CEREUS NO. 14: It’s nice to see a renaissance of sorts in masculine fragrance production, though I kind of suspect the recent appearance of several exceptionally nice scents for men is due to the ridiculous over-saturation of the feminine perfume market.
I mean, seriously, how many hundreds of thousands of vanilla-florals and powdery musks can perfumers create before it finally hits them that perhaps there’s an underserved market in there somewhere . . . you know, for guys?
One recent slug in favor of the guys: mainstream perfume critic Chandler Burr finally got it through his skull that perhaps it might be more productive for his readers to spend his column inches praising a worthy piece of work (Ormonde Man by Ormonde Jayne) rather than whining about obvious junk (Ed Hardy for Women), and it was gratifying to see Linda Pilkington get some recognition for the effort she puts into her male oriented scents.
I disagree completely with Burr’s curt dismissal of Pilkington’s latest masculine, Zizan (I guess it wasn’t floral enough for his taste), but at least the New York Times readers now know that Linda Pilkington exists and that she makes at least one great men’s fragrance. That’s a start.
But I actually meant to write about the latest release from the fragrance house Cereus — Cereus No. 14. Uninventive name, to be sure (it sounds like Chanel No. 5′s creepy stalker), but it’s a solid piece of work for the masculine consumer. I’ve reviewed a couple of Cereus fragrances in the past (No. 7 and No. 11 — routinely boring and surprisingly fresh, respectively) and No. 14 is a decent enough expansion of the Cereus lineup — not too shabby, not too plain, not too much.
It won’t shiver your timbers, either, but if you’ve turned to cologne to do your timber shivering, then life is bleak indeed, so go see your doctor, get a prescription for Xanax and we’ll all be here to welcome you with open arms when you return.
For the rest of you still hanging around, listed notes for Cereus No. 14 are: grapefruit, tarragon, clary sage, amber, cognac, violet, rosemary, wood and musk. Thankfully, ozone and marine notes seem to be thing of the past. The grapefruit, clary sage and tarragon of No. 14 are prevalent in the opening phase for that herbal garden, English Country Gentleman feel, but about ninety minutes into it, the cognac and woods elements saunter into view and the whole thing transforms into a rosemary-tinged boozefest and the party’s in the wood-paneled gentlemen’s club from there on out.
I kind of like it. Mostly.
I’m still not inspired to actually purchase a full bottle of any of the Cereus offerings, but I work from home and so don’t have to tailor my fragrance choices to crowded work spaces or managerial edicts. Cereus No. 14 would definitely be on my radar if an office cubicle or public sector job were in my future.
SIX SCENTS NO. 5: Allegedly intended to smell like a sweaty, sexy, men’s locker room, Six Scents No. 5 (again with the numbers!) is actually an attractive, contemporary spin on the traditional men’s cologne with nary a whiff of perspiration for miles.
With creative direction from American fashion designer Jeremy Scott, No. 5 opens with a bright citrus and pepper combo, then stays clean and scrubbed throughout while somehow managing to avoid coming across like a barrel of soap or a tub of detergent, which is no small feat when light musks are involved.
Official listed scent notes are: bergamot, aldehydes, pepper, nutmeg, rose, benzoin, olibanum, cedarwood and musk. I’m not certain where the “sweat” is supposed to be coming from, since there’s nothing particularly sweaty about any of the notes. Nutmeg, maybe? But the rose is a genuinely nice touch, adding a floral sweetness to the sparkling aldehydes, and the incense resins mix artfully with the cedar and musk in the base.
Six Scents No. 5 is definitely on the lighter side of the masculine spectrum, and all the PR chatter about “gym locker rooms and Vaseline mixed with sweat” should be ignored, since it has little to no relevance to the actual, almost pretty, smell of the fragrance itself.
COMPLETELY UNRELATED DORKITUDE:
My superhero alter-ego apparently moonlights as a physics instructor at the local community college:
I blame Marin.
{ 6 comments }
I am shattered to say I am afraid that CB and I are as one re: Zizan. To me it smelled a bit nose tickling, like shaving soap. Very NICE shaving soap, but it never lost that shower fresh edge. Both Isfarkand and Ormonde Man were miles more interesting to wear.
As a side note, I would enjoy smelling Zizan on a man – experimentally at least – I wonder if the soapiness I smell would be balanced better on masculine skin chemistry?
The Declaration was rather nice though.
I sampled the DSH Viridian after the Times review and while it wasn’t terrible at all, I failed utterly to understand the relationship between the scent and Burr’s review. I think sometimes he gets so deconstructed and intellectual about things that he forgets about what feels like to wear? Mostly it smelled like cucumber and celery. I wanted to put some Hendrick’s in it and make a cocktail. Or maybe I am still not sophisticated enough to get the really transparent abstract ones?
(DSH Memory & Desire No1 today and this one I like quite a lot. Wet pavement and a window box full of geraniums after a spring rain. Not lasting long though….)
I think I might be shattered, too, if I ever felt like Burr and I were “one” about anything, but I suspect you’re onto something (no, not “on” something, “onto” something) regarding Zizan — I don’t get soap, but instead smell a lush citrus with a heavy layer of dried grass underneath, with the added plus that the stuff lasts forever.
But Ormonde Man is still terrific and I wouldn’t begrudge a single soul for choosing it off the store shelf as opposed to Zizan. And Cartier Declaration is also an excellent alternative to Zizan. Maybe even a better one, but it doesn’t last nearly as long (Burr, by the way, doesn’t care for the original Declaration and thinks the fresher, Declaration flankers are superior — the cretin).
Transparent fragrances mostly bore me. There are a couple I’ve run across that I find interesting, but I’ve come to the conclusion that the primary reason I wear fragrances is because I don’t want to smell like just a slightly, ever so lightly, enhanced version of my own sweaty male self. I’m not from the “I naturally smell like roses!” camp, so I need a bit of “oomph” from my bottle.
Sometimes I think perfume critics get so caught up in the abstraction of smells that they forget the original functional purpose of perfume.
Sorry to eavesdrop, but since Juno and I touched on some of this over the last week, I feel qualified to jump in, just a little.
First, Chandler Burr will forever hold a place in my soul for giving me a different way to think and speak about perfumes; HOWEVER… Juno and I were discussing Viridian and I didn’t remember much more about the Burr review (other than that he had done one) and couldn’t get in the groove of the discussion. When I went back and read said review, it clicked.
I’ve been puttering through the DSH stuff I picked up at her store (note how neatly I dropped that into conversation) and the one thing I wouldn’t call any of her creations is “mysterious.” She tells you what she was aiming for, and the concoctions walk you right through it, step by step. What I really like about the DSH fragrances so far is what Chandler Burr completely missed.
Meanwhile, back at Nathan…
In my idle examination of the various fashion weeks, my take (and I believe some of the critics agree) is that the men’s lines are far more compelling this year than the women’s lines en macro. I’m wondering if there’s an over-all push toward providing for men. Or maybe a renewed interest in designing for men. Or something sinister and anti-feminist… possibly having to do with the economy. If so, it would make sense that it would slosh over into fragrance.
“Chanel No. 5′s creepy stalker…” heheheheh
I had several thoughts on the sweaty, sexy locker room, but it got a little out of hand and ended in “hot skin,” so I think I should stop now.
Speaking of hot skin… there’s something so very *you* about Professor Burning Hottie. Marvelous.
Good grief, I talk a lot.
You’re absolutely right about the Hurwitz line. There’s nothing mysterious about it, and Hurwitz takes great pains on her website to explain each fragrance in clear and concise terms.
I like Chandler’s full-length books, but his fragrance reviews kind of suck. They reveal far more about Chandler Burr than they do about the fragrance itself, and the more tortured and convoluted his metaphors get, the less I care about what he’s reviewing. I also wish he’d just shut-up about truck stops and sweaty jock straps. It’s embarrassing.
Speaking of sweaty, Six Scents No. 5 was anything but. I just want to reiterate that point.
Re: fashion lines for Fall — there was a lack of cohesive vision overall for the women’s lines. Some were flirty and floaty, others were totally retro-80′s with power shoulders and neon colors, then some were hippie bohemian while even others were biker chic and urban warrior cool. It came across as unfocused and a little desperate, though in the big picture, it gives retailers a lot to choose from.
The men’s lines, however, were dominated by the return to what makes male fashion so terrific in the first place: the suit. And there was an emphasis on comfort and wearability as opposed to skinny flash and heavy bling. I see this happening with male fragrances, as well. The good ones are updated traditionals — excellent materials, terrific structure, classic form, yet completely contemporary in mood and attitude. I like it. It’s nice to see the return of the strong silhouette after years of gauzy, filmy crap passing itself off as The New Man.
I’ve instructed the BF to address me as Professor Burning Hottie from now on in. We’ll see how that goes.
Okay…fourth time’s the charm, I hope.
Burr: I say he’s a genius for inventing his role. He reviews scents that most of his readers will never sniff, and most who do will take his word for it via the power of suggestion. Then there are those of us who view him as a huckster.
I fall in the huckster camp – most of his reviews I disagree with, when I can even understand them. Kouros and Zizan most notably (thank you on both counts BTW) are clunkers for him.
Now…if you’re reviewing OM and then Zizan, I could see disappointment if you’re still dwelling on the flash and bang of OM, but to me it’s like going from Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony to his Moonlight sonata. Genius at work in both cases.
How is the BF taking to calling you PBH? Physics teacher was certainly in the cards for me, even if hottie isn’t!
Thomas! Yes, I agree that Burr is a genius for pretty much inventing his role as a perfume critic. It was a niche that obviously needed to be filled and he stepped up to the plate; unfortunately, his reviews seem more and more whacked in the head as time goes on.
I’d prefer his reviews read more like his non-fiction. I thought both “The Perfect Scent” and “The Emperor of Scent” were terrific in the way he took sometimes difficult concepts and mainstreamed them. His perfume reviews do the very opposite.
I also agree on the Ormonde Man and Zizan comparison. To me, they both succeed (and with flying colors) at what they set out to do. Ormonde Man is a beautiful and subtle floral for men, while Zizan does a bang-up job with the traditional zesty-spicy cologne routine, amping up the quality of the ingredients and stretching out the longevity for miles. Praising one while trashing the other makes no sense, but then, Burr disses Kouros and Declaration, as well, so I can only assume he doesn’t like overtly “male” fragrances that take their cues from traditional sources.
Re: PBH — sadly, the BF has not taken a shine to my new self-proclaimed nickname. I’m still working on him, though. Hope and change!