July 2008 Archives

We had swimming pools in our backyard all through my childhood. My father would build them, digging big holes in the yard, pouring in sand over which he'd stretch layers and layers of heavy plastic lining, then putting up wooden walls, painting them blue and installing a drainage-filtration-pump system that he devised on his own.

It was the perfect way to provide entertainment for a crazy brood of hyper-active children while keeping us all within view and earshot.

I look back at it now and marvel that he had the energy and ingenuity to get it done mostly by himself (though my older brothers helped when they could).

It's been years (decades?) since I've done any swimming, so when we showed up June first at the house we rented in Kapalua, I immediately plunged into the pool and would clamber out of it only long enough to eat and sleep and check up on the world through the eyes and ears of my laptop.

It took a few weeks to get back into the swing of extended swimming sessions. Initially, my joints groaned and my respiratory system wailed, but I was determined to find my way back to the blue liquid calm of my childhood, where I could hold my breath and slip beneath the water's surface as time slowed to a crawl, my heartbeat thudding like a deep, slow drum in my ears.

Now it's time to head back to Dallas. I'll miss the brilliant Maui sunshine glancing off the water, the cool, stiff breezes, the sweet, humid air and the jaw-dropping scenery -- but I'll miss the swimming pool most of all.

Now, I love DSquared2 as far as their clothing and shoes are concerned -- their oh-so-chic urban style is often underscored by a near self-deprecating sense of humor, and they're a much needed shot in the arm to an industry that too often forgets that men are built differently from women (Prada and Dior Homme, I'm looking at you).

Their entry into the men's fragrance market, however, doesn't seem to pack quite the oomph of their fashion line. He Wood is a nice enough woodsy-ish scent (and by "woodsy-ish" I mean that it doesn't smell like any combination of real woods but more like a vague approximation), but it's a little lackluster in contrast to the kinetic energy of their seasonal collections.

The scent of violets doesn't necessarily "He" anything to my mind, and He Wood wants to be chock a block full of 'em, but unlike Armani Prive Cuir Amethyste and Parfum d'Empire Equistrius, both of which incorporate a high quality violet set against darker elements for dramatic and formalized effect, the violets in He Wood are blurry and somewhat artificial, as if you're careening at 140mph through a Canadian Alder forest with your engine roaring and your racing goggles clamped firmly on: "Hey, look at that pretty patch of violets! Whoa, there go my tires! Drat you, Dick Dastardly!"

It's nice that DSquared2 didn't lob a holy hand grenade of bitter, aquatic juice at the market and call it quits, but with the presence of so many more, and higher quality, options to choose from, why wouldn't you?

Which brings me to Divine L'Homme Sage, a scent for men created by Divine, an independent French perfume house focused more on artistry than marketing (made readily apparent by a trip to their rather beige website) -- but what Divine lacks in sizzle and financial clout, it makes up for in quality, talent and creativity.

There's a quiet confidence and expertise of construction to L'Homme Sage that all the marketing muscle behind the house of DSquared2 simply can't touch. Resinous and dusty, top loaded with citrus and calm florals while buttressed by golden spices, sweet amber and a smoky, earthy patchouli, L'Homme Sage is so warm and cozy that it's the olfactory equivalent of building up a crackling fire in the hearth after your computer-controlled central heat just conked out.

Which is not to say that L'Homme Sage is old fashioned or stuffy (anything with lychee and mace in the ingredients list is contemporary enough for me) -- it just delivers on its promise, unlike the muddled artifice of He Wood.

He Wood probably outsells L'Homme Sage by the bucketful, however. It's a cold, cruel world.

1. Camouflage your iPhone: "Louis Vuitton has their new Camouflage range of handbags however; also included in the range is an iPhone and iPod case . . . These cases are not cheap, selling for $280. The design for these cases was inspired by Japanese artist Takashi Murakami, who has worked on a number of other Louis Vuitton bags in the past." The Japanese will eat this thing for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

2. Tilda Swinton makes it onto Vanity Fair's International Best Dressed List and reveals that her perfume of choice is none other than the Queen Mum's favorite, Penhaligon Bluebell: "It has the exact smell of dense blue, of shadow, of the cool, damp ground, of the wood and bark on the trees. This scent seems to me the perfect representation of the thing, even if it were nothing like the actual scent of a bluebell."

3. Estee Lauder and Clinique file lawsuits against Preferred Fragrances for alleged trademark infringement: "The Estée Lauder Cos. Inc. and Clinique Laboratories Inc. have filed a lawsuit against Preferred Fragrance Inc. alleging trademark infringement in connection with alleged knockoffs of Lauder-branded fragrances . . . The lawsuit charged that Preferred trades on the "investment" of others as it copies the scents of famous designer fragrances. An example is Obsession, which Preferred allegedly called Fascination in its knockoff scent. Another is White Diamonds, which was called Round Diamonds, the lawsuit charged." Round Diamonds? They could have been sued for the creative bankruptcy behind that name alone.

4. John McCain wears nice shoes -- Salvatore Ferragamo loafers, to be exact; but what shoes does Obama wear?

5. Designer Matthew Williamson steps down as head of Pucci: "Matthew Williamson's time at Italian design house Pucci might be coming to an end. WWD is reporting that Emilio Pucci is currently searching for design assistants to replace the British boho designer who is about to open a store in the US." Matthew Williamson has done a terrific job of revitalizing Pucci for the 21st century consumer. It will be interesting to see who they bring on board to replace him.

6. Australia Retail Sales fall the most in six years: "Consumers are being buffeted by record gasoline costs, rising food prices and the central bank's decision to raise its benchmark interest rate in March to 7.25 percent, the highest since 1996. There is 'pretty clear evidence' consumers are cutting spending, Reserve Bank of Australia Governor Glenn Stevens said this month . . . 'The retail sector certainly appears to have fallen on hard times, and looks set to experience a bleak winter,' Richard Gibbs, an economist at Macquarie Group Ltd. in Sydney, said ahead of today's report." C'mon, Australia! Where's your sense of adventure? Get out those credit cards and charge, charge, charge!

Guerlain's Habit Rouge is a masculine scent I can live with. It doesn't smell old, tired, dull or cliched, despite the fact that it's been hanging around on the shelves since 1965; and now that 40 is the new 30 (or so I've been told), that means there's still plenty of kick to go around for the 21st century male.

It's not necessarily going to have people scurrying after you down the street just to ask what it is you're wearing, but the citrus to sandalwood to carnation to patchouli to vanilla act performs exactly as it should to create the illusion of plush, gentlemanly manners.

Guerlain's Chamade Pour Homme, however . . . fuggedaboutit. It's just another in a long line of pin-striped, retro-80's cologne wannabe's with that grim stainless-steel and Comet Cleanser quality that's so off-putting in a men's scent.

Are there positive aspects to Chamade Pour Homme? Yes. Do they outweigh the negatives? No.

The world would be a better place if you purchased Habit Rouge, instead. Your co-workers will thank you.

If niche perfumery is an attempt at serving the tastes of a minority not catered to by the big perfume companies, then Tauer Perfumes is a niche within this niche, offering self-proclaimed "beyond the ordinary" and "truly exciting" mixes that appear designed to provoke rapturous exclamations from easily excitable bloggers rather doing what a good perfume should and blending seamlessly into your day.

My first experience with Andy Tauer's perfumery was L'Air du Desert Marocain, and it took a few tries before I clicked with its "beyond the ordinary" approach. I can appreciate it now (perhaps because I've become a little more accustomed to the sharp cedar element predominantly employed), but I haven't worn it again and I probably never will as iI found it required more bother and solicitation from the wearer than I'm willing to hand out on a casual, day to day basis. I read that Luca Turin wore L'Air du Desert Marocain for his marriage ceremony to Perfumes: The Guide co-author Tania Sanchez, and that pretty much sums up Andy Tauer in a nutshell: a perfumer that only perfume connoisseurs can truly love.

Which brings me to Orris and Lonestar Memories. Orris, a composition based on the root of the Iris flower, is an attempt at marrying a warm, woodsy quality to the higher pitch of the Iris itself -- start with the Orris, toss in some rose and citrus oils, some frankincense and a couple of sandalwoods, a little agarwood for sweetness, then sprinkle pepper and cinnamon over the top and the result is an expertly balanced (if not straying into safety) perfume that's floral without puttering around in the petunias and woodsy without hauling a lumberyard along behind.

So far, so good. I'm not bowled over, but Orris is nicely done (though it has the drawback of being a discontinued limited edition).

Lonestar Memories aims for bolder folks who like bolder strokes -- well, that's the impression the marketing copy would have you buy into. Evoking the wide-open Texas landscape was Andy Tauer's stated goal for Lonestar Memories, and there's an initial blast of campfire smokiness paired with a leathery scent that makes me think he's headed in the right direction, but unfortunately it all goes downhill from there.

The myrrh, tonka (vanilla) and sandalwood at the base of Lonestar pushes through too quickly and too forcefully for any great outdoors experience to fully take hold, and with the inclusion of geraniums and jasmine flowers, not to mention the fresh spicy notes of clary sage and cedar, what I'm left sniffing at is a likely memory of the fragrant potpourri Andy Tauer's grandmother placed in decorative jars throughout her Texas home rather than the dried rattlesnake skins and dusty plains I'd assumed the title might promise.

Lonestar Memories is nice enough, and if you've been looking for a scent that smells of dried geraniums with cedar wood/incense wood shavings, then this could be your holy grail, but it doesn't fully commit to its Great Texas Outdoors intention and I'm of the opinion that the swooning reaction it receives from some quarters isn't particularly deserved.

I'd applied Orris on the back of one hand and Lonestar Memories on the back of the other. I walked into The BF's office and he took a sniff at each. "That one's better," he said, pointing at the hand with Orris. "Oh, you like the Orris perfume?" I asked. "No," he said, "I just think it's better than that flowery, potpourri sh*t you have on your other hand!" -- and with that, he turned back to his computer.

Out of the mouth of the Brian, dudes.

The Al Dente blog introduces us to Five Hot Dogs That Will Kill You

Cold. Dead. Hands.

That's all I'm sayin' . . .

Swiss-based perfumer Vero Kern's Onda is not for the minimalist. It's a big bouquet of spice that will precede if not exceed you, and you'll need a glittering personality to go along with it.

Onda has a distinct, clear-the-decks entrance that can be chalked up to the eye-watering mace on its ingredient list. The herbaceous ginger and coriander (cilantro) elements buttress this note while simultaneously working to build a bridge to the leathery, grass-root scent of vetiver that brings up the rear, creating a sliding scale of a perfume that starts off in the stratosphere before descending to earth.

There are also whiffs of mown hay plus a bit of musk, though the musk lends the fragrance an on-again off-again soapy quality I could have done without.

Nevertheless, Onda is a refreshing change of pace among big, contemporary perfumes, appearing to prize intellectual curiosity over the easy, blatant sensuality of the increasing number of patchoulis, sandalwoods and ambers cluttering the market.

Not that I'm against patchoulis, sandalwoods and ambers (au contraire, mon frere), it's just nice to encounter a recent perfume that's not stuffed to the gills with one of them . . . or all three!

Onda is not overtly feminine or masculine, so can easily be worn by both sexes, but I have noticed that the girls tend to succumb with more abandon to its musky charms.

You can order Onda directly from the Vero Profumo website. [Note: Vero Profumo fragrances are now available at Lucky Scent.]

UPDATE:

I just recently did another run-through with Onda. I wanted to see if my first impressions remained my impressions, and I was also thinking I might want to pick up a bottle (or two) as potential Christmas gifts.

The conclusion: yes and no. Yes, my first impression stands (I like the bright intro, then the descent into grassy hay and vetiver root), but no, I won't be purchasing any as Christmas gifts. The soapy quality of the musk used in the formula is a deal-breaker for me -- it drags the entire thing straight out of its really nice earth and grass territory and dumps it into the corner laundromat.

Too bad, really. It starts off with such promise.

Vero Profumo Rubj, however, is terrific.

Today, we're going to knock on wood, and three very specific types of wood, at that: Sycomore, Sequoia and Aoud.

The name Sycomore can be ascribed to three different types of tree -- the Middle Eastern/Northern African fig tree, the European maple and the North American plane tree, but as far as references are concerned, I would say that Chanel Sycomore leans in the direction of the Middle East fig, with its incense-smoke undertone, layers of dry grasses and the faint, pulpy fruit notes peering from around the edges.

Chanel had a 1930 perfume named Sycomore that was allegedly much more cluttered in composition, so the new 2008 Sycamore for their Les Exclusifs line appears to be an interpretation of the old scent, recast in a more stripped-down, contemporary style. While still a bit dark and even somewhat masculine, the new Sycomore is definitely a much leaner product than its fussy predecessor and signals a new direction for Chanel fragrances -- though not so much minimalist as just less ornate.

Hermes recently posted a 20% increase in its perfume sales for the first half of 2008, thanks to master perfumer Jean Claude Ellena and his deceptively simple juices (such as the brilliantly understated Un Jardin Apres la Mousson), so expect to see other, larger luxury houses (such as Chanel) follow suit with lighter fare of their own.

Already a conquerer in the minimalist mode, Comme des Garcons has been issuing fragrances in numbers that belie their rather small stature in the luxury goods field (CdG as a whole grosses approximately $150 million a year, whereas Hermes can pull in about $100 million on fragrances alone in just six months).

Sequoia is from their Red Series which debuted in 2001, and it comes across as a clean musk (read: soapy) fragrance that hints at tree sap and white flowers with a vague bit of campfire smoke curling upwards.

Despite being so different, there are striking similarities between Chanel Sycamore and CdG Sequoia (the light smoke, the soft touch of flowers/fruits, the tree sap, the uncluttered impact), though the soapy freshness in Sequoia keeps them from meeting fully. But it seems to me that with luxury houses increasingly aiming at Asian consumers, Chanel's old-school perfumers could hardly help but be influenced by the relentless, modernist gait of CdG, despite (or because of?) CdG having entered the perfume field less than twenty years ago.

Montale Red Aoud is a woodsy fragrance of a different color -- sharper, richer, stronger than both Chanel Sycamore and CdG Sequoia, Red Aoud announces its intentions in spicy bold strokes and is a happy traveller in the heavy Middle Eastern tradition of fragrances.

While I wasn't immediately smitten with Red Aoud, and, in fact, almost dismissed it as kind of unpleasant after about thirty minutes in, it subtly transformed as more time passed into a warm, almost chocolaty gourmand. It's not Hershey's chocolate, though -- more like the dusty, woodsy cocoa scent of a good patchouli, but mixed with other spices, as well: golden saffron, black pepper, cumin. Earthy roots and sandalwood are also mixed in to help counter-balance aoud's natural proclivity towards the too-sweet end of the spectrum.

This is not anything close to a contemporary, minimalist fragrance, and to its credit, it never pretends to be. Montale Red Aoud seems, instead, to have set its sights on the wallets of the Oil Princes and Princesses of the Middle East, as well as Western consumers who pine for the rich, heavy fragrances of perfume's wanton, glamorous years.

I enjoy its smell, though I have to admit that I could never wear it again myself. Even the thought of trailing such a thick cloud of scent behind me all day (and this stuff lasts all day!) is near exhausting. When I want something potent, I'll stick with YSL M7 which has a similar richness due to its inclusion of aoud wood, but is drier than Red Aoud and doesn't wear quite so heavily.

Parfum D'Empire Equistrius: Said to be named after a competition showhorse owned by the founder of Parfum d'Empire, Equistrius isn't the wild beast you'd expect out of such an homage, but rather a tender collection of violets, buffed saddle leather, dusty chocolate and roots of iris flower and grass, plus a rich slathering of grey amber (ambergris) to evoke the warm, sweet breath of a pampered thoroughbred in the winner's circle.

All the ingredients meld into an olfactory shimmer, so that Equistrius isn't so much a succession of duly noted elements ticked off in a row as it is an overarching impression of one moment in time: technically perfect, emotionally controlled and the embodiment of superior breeding.

Trophies and roses aren't included.

Ulrich Lang Anvers: What the stable boy wears when he shovels out the stalls. I'd list the supposed ingredients, but they don't make any sense in relation to how vile the stuff actually smells.

Il Profumo G-11: boring cliche of a men's fragrance -- green fresh notes, cypress, oakmoss, tobacco, lavendar, vetiver, musk . . . zzzzzzzzzz.

Huh? What? Oh, sorry, I couldn't even finish typing in the rest of the ingredients before I conked right out. They may as well have just named it Narcolepsy Extreme.

Cereus Pour Homme No. 11: Oh! (drops sample vial in surprise, then scrabbles about on the floor to rescue the juice from a thoroughly unwarranted oblivion) What is this?!

Spicy and inviting, with an aniseed opening that's immediately disarming in a "Hey, we're pals, right?" kind of way, but Cereus No. 11 lives its licorice-stick incarnation only briefly before the anise makes a smooth transition into juniper berries and dry pepper with airy, blonde woods and a smudge of vetiver root -- like downing a gin gimlet in a sun-struck mid-century style bar in southern California.

The sad song playing on the vintage jukebox is obviously for somebody else.

Amber (aka ambergris) is often utilized as a bit-player in perfume foundations, which gives the ingredient a chance to warm up and mellow out before the wearer starts to notice its presence. This time delay that perfumers often employ with amber can be crucial, as the initial impression one gets from a whiff of pure amber is a lot like what you'd expect a gob of goo hacked out of a sperm whale (which is then sun-baked for several years as it floats around on the surface of the ocean -- I know! eeewww, right?) to smell like: organically raw, a bit sodden and musky, with the oddly sweet odor that is sometimes present during the process of mammalian decomposition.

Let's say that again, and think perfume: whale loogie, mammalian decomposition. Are you getting the picture? Ambergris in perfume is one of those brainstorms that shouldn't work but weirdly does, like Oil Futures . . . or bubble-gum ice cream.

This brings me to our two fragrances for the day -- Ambra Aurea by Profumum, and Ambergris by Houbigant (a division of Alyssa Ashley).

The latter of the two is a discontinued fragrance that's become somewhat of a cult obsession and can reasonably be held aloft as an example of a classic amber fragrance. It was created in 1973 in the days before synthetic ambers replaced the real thing (real ambergris is rare and prohibitively expensive), and it's pretty much exactly what the title states: a perfume of authentic, oily ambergris coughed up from a sperm whale.

Houbigant Ambergris is sharp and a bit camphorous (moth-ballish) at the beginning, and because of its oily texture, it holds onto this initial stage for longer than your average contemporary brew. Three hours after applying, I still whiffed camphor off the shiny oil slick on the back of my hand. This is in marked contrast with Profumum's Ambra Aurea, a contemporary amber that seems to eschew authentic ambergris for a high-quality allusion (though Ambra Aurea's ingredient list includes grey amber, which is sometimes used as a euphemism for ambergris) -- I can only assume it's not genuine ambergris because it evaporated into my skin almost the moment it was applied, leaving no houbigant-type oil slick behind.

This is not a bad thing. Synthetics and/or approximations have made modern perfumery the art form it is today, and I'd rather my skin not be slicked with whale oil as I'm trying to get dressed in the morning -- but what's most fascinating about the contrast between the old and the new is how very much alike they are nonetheless. Ambra Aurea is warmer and cleaner, but only by fractions, and it does everything that a real ambergris should while exhibiting marginally better table manners in the process.

And in case you're wondering, wearing a single focus amber (a soligoo, perhaps?) is a much different experience from an amber blend, such as Tom Ford's Amber Absolute or Neil Morris' Burnt Amber; whereas some amber blends can be honied and syrupy sweet, a single-focus amber is often dry and a bit bitter with a predominant musk quality. There's none of the burnt sugars and dusty cocoas, no flowers, cinnamons or vanillas -- oh, wait! There is vanilla, but it's like the ghost of a vanilla, darker and somewhat spectre-ish and not something you'd choose to flavor the pudding.

Both Houbigant Ambergris and Profumum Ambra Aurea are faithful interpretations of ambergris, with each one reflective of the time period in which it was created. Houbigant Ambergris is dirtier through the body and a tad more medicinal at the drydown, while the new millennium Profumum Ambra Aurea chooses to turn down the volume on both the dirt and medicine as it chugs along, allowing for a toasted aroma to peek through before it finally extinguishes its flame.

The fragrant drydown of both lasts a good long time.

UPDATE:

I've received a couple of queries regarding the terminology used in this post, so I'm going to explain my reasoning behind the review above.

In my understanding, Amber, as it used in today's perfumery, is either a synthetic or a natural compound, meant to mimic the odor of genuine Ambergris, as Amber itself is a fossilized plant resin (considered an actual gemstone) that, when heated and melted can produce an oil, but does not produce any oils that are suitable for perfumery.

Plant resin that is hardened but not fully fossilized is called Copal, not Amber. If it's just a normal tree resin, then it's just a normal tree resin and has nothing to do with actual Amber. There is no Amber tree.

Regarding botanical amber: what we often see classified as "essential amber oils" or "natural fragrant amber" is, instead, compounds of essential plant oils that are combined, often with sandalwood and/or patchouli, to create an approximation of the smell of Ambergris. It is not Ambergris, hence the short-form Amber as its designation.

I could be completely wrong in my assessment of the information available to me, but this is why I compared Profumum Ambra Aurea with Houbigant Ambergris, and why I believe their smell is so similar.

I will close with some info from the Perfume Shrine Blog:

"Natural ingredients are used to create an amber base without actual ambergris, meaning a perfume base that smells warm, erotic and sensual or simply an oil mix . . . Mandy Aftel in her book "Essence and Alchemy" suggests a simple amber base made from just three materials for the amateur perfumer: 30 drops of labdanum, 120 drops of benzoin, 6 drops of vanilla. Usually other accent notes are used in amber chords to differentiate the result and make it unique, ergo the abundance of different amber oils in the market. Some of the usual ingredients to use are vanilla, tonka bean, Peru balsam (sweet ambers), clove, cinnamon, Tolu balsam, sage, juniper (drier ambers), sandalwood, patchouli, olibanum (mysterious ambers), rose, jasmine or other flower essences in very small amount (more floral ambers)."

Again, it is my contention that natural amber bases are an attempt at approximating the rare and genuine Ambergris, then moving on from there -- is it just me, or does it seem to be logical that the cheaper, plant-derived Amber would follow in the footsteps of the rare and exclusive Ambergris and not the other way 'round?

I hope this helps to clear up any confusion.

The Summer sales are wrapping up and Fall '08 merchandise is starting to hit. Below is a roundup of some of the high-end shoes that should be hitting the shelves anytime now.

Note the array of colors and how bright a lot of them are, especially when you consider that these are from the Fall collections. It's turning into a color free-for-all as the big luxury houses have taken to designing for both hemispheres at the same time, not to mention East, West and everything in between.

Fall? Spring? Who cares? Bring it on!

(click to enlarge & copy to desktop to see full size)

From left to right:

1. christian dior, allesandro dell'acqua, miu miu, christian louboutin
2. pierre hardy, prada, donna karan, manolo blahnik
3. narciso rodriguez, stella mccartney, prada, valentino
4. miu miu, roger vivier, john galliano, chanel
5. sergio rossi, alexandra neel, pierre hardy, marni
6. lanvin, versace, prada, alexander mcqueen
7. miu miu, gucci, derek lam, donna karan
8. dolce & gabbana, giambattista valli, bally, miu miu
9. manolo blahnik, christian louboutin, missoni, ysl

UPDATE:

Click here for a good look into the mind of men when it comes to deciphering women's shoes.

Someone asked me, "What do you require in a scent, in ten words or less?"

This was my reply:

She answered: "Boy, you don't want much, do you?"

Continuing with the manly flow initiated by yesterday's post, I'm pitting Frank No. 2 by Frank Los Angeles against Pour Homme No. 7 by Cereus. Both of them are recent creations, with Frank No. 2 debuting in 2005 while Cereus No. 7 made its appearance only last year; yet for how contemporary they are, it's remarkable how much they still rely upon the been-there done-that masculines of the past.

Frank Los Angeles so far has a grand total of three fragrances to its credit, and all of them are for men, so I give them props for market focus. They keep it simple, minimal and clean, and the price point is excellent -- not so high as to scare away the American male fragrance novice, and not so low as to seem drugstore cheap.

The fragrance itself, Frank No. 2, echoes the easy, direct style of its packaging even though it strains to live up to its marketing hyperbole ("magnetic and sensual, calm and elegant"). It opens with the usual sparkling bergamot, as if to say, "Here I am! A perfume for men! Don't be afraid! Buy me now!" (and here is where I admit to a growing weariness with bergamot, as it seems nearly every male scent in existence utilizes the darn stuff), but once the stereotypical brightness of the bergamot fades off, Frank No. 2 shifts gears into a medium-bodied cognac and roast coffee production with a hefty lash of lavender.

I understand that lavender has been used for eons in men's aftershave products as subliminal code for fresh, but is that really the not-so-lofty goal that Frank Los Angeles was reaching for -- a lightly gourmand floral? A bottle of whisky and lavendar? Why not just a nice woodsy-whisky and ditch the fussy floral element altogether?

The addition of coffee to the mix blunts the overt prettiness of the lavender a tad and lends the scent as a whole a somewhat yummy-edible quality, and I can easily see Frank No. 2 as a subtle, plays-nicely-with-others scent for the office. Just don't be surprised when the boss remarks upon the bouquet he's sure you're hiding under your desk, then asks for a cuppa with two creams and one sugar.

Cereus No. 7, however, plays a similar game with different rules. Cereus is a small men's fragrance company, much like Frank Los Angeles -- they have only four scents on offer, and their focus is exclusively male. Cereus No. 7 is probably the safest of the bunch, referencing the classic colognes while tweaking the formula ever so slightly.

No. 7 also starts off with the dreaded cheap bergamot note, and I swear to god I'm going to boycott anything with the word "bergamot" in the ingredients list from here on out (well, except for Clive Christian No. 1 for Men -- the bergamot used in that one is of such high quality that it may as well have been harvested from Pluto as far as the likes of Frank Los Angeles and Cereus are concerned). Opening a new bottle of scent only to have it smell initially like 95% of all the old bottles of scent already on the market is disconcerting, not to mention unnecessary.

Note to male fragrance producers regarding cheap bergamot: Stop It!

Now where was I? Oh, right -- Chandler Burr writes that Cereus No. 7 is "a standardized masculine, a well-done grandson of the deodorant metallic Cool Water that is perfectly competent, cannily commercial, blandly irrelevant." In other words, bergamot leads to violets leads to jasmine leads to woods and . . . wait! Does it really have to be so routine?

I mean, the vanilla-ish tonka bean is a decent touch, but not particularly eye-opening, if you catch my drift, and it certainly doesn't lift No. 7 above its rather pedestrian aspirations. Though Cereus No. 7 doesn't veer completely off into the food court like Frank No. 2, that doesn't mean it's any better a fragrance, and I'm thinking I might actually prefer the warm coffee and cognac of Frank No. 2 to the more sterile synthetic-wood and synthetic-leather drydown of Cereus No. 7 (which is nearly twice the price of Frank No. 2).

Cereus No. 7 is stronger and lasts longer than Frank No. 2, though. Points for that.

I thought it might be good to take a few scents crafted and labeled exclusively for men and see how they stack up against each other. Our lovely contestants: Tom Ford for Men, Mark Birley for Men, Balenciaga Pour Homme and Patou Pour Homme.

I'll start by dividing them into two camps -- the English and the French (well, Tom Ford is actually American, but he speaks English, so bear with me). Launched in late 2007, and despite its godawful advertising campaign, Tom Ford for Men survives the comparison test as the better of the two.

Tom Ford for Men reminds me of the blatantly commercial and very successful mainstream luxury house fragrances that were so popular in the 80's -- Armani Eau Pour Homme and Ralph Lauren Polo spring immediately to mind, which makes perfect sense when you consider that Ford is the love child of oversexed adolescence and bespoke snobbery. A whiff of the well-groomed stallion, mane slicked back, suits his standard operating procedure, even should it feel about twenty years late to the party.

But rather twenty years late than a hundred, like poor Mark Birley for Men. Overly mannered and old-timey, this is stiff upper lip and British upper crust without a pot to piss in. If this by the numbers bottle of wan, citrus-infused juice is the best a modern British socialite has up his sleeve, then I'll take the faux posh-by-gosh of Tom Ford for a hundred, Alex.

And now we move to the Frenchies (yes, I know that Balenciaga was originally founded by a Spaniard, but it's now owned by French multi-national corporation PPR, so get off my back). Balenciaga Pour Homme was created in 1990, and while it may have been treading the curve at the time of its release, it's of only marginal interest eighteen years later.

A reviewer at BaseNotes called it "Kouros Lite" and he's not far off, for where YSL Kouros kicks in with some spice and bite, Balenciaga Pour Homme just sits there, a one-trick pony of honied florals and way too much sandalwood. Perhaps this was a deliberate attempt to troll for consumers that turned away from the spicy drama and big 80's sensibility of Kouros (for even the bottle design shows similarities), but there's simply not enough there there to warrant further inspection.

And Patou Pour Homme? Fuggedaboutit. If I wanted to smell like a musky, waxy laundry detergent, I'd set up camp in my Maytag, thank you very much.

Both Balenciaga Pour Homme and Patou Pour Homme have been discontinued (PPR and Proctor & Gamble, bless you!), but you can still find them for sale online. Patou Pour Homme, despite its sudsy nature, has a devoted cult following and bottles of the juice (when you can find them) sell for upwards of three to five hundred dollars.

Obviously, there's still a sucker born every minute.

Tom Ford for Men wins by a mile, with the other three trailing so far behind as to not even register, but if you're really going to slap down some cash for a Tom Ford fragrance, I'd suggest giving his Private Blend series a once over, first. You can do (and Ford himself has done) a lot better than the Armani-knockoff of Tom Ford for Men.

Never one to pass up the chance to jump on a solidly established concept and call it a trend, Lagerfeld is pumping up the volume on the unisex bandstand with the release of 'Kapsule' -- a trio of so-called "genderless" perfumes manufactured by cosmetics and fragrance giant Coty (which owns the license for the Lagerfeld name in regards to fragrances).

"I love the world of perfumes," Lagerfeld said. "For me, the world of fashion doesn't exist without it." You might be forgiven your skepticism if you'd smelled any of his previous (and entirely unremarkable) fragrance efforts, but I think my favorite quote from the WWD puff piece is this: "This has my taste -- or absence of my taste," Lagerfeld laughs. "The most important thing is that it has a special taste."

Gee -- thanks for that clarification, mein Karl. They're special. Gotcha. Now we can all just run right out and snatch them off the shelves for their . . . absence of taste?

The three new perfumes are: Light, a bright and spicy scent developed by Mark Buxton of Symrise who's also worked on perfumes for biehl parfumkunstwerke, Comme des Garcons, Elternhaus, Givenchy and more; Floriental, an ivy leaf, violet and black tea leaf brew by Emilie Coppermann of Symrise who's worked on perfumes for Givenchy and Paco Rabanne; and Woody, a deep woods and plum concoction dreamed up by Olivier Cresp of Firmenich. Cresp has worked with the likes of Giorgio Armani, Kenzo, Thierry Mugler and YSL, among others.

There's nothing particularly groundbreaking about the three scents described, and the concept of genderless perfumes has been around for decades (at the least), so whether Kapsule will be a hit for Karl and Coty depends upon the marketing and the price point, both of which seem fairly respectable, and by that I mean mind-numbingly safe.

You can also mix and match the three, which is being trumpeted by the Lagerfeld press machine as daring when it's actually old hat -- hell, even fashion up-and-comer Matthew Williamson beat Lagerfeld to the punch in that regard several years ago. You know you're not at the top of your game anymore when the upstarts are stealing your thunder.

The PR material states that Lagerfeld was "closely involved" in the development of the trio, but marketing departments always say that and it's usually a bunch of B.S., since laboratory perfumers collaborate on the scents with representatives from the large cosmetics corporations while the Fashion Designers whose names get slapped across the bottles sip sparkling water in their offices three thousand miles away.

However, I have no doubts at all that Lagerfeld was highly involved in the design for the bottles -- round peg, square hole, yes yes, very subtle. Fashion designers care so very much about subtleties, you know: "Five inch stilettos + neckline plunging to navel = sexzeeee!"

The perfumes will be launched in a watered-down EDT formula, which is the first bad sign; while EDT's are inexpensive for the companies to produce, their lasting power and scent depth sucks, to put it mildly, so an EDT-only launch is usually a sign that the company is taking a short term outlook on the release as the fragrances are not distinctive enough to merit long-term financial investment.

The trio will go on sale in October in France for approximately $60.00 an ounce, and the rest of the world will see them debut in November . . . just in time for Christmas, of course.

Baby, you can drive my car -- just don't expect me to smell like it, too.

Perfume Company Santa Maria Novella positions its Nostalgia offering as a tribute to the old-fashioned male, the masculine tradition of the man and his car, the rubber and the road, the boy and his grease-monkey, or something like that -- yet how it actually comes across is more back-handed compliment than genuine homage.

Like Nasomatto's Duro, Nostalgia holds a low opinion of the tastes and desires of its target audience: most men like cars, ergo, most men will shell out the $$ to smell like gasoline, asphalt and vinyl-clad bucket seats. Right? Right???

Well, no. Just because men go agog over molded stainless steel and the powerful rumbling of a V12 doesn't mean we have fantasies of rolling around in pools of old motor oil. News Flash to Santa Maria Novella -- men like bacon, too, but that doesn't mean we want to incorporate it into our wardrobe.

SMN Nostalgia commits the added sin of firing on all cylinders for only about 90 minutes before running out of creative gas and stalling at the side of the highway. Points also subtracted for the dull bottle design (and I don't ordinarily give a toss about the bottle).

When I performed the usual "Here, smell this!" routine with Brian, he was suitably unimpressed. Two thumbs down.

Incense based Fragrances have been riding a trend wave for the past several years, though mainly in the niche perfume lines. While mainstream luxury houses have been flogging the living daylights out of fruity florals, their smaller rivals have been catering to an underserved market by exploring scents based on woods and resins.

Japanese design firm Comme des Garcons is one of the more visible of this niche bunch, releasing a five fragrance series in 2002 that successfully served up variations on the Incense theme (see Comme des Garcons Incense Series), with Kyoto arguably the most wearable. French perfume company Heeley followed in 2006 with their well-received Cardinal. These are only two examples in a very crowded field, but I mention them here together since I find them to be kissing cousins in their approach to traditional Incense.

With only a casual dive-by sniff, it would be difficult to tell the difference between Kyoto and Cardinal -- both tell the story of incense in reference to meditation and worship (Shinto Shrine and Catholic Mass, respectively), and their essential ingredient lists reveal a shared foundation of vetiver (a wild grass native to India), patchouli, amber and frankincense, resulting in dry-downs (the final, lingering phase of perfume on skin) that are strikingly similar.

Of the two, Kyoto initially comes across as lighter, almost soapier in disposition due to its inclusion of the fragrant everlasting flower (the cistus flower in Cardinal is less flashy), but things differ somewhat during Kyoto's mid-section -- a warm and woodsy blend of cypress oil, teak wood and cedar that infuses the surrounding atmosphere with a bit more light and less smoke than Cardinal; however, once the woodsy elements wind down, Cardinal and Kyoto move towards similar finish lines with their bases of amber, patchouli, vetiver and frankincense varying only by degrees.

Since Kyoto came four years before Cardinal, it's obvious who influenced whom, but Heeley did its homework and improved marginally upon Kyoto by forgoing the dry woodsy notes in favor of an amber with a more complex nature than the one used by CdG -- this helps the scent of Cardinal to last on the skin long after Kyoto has seemingly vanished into thin air. It also gives Cardinal a sweeter, more mellow finish than its Eastern cousin.

I have to admit to not being particularly wild about either Kyoto or Cardinal -- they exist within my increasingly crowded "this would smell nice on someone else" territory -- but the two of them are well-crafted brews and I have no objections to their continued popularity. If you're in the market for a meditative fragrance, both are fine choices, but if you prefer the scent of cedar wood over that of amber, Kyoto might be the better road to travel.

Cuir Amethyste is a high-end concept fragrance in the uber-chic Armani Prive line, with bottles fashioned from carved wood and caps adorned with genuine stones. Perfume consumers wail that the prices for the Prive perfumes are far too high, but the wailing is more a result of being confronted with exceptionally executed fragrances that one simply cannot do without -- then realizing that robbing a bank to afford it is not a viable option.

Like my pleasure in the sampling of Bois d'Encens before it (FYI: Bois d'Encens and Cuir Amethyste were created by the same perfumer, Michel Almairac), taking Cuir Amethyste for a test drive is not a bad way to spend the day. While I prefer Bois d'Encens for its dry, austere nature, Cuir Amethyste is stunning in its overindulgence -- lush violets, soft suede, smooth vanilla.

The Cuir (leather) aspect is the result of a deft mix of birch tar, patchouli, benzoin (an incense resin), labdanum (an amberish resin) and the aforementioned vanilla, whereas the Amethyste note comes from bergamot fruit, rock rose, violets and spices. Put it all together and the result is a fragrance that's so elegant you may as well have fermented your tuxedo.

Which doesn't mean you can't wear Cuir Amethyste with jeans, t-shirt and flip-flops -- far be it from me to naysay the rebel in you -- but it might seem a bit incongruous to be sporting such a glamorous 'tude while loading your grocery cart with frozen pizza pockets.

I'm just sayin' . . .

I've been trying to write a review of PC02 for the last three weeks, but every time I open up an entry and start typing, my brain freezes, adjectives flee and I find myself at a bit of a loss as to how to describe this eminently wearable concoction from niche perfume house biehl parfumkunstwerke without over-simplifying its structure and appeal.

Let's start with the facts: PC02 was crafted by professional perfumer Patricia Choux, educated at the Université Claude Bernard in Lyon, France and now working with the Symrise flavors and fragrances company. She's young, full of fresh energy and the biehl parfumkunstwerke website describes her style as "crazy, chic, a racy mix of skilled tradition and a courageous desire to try new ideas."

Strangely enough, all the separate pieces above join to create PC02. Choux's French education comes blazing through when you first encounter her second fragrance for biehl parfumkunstwerke -- it rushes out of the bottle in an enthusiastic jumble of florals, musks, resins and spice, like a classic Guerlain that's been reinvented for the 21st century Shopping Mall set; yet unlike a lot of perfumes that start off sweet and gregarious only to take a swan-dive off the balcony forty minutes later, what you first meet in Ms. Choux's creation is what you get all the way to the finish.

No detours and no unwelcome surprises -- just good genetics supporting an unflappably optimistic personality.

If you're a fan of fresh, clean, subtle fragrances, then you should definitely pass this one by, but if you're in the mood for a perfume that smells like Linda Evangelista dropped a quart jar of tropical honey in the spice market, PC02 could turn out to be exactly your bag of tricks.

Would you buy perfume from this man?

(click to enlarge)

Ok, you probably would, and so might I, but only if he were a sales assistant at, say, Neiman Marcus -- and then I'd return the stuff the next day and get my money back; but as the celebrity face and name behind a fragrance launch from a major fashion house (Calvin Klein), Antonio Banderas seems more like an aging, tucked-in regional manager than a smoldering sex symbol who can get product to fly off the shelves.

Whenever I see photo opps like the above splashed about, it only serves to remind me of the huckster quotient behind the glamor: "I am see-duuuuk-teeev . . . BUY MY PERFUME!!!!"

Uhm . . . no thanks.

There was, however, a time when Banderas was an appropriate marketing tool designed to spark interest and generate sales:

Or perhaps utilizing Banderas, despite his waning clout as a Hollywood player, is a conscious choice on the part of the perfume company to focus attention on an underserved Latin-American market . . .

Saks Fifth Avenue in a Tailspin; Indicates Future Hurdles for Neiman & Nordstrom

"One of the last holdouts in consumer spending -- luxury-goods purchases -- may be collapsing under the weight of a sluggish and potentially contracting U.S. economy . . . Retailers are competing for 'an increasingly scarce luxury dollar,' said Pam Danziger, founder of Stevens, Pennsylvania- based luxury marketing firm Unity Marketing Inc. . . . 'Even places like Saks that you don't think would need to have sales -- because people will come no matter what -- they are (having sales),' said Amy Yglesias, a 19-year-old college student who bought jeans at a 60 percent discount at the Manhattan store. 'Everywhere is hurting.'"

Meanwhile, there's talk of the government taking steps to nationalize Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac: "If this market action keeps up, the government will have no choice but to nationalize Fannie and Freddie, which really are too big to fail."

I see that an Abu Dhabi fund has purchased a controlling stake in the Chrysler Building, one of New York's most recognizable landmarks. Are we heading into a repeat of the 80's, where a financially troubled U.S. was up for sale? And with oil prices that show no sign of backing down (oh, did I mention escalating warlike rumblings from the Middle East?), economic recovery becomes just that much more difficult.

I certainly would not want to be running for president right about now; all the indicators are pointing south, and the populace is going to be looking for its scapegoat.

Louise is visiting, so of course we went shopping because, apparently, that's what one does when one is visited by a Louise.

Many ill-fitting shoes, poorly constructed dresses and overpriced handbags later, we found ourselves in a small cosmetics and perfume boutique confronted with a large wall of Bond No. 9 fragrances.

We took a whiff of quite a few of them, and Louise liked Bryant Park, Union Square and Eau de New York, but she fell in love with Chelsea Flowers, a blend of soft florals, light musk, sandalwood and tree moss:

Chelsea Flowers suits Louise to a T -- casually attractive and with a warm skin tone layer that serves to gently bolster the surrounding flowers and greenery.

Brian had tagged along to drive and keep us company, and though he rarely wears any fragrance, as a concession to my interest in the art of perfumery, he picked himself up a small spray bottle of Clive Christian No. 1 for Men:

The two perfumes have a golden sheen to their packaging, which I thought interesting as both are musky florals. Chelsea Flowers is much lighter, simpler and far less expensive than No. 1 for Men, but still . . .

UPDATE:

My sister and her husband were visiting last week, and we went shopping in Wailea -- so we stopped by the same perfume store where I went with Louise when she picked up Chelsea Flowers.

I purchased a bottle of the Bond No. 9 Bryant Park for my 14 year old niece -- huge hit. She appreciates it for all its flowery, raspberry vivacity. The sis picked up a bottle of Bond No. 9 Chinatown for herself. When I first sprayed the tester onto a smelling strip and handed it over, her eyes went wide. "I love it!" she said.

She obviously grooves on the rich, spicy Orientals . . . it must be a family trait.

I tried to find something else in the store that was worth examining more closely, but the Bonds were about the most interesting brand they had for sale. Everything else was pretty much your average, tapped-out, mainstream juice.

With all the good to really nice incense fragrances out on the market (Matthew Williamson Incense, L'Artisan Timbuktu, Andy Tauer Incense Extreme, Armani Prive Bois d'Encens, Montale Greyland, Comme des Garcons Incense Series, Givenchy Insense, the list goes on and on), it would be almost a shame to settle for Ava Luxe Incense Rose.

But only almost.

Ava Luxe Incense Rose starts off rather waxy and artificial, then shakes it out with some smoky approximations and a feint toward the flower beds (geraniums, roses and iris are involved). I was initially unimpressed and ready to dismiss the whole thing as too much like a trip down the drugstore cosmetics aisle when the sandalwood, frankincense, oud and amber ingredients in the base of the formula appeared.

If a scent hasn't cozied up to me before its base shows up, it's often too late, but the woods and resins at the foundation of Incense Rose warm the fragrance in necessary ways, lending it a charm and affability that overcome the somewhat forced cheeriness of its introduction.

Girly-girl Louise is visiting for the week, and she proclaimed on first sniff that she loved it, even the opening bits that I wasn't crazy about.

So there you have it -- a waxy floral opening that pleases the girly-girl with a wood and resin base that's laudable for its subtlety (and lack of patchouli -- maybe subtlety and absence of patchouli go hand-in-hand?).

UPDATE:

I'm sitting here almost a week later, testing out Ava Luxe Chypre Noir, and it strikes me as very similar in composition even though it's an entirely different ingredient list. Just as Incense Rose was waxy and almost giggly before it mellowed into a resinous base, Chypre Noir surprises by bursting out of the bottle like fresh green soap, then winds down to a warmer and just ever so slightly edgy finish of dry grasses, cedar and spice.

Not particularly the melancholy vision that comes to mind when I hear the word noir, but Ava Luxe is a perfume house for the girls, and as such, they tune their formulations to a clean, fresh pitch they know will sell.

Reminiscence is a French fragrance and jewelry company that's been around since 1980, though its founders launched their first fragrances -- Patchouli, Amber and Musc -- in 1970 under the brand name Ylang-Ylang (all of them now well ushered into the Reminiscence fold).

Their Patchouli is said to be a soft, gentle variation on the hippie theme, and they issued Elixir Patchouli in 2007 as a more intense and potent version in order to keep up with trends in the marketplace.

Elixir Patchouli is only the second fragrance I've tested for which the BF has offered an unsolicited compliment. The first was Le Labo's Patchouli 24. Both Elixir Patchouli and Patchouli 24 are smoky, rich fragrances that incorporate a mix of resins, woods and spices to tame the often overpowering nature of patchouli on its own, and believe you me, patchouli that's left to its own devices can be a dangerous thing.

Elixir Patchouli is easy to wear and easy to stand next to, both of which are important qualities when I'm considering a purchase. I've run into other fragrance fiends who take pride in finding the most foul concoction on the planet and then dousing themselves in it as if this somehow sets them apart or makes them special: "See? No one else would even think to smell like this! I'm original and daring!"

No, you're just anti-social and need to learn some manners. It's not a black mark against your name if the other people around you actually enjoy the way you smell -- and if you wear Elixir Patchouli, enjoyment is a pretty much done deal.

Unfortunately, Reminiscence fragrances are incredibly difficult to find in the United States outside of websites that offer small sample bottles. I've emailed the Reminiscence company about whether they have any distributors for the States, and I'll update this post when I receive an answer.

UPDATE:

It's been two weeks and they still have yet to respond. I guess the U.S. is a consumer base for which they have no interest.

UPDATE 12/31/08:

I just read on the Perfume of Life forum that Beauty Habit now carries the Reminiscence line, including the Patchouli Elixir.

Speaking of politics, do you remember Night Flight?

If you do, then the following clip will make your toes curl with glee:

You're welcome.

There's an idea among some perfume companies that in order to get men to purchase a bottle of scent, it has to be completely removed from anything even resembling the concept of a pretty, floral perfume -- so they craft fragrances that smell like gasoline, burnt rubber, asphalt (though I pretty much grooved on CdG Tar), cement or dirt, as if to reassure their potential customers of their manliness: "You think perfume is only for girls and gays? Ha! Wear this and you'll come across like good old-fashioned, toil-and-sweat masculinity, yessiree!"

Apparently, Nasomatto figured they may as well cover this poor, misguided consumer segment in their portfolio, too, so they produced their own version of the masculine stink-bomb with Duro.

Duro reeks like a petroleum product -- one that you would use to power a lawn mower or employ as a cleaning solvent. There's not a whiff of pleasantry to it, and if I were to lean in close to someone wearing this, I would immediately recoil. It has a poisonous air about it, and the only reason I could think a man would choose to wear Duro is if he had deep-seated intimacy problems and wanted every human within shouting distance to just back the f**k off.

The Lucky Scent website states that Duro is "elegant yet carnal and very, very sexy," but that's because they have to sell this foul, oakmoss laden brew, and if they were honest about it, they'd never get a bottle out the door.

What they forgot to mention is that it's also laughably overpriced for how awful and cheap it smells.

UPDATE (August 17,2008):

Thinking it would be wise to get a second and third opinion, just in case I might have missed some kind of special magic about Nasomatto Duro, I sent off samples of the stuff to two perfume-friendly (not to mention perfume fanatic) acquaintances, one man and one woman, both of whom enjoy darker, more traditionally masculine scents.

They both disliked it . . . a lot. "Interesting but unwearable," wrote the woman, while her male counterpart responded with "Ewww. Seriously, EWWW. No point in applying deodorant after you put this on." He also stated that it's now one of his top five most hated fragrances.

You are now adequately forewarned.

UPDATE (January 8th, 2009):

I just got a message from some socially awkward commenter insisting that I'm "an imbecile" for thinking poorly of Duro . . . cuz holding an opinion on a perfume is akin to rocket science, I guess.

It's a special club. You wouldn't understand. Yada yada.

So let me take this golden opportunity to repeat my earlier assertion, because it appears to hold up very well under scrutiny: "The only reason I could think a man would choose to wear Duro is if he had deep-seated intimacy problems and wanted every human within shouting distance to just back the f**k off."

That said, if a woman chooses to wear Duro, I'd have a different opinion about it. I wouldn't necessarily be keen to stand next to her, but I'd at least give her a couple of gold stars for creative thinking.

Matthew Williamson released his original Incense perfume in 2002, then inexplicably withdrew it from the market not long after, breaking the hearts of numerous incense fragrance fans along the way.

So now he's back (as of 2007) with a new version of Matthew Williamson Incense. I haven't yet encountered the original, though I wouldn't think this new version comes off well in a fair fight between the two. There are still wails of anguish emanating from certain corners of the internet over the demise of the original Matthew Williamson Incense, but I can't imagine anyone even noticing if this new version vanishes tomorrow with a quiet poof.

Matthew Williamson Incense is a little bit patchouli, a little bit frankincense, a little bit sweet vanilla (that must be the labdanum?) and it curiously shies away from any actual smoke in its body. It's a light, sheer scent that cleaves to the mantra of the new minimalism: "Be pretty, be pleasant, let no one remember you were here!" L'Artisan Parfumeur finesses this territory much better with Timbuktu, a delicate and ever so slightly smoked floral -- it's not my thing, but I know plenty of other people who rave like lunatics about it.

Matthew Williamson Incense is part of a four fragrance collection listed as Matthew Williamson The Collection, and is not yet available in the United States. The Collection is promoted as a mix and match set, which is either sheer laziness on the part of the perfumers ("We couldn't be bothered to actually complete the darn fragrances, so why don't you do it for us?") or pure genius on the part of the marketing department ("I've got a brilliant idea! We'll tell everyone that these perfumes were created to be layered with each other -- then they'll buy all four!").

If you're truly set on getting yourself a Matthew Williamson scent, I'd suggest Warm Sand, one of the other fragrances from The Collection. It's as light, warm and pretty as Incense while including a faint ginger flower note that has the decency to leave an impression.

Last week, I sprayed some Emilio Pucci Vivara on the back of my hand so that I could test it out before I recommended it to a friend who was looking for something green and fresh, but Vivara was so sharp and insistent that I quickly washed my hands and then scrambled about for a potent fragrance I could use to cover any remnants of the damage. I grabbed Le Labo's Patchouli 24 and sprayed it on.

What resulted was a sweet and smoky patchouli with a spiky tang at the heart of it, since the Vivara hadn't fully washed off before I applied the Patchouli 24. For hours afterward, I kept bringing my hand to my face so that I could smell the accidental hybrid blooming on my skin -- it was strange and unexpectedly intriguing, like stumbling upon a fresh-baked gingerbread house deep in a fern filled forest, smoke wafting from its cookie crust chimney.

Welcome to Patchouli Noir by Il Profumo.

Patchouli Noir is a sweet and sour mix that's unlike most other patchouli fragrances I've yet encountered. Where most patchouli perfumes include a veritable litany of other ingredients that cause it to zig into a rich, honied and ambery resin, Patchouli Noir stays true to its nature and zags into dry, flinty and minty layers that melt into a dusty-cocoa and vanilla-sugar head trip.

Serge Lutens Borneo 1834 plays this game, as well, but with seventy-six trombones in its big parade -- yes, Borneo 1834 is gorgeous, but so is the sun until you get too close to it. If you're looking for a cooler, more introspective approach to straight-up patchouli, Patchouli Noir will fit the bill nicely.

Andy Tauer's Incense Extreme is a dry, cedarwood concoction, much like his L'Air du Desert Marocain, only Incense Extreme replaces the piney fresh notes of L'Air with the flowery sweetness of the Orris root.

Tauer has a reputation for creating dynamic fragrances, and Incense Extreme is no exception. It starts off intense and stays that way, rising and passing from one phase to the other like athletes in a relay race -- the baton is passed and a new element hits the ground running.

Powdery violet gives way to incense smoke and spices which then move into sharp, bracing cedarwood supported by a dollop of warmer resins. It's all very nicely done and admirably executed, though a bit fussy for my taste.

Yeah, I know, I love M7 and Soir de Orient, yet criticize Incense Extreme for being overly fussy, but it's all about context (baby). If you're a fan of cedar and incense, Armani Prive works the cedarwood/incense formula to a simpler and better effect with his Bois d'Encens.