mint or sharp like galbanum, nor as flavorful as rosemary or dried oregano. An unobtrusive, smoky undertone gives it a dark twist, while at the same time the citruses, coriander, and black pepper imbue it with a cool, formal freshness.

On the blotter, the smokiness and freshness are very clearly identifiable, but on my skin the smokiness is more subdued and the freshness is faint and fleeting.

The scent is wonderfully blended. It's complex and sophisticated, though its progression is very linear. Unfortunately, on my skin, the fragrance's performance is really quite disappointing. After around two and a half hours, I can only smell the scent within five or so centimeters of the spot on which I applied it.

The handblown bottle, which I've only seen on photos, appears to be truly gorgeous. The color, the unconventional shape, the minimal but deliberate typography — it all works together marvelously. As it should, given that the handblown-bottled version costs over three times as much as the corresponding plain-bottled one.

Myrrh and frankincense are often associated with religious rituals or buildings, given its prevalence in those settings. It feels remarkable that, without compromising the notes' distinctive characters, "Falling Trees" manages to nudge them in a different direction. Juniper and black pepper accentuate frankincense's piney and slightly spicy facets, while the additional warm resinous notes tame its smokiness. There's also a mossy quality to it, like a coniferous forest right after gentle rainfall.

It's dark, intriguing, and smells wonderfully natural.

On my skin, the fragrance's performance is passable. After six and a half hours, I can smell the scent within five or so centimeters of the spot on which I applied it.

Also, a quick note: they might've have changed the design of the bottle. As far as I can tell, it now matches the look of newer releases like, e.g., Nitesurf Neroli. I preferred the previous look a little bit, but I find the newer one also quite nice.