Perfume Reviews by Varanis Ridari

Varanis Ridari
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Interact by Avon

For me personally, there isn't much distinction between Avon Interact (2006) and Driven by Derek Jeter (2006). There's no empirical evidence to really prove it, but I'd almost say the two are from the same brief, except the one without the celebrity branding is an unused formula variant that didn't make the cut for the one with said branding. I was still taking catalogs at the time this launched, even though I wound down my buying from them in favor of designers, and never recalled seeing Interact in any of the campaigns, yet I did see the Derek Jeter fragrance. This is for all intents and purposes, a non-celebrity branded version of Driven by Derek Jeter, with a few twists in the composition to justify being a different scent. If I am correct, this was probably created for markets where the correlation with the baseball legend would be irrelevant at best or unappealing at worst, so most likely folks in areas far removed or over international borders like Canada had access to this. Unlike Driven, which goes for mad prices now that it's been discontinued (for the second time) and fans of Mr. Jeter are snapping up any memorabilia with his name on it, Interact still remains at or a little above original 2006 MSRP when found on eBay, despite also being discontinued. Interact could very well be a replacement for an empty bottle of Driven, for those who want a comparable scent but not the pesky aftermarket price tag of baseball-related merchandise, but for those who haven't a clue what either fragrance would smell like, here's my review.

Avon Interact starts as a very water aquatic with some yuzu here and peppery accords there. Avon were odd fans of pepper in their fresher scents going back as far as the 60's with Avon Windjammer (1968), so maybe somebody up in HQ loved Windjammer so much they wanted a return of that peppery vibe here. Interact seems to be missing link between something like Iceberg Effusion (2001) and Acqua Di Gio pour Homme (1996) with its blend of pepper and white florals. Avon didn't stray far from the family tree of it's earlier Peak Zone (2002) and Blue Rush (2005) aquatics with using herbs and dry citrus in the opening, with aldehydes and/or mint (both in Interact), plus violet ionones and hedione in the heart, with a slug of fruitiness from calone 1951. Neroli is still quizzically missing from Interact, but maybe Avon didn't want to touch orange blossom in any form because so many other aquatics in the 2000's had it. Whatever the case may be, Interact comes across minty and fresh in the opening like several Avon predecessors, but without a ton of fruit or obvious florals, although the violet here stands out pretty tall alongside the black pepper. From there, Interact gets somewhat Fougère-like just as Driven does, with clary sage and tonka in the base, with Iso E Super woods and white musk to round it off. Absent is any Avon amber like in Blue Rush, or a ton of green notes like galbanum or vetiver, both of which Driven have. Wear time is nice at eight hours and sillage is among the best for Avon's 2000's aquatics, although that really just puts the performance at average outside of this distinction. Best use is for summer in office or casual situations.

I can't justify getting this if you already have Driven, or if you have any of the more interesting aquatics Avon pumped out prior to this, but if you collect the house, then go ahead and snap one of these up. I'm a lot kinder to Avon fragrances than most reviewers because I have an intimate understanding of their target audience and predilections towards simple easy-to-wear fare for men who are on the fence about even using "cologne", so in this regard, I review them with respect to their price point and the creative nightmare that a limited budget cab be to the mostly-anonymous perfumers (some internal, some hired out) making these middle America catch-alls for the blue collar Joe. Sadly, even I can't muster up a lot of enthusiasm for Interact outside of its cool bottle, if only because there is not a single interesting thing outside than that bottle about this fragrance. Having a proper and conventionally-minded men's cash cow aquatic was a plateau of an idea for the house, and soon their aquatics would take on forms nearly indistinguishable from their entry-level designer or drugstore peers, leaving this ultra-sharp and watery-crisp peppry citrus-forward style behind for something with ambroxan and extra "blueness" like all the big boys. So at least in that way, Avon Interact was the last Avon aquatic that really felt like an Avon aquatic, and not just an aquatic that could be from anywhere but carrying the Avon badge. Thumbs up.

4th September 2017

239130

Varanis Ridari
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Tomorrow for Him by Avon

Avon Tomorrow for Him (2005) is by far one of the best uses of Avon's house amber I have ever seen since the venerable Persian Wood (1956) fragrance, and probably the best use of the note in a masculine market Avon, hands down. I don't say this lightly, as there are many great examples of "Avon amber" done right, as this is the material the house has become so known for as to have people separate Avon's take on the note from many other houses that also seem to have an affinity for the material. That said, Tomorrow for Him isn't solely about the amber, as it had become increasingly fashionable in designer circles to produce gourmand fragrances for men, and Avon had been trying to break into that market since Frikton for Men (2000) released. In a way, Tomorrow for Him is less of an original idea and more of a refinement of an ongoing one that began with Avon Intrigue (2001), a fragrance that prominently featured gourmand tones over amber too. It's unknown who worked on that scent, but Tomorrow for Him was signed off by Drom perfumer Barbara Zoebelein, who composed Little Black Dress (2001) for Avon under contract similarly. Avon during this period was both making things in-house as they had always done, and contracting out to firms like Drom to double up on the new releases at a time when they were really trying to offer something for everyone, a move that would backfire as their attempts to have both upmarket, brick and mortar, and a separate men's nameplates would result in more spending than profits; it also meant that scents like Tomorrow for Him would be lost in a deluge of new releases throughout the 2000's.

The opening of Tomorrow for Him is a rich syrupy wall of anise, mandarin orange, lime, and licorice root. Right away people will think of other gourmands such as Lolitia Lempicka Au Masculin (2000), but this does not stay in that licorice anise vein for long. Eventually, a dry violet leaf note and some hedione tighten up and make masculine the central accord, which ends up being Avon's smooth amber over an earthy patchouli, cedar, sandalwood, and cacao pod. The sandalwood is javanol of course, and the cedar is just a woody amber molecule playing with patchouli to great effect, but oh that Avon amber! Here, it lifts up the cacao pod that eventually softens with a bit of vanilla to create this powdery earthy woody chocolatey goodness that becomes the profile of the scent until it fades from skin. The Avon amber ultimately is the strongest element despite all the gourmand leaning in the fragrance, coming and going prominently like it does in Avon Perceive for Men (2000), Avon Uomo (2000) and the aforementioned Avon Intrigue. The gourmand amber vibe of Tomorrow for Men reminds me at times of how Givenchy Pi (1998) and the later Dolce & Gabbana The One for Men (2008) can behave, but it's much more noticeable than the D&G, plus smoother than the Givenchy, hitting a sweet spot for people like me who don't always love a sweet fragrance. Wear time is good at about 9 hours or so, as this is one of Avon's actual eau de toilettes and not a "cologne spray", while projection sits moderately close for the duration but sillage is very much there. Best use would be winter in romantic situations for me, or cozy moments inside where you want a warm scent you could curl up into.

Avon Tomorrow for Him never got the advertisement it deserved in the home market of the US, even being one of Avon's best masculines of the 2000's decade, on top of being one of their finest achievements with that old "Avon amber". It lasted a few years in the catalogs stateside but ultimately fell through the cracks, although notoriety did find it some years later once the online "fragcomm" took note of the bottle similarity to Dior Homme (2005), assuming it was a clone forthwith. This simply isn't true because firstly, they smell nothing alike; secondly, they launched in the same year; and lastly, the only real bit of similarity they have is the name of the fragrance being printed around a spray collar that's encased in a clear plastic cap to be read while the cap is on. I doubt Avon was copying Hedi Slimane's homework as the latter is obviously too affected of a person to ever be caught dead schmoozing with the "lowly" likes of Avon. Oddly enough, this was the male counterpart to the second women's perfume in the "Today, Tomorrow, Always" trilogy, and there was never a "Today for Men" or "Always for Men" released in the US, and this saw discontinuation here after a few years. Europe seemed to enjoy this much more, and it kept going well into the 2010's, getting a Today Tomorrow Always for Him (2014) flanker and Today Tomorrow Always My Everything for Him (2017) flanker exclusively, by notable noses Olivier Cresp and Pierre Negrin, respectively. In any case, this one comes highly recommended if you can get it for a decent price, something that's becoming harder in the US because it has its fans here despite the discontinuation. Thumbs up

4th September 2017

242143

Varanis Ridari
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Perceive for Men by Avon

Avon Perceive for Men (2000) is an odd little number from Avon presenting itself as something fresh and almost new age in tone, especially with that bottle representing rough-hewn crystal, but is really just classic Avon perfume styles in disguise. Avon Perceive for Men is presented as a modern-ish chypre of sorts, but no chypre in the academic sense of containing a trifecta of oakmoss, bergamot, and labdanum. Instead, Avon plays this game of "what is a chypre but in name alone" by sliding their house amber in place of labdanum itself (their smooth green take on amber contains it so I guess it counts), then replacing bergamot with a host of other citrus notes. The success of Perceive for Men with their target audience (mostly older men who have had Avon bought for them by their wives or mothers for years) led them to believe they had a larger hit on their hands a la Wild Country (1967), Black Suede (1980) or Mesmerize for Men (1992), so they began shaping a lot of men's releases around this puedo-chypre accord into the early 2000's until they beat that horse to death and stopped. Others featuring slightly soapier, greener, or more leathery versions of the same drydown (with more, less, or none of the Avon amber) included Avon Uomo (2000) from later in the same year, Avon Modern Balance (2001), Avon Paradigm (2002), and Avon HisStory (2003). Perceive for Men did end up being the hit Avon thought it was, and lived far beyond the others in the catalogs, being still in production within some markets.

My first encounter with Perceive for Men back when I was a much younger man had me confused at first. The stuff was fresh like an aquatic, but aromatic and dry like something I'd expect from an older-style scent (or what I "perceived" to be older at the time), layered in with some tartness and that amber. I wasn't sure I liked it, wearing it off and on again, giving it away, repurchasing, then being ambivalent all over again. Now I've come to love it, but I admit it is an acquired taste like a good beer or Jazz fusion record. The opening is lemongrass, mint, grapefruit, and cardamom, which then sink within moments into sage, bitter artemisia, geranium, and neroli. There is a bit of a sweetish tart smell that I liken to Smarties (the US variety, not the chocolate UK ones), aka "candy necklace", and that might be off-putting to people into lush verdant or redolent classic French perfumery, but it gets better. I blame this strange tart candy smell on the way neroli and grapefruit are playing with the mint and green notes, but it's brief. Eventually that nice smooth green Avon amber comes in with dry patchouli, cedarwood, oakmoss, and a pinch of nutmeg with benzoin to make it smooth. Overall the effect is "chypre", dry and woody, citric, aromatic, and sharp. This unorthodox accord does smell crystal clear like the packaging suggests and last all day, being good for office use in all seasons save maybe the dead of winter. I don't think guys my age when I first smelled this will dig it, but anyone over 30 can respect the "semi-sweet" aromatic nature of Perceive for Men.

The thing about this stuff that took me so long to wrap my head around is what this reminded me of, and what the use for something like this was, back when I was too young to know about individual notes or appreciate things like natural versus synthetic accords. I simply had no frame of reference for this fragrance back then, which is why I couldn't really enjoy it, and that's probably the same reason why young men now have such difficulty understanding the love for 70's or 80's powerhouses devoid of sweetness or anything fresh, mass-appealing, and easy to digest. Perceive for Men isn't super natural smelling, isn't an ode to classic perfumery, but also isn't "beastmode", or compliment-focused, nor is it loud and sugary. This is a scent that basically takes a classic genre exercise and turns it on its head by tweaking certain ingredients and adding a modicum of modernity to it (or at least modernity for 2000), and then doing all that on an Avon R&D budget. Their installed fanbase loved it, and word of mouth made sure it brought new guys to the table too, then Avon marketing exploited what they thought made it special, running that very thing into the ground over the course of the next four to five years with self-cannibalizing takes on the DNA (which are all oddly good too). The easiest comparison to make for this is as a drier and more mature take on Iceberg Twice Homme (1995), but that is a bit reductive. Overall, there isn't much like Perceive for Men out there, and it sits squarely in-between the traditional, and the experimental. Thumbs up.

3rd September 2017

237931

Varanis Ridari
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Tai Winds by Avon

Avon Tai Winds (1972) was the last one out getting the lights on the brief infatuation the American men's fragrance market had with all things related to the "Far East". It's kind of a bit sad that cultural movements like this could even take place at all back then; but I guess to the average white guy who grew up on John Wayne, hamburgers, and church on Sunday, poorly-dubbed martial arts films being imported from Hong Kong were almost mystifying; add to that the new flavor of machismo that becoming a Kung-Fu master could unlock, and suddenly these kinds of products sold themselves. Long before the mannerisms of Bruce Lee became a pastiche, or the concept of cultural appropriation became known as something to avoid, many of your dime store men's grooming brands just had to come up with their own flavor of men's cologne that promised to bring the allure of Eastern exoticism to your medicine cabinet. Jade East by Swank (1964) was the first notable one, released alongside the similar Brut by Fabergé (1964), a musky floral re-invigoration of the barbershop fougère style. Then followed the infamous Hai Karate by Leeming/Pfizer (1967), the brand name used depending on what side of the Atlantic pond you were on. This company struck again while the iron was hot with Black Belt by Leeming/Pfizer (1968), but by then there were also tons of clones like the Oriental Jade line by Stacy/Louganel, which cloned the various flavors of Hai Karate.

It stands to reason then that by 1972 this trend's goose was just about cooked. Bruce Lee was a year away from his tragic death and was apexing as an action star by transitioning to Hollywood films. Most people I think were tired of the Hai Karate commercials by then too, and the aforementioned Brut became the front-runner of the fougère revival until Paco Rabanne pour Homme (1973) changed the game again the very next year. The better-late-than-never attitude of Avon Tai Winds was therefore also infused with a not-to-be-outdone mentality that made it louder than anything which came before. In practice, this means more tonka, more musk, more oakmoss, more everything that made the previous "Karate colognes" so annoying to so many. The opening has puffs of citrus, but for the most part this dives straight into lavender and clary sage lifted from Avon's previous barbershop fougère Wild Country (1967). The difference here is Tai Winds dispenses with all the dry aromatics, powdery bits, or carnation, going right for the throat with a mash of green herbal heart notes and a smidge of orris before smacking you with the base. This one is all about that base too, with tonka and musk taking the charge, held up by oakmoss and vanilla, plus trace bits of sandalwood. There's a tiny bit of that Play-Dough vibe found in Clubman Pinaud (1940) too, and Tai Winds could be its steroid-abusing cousin. This stuff smells like it should have been advertised by the big boss baddie Bolo Yeung from Enter the Dragon and Bloodsport. Where to use it is up to you, but Tai WInds will turn heads.

Naturally, taking a barbershop fougère and turning the amps to 11 on it with base materials is bound to get a polarizing reaction from people whether 1972 or 2072, because there just is nothing subtle or blended about this at all. Underneath all that brawn is basically a classic mid-century aftershave trope, and in the event that you can withstand Tai Winds long enough for it to dry down that far, you'll be reminded of exactly that. For the popped collar cats of the night who shopped Avon catalogs, this was the coolest stuff going, and had an over-the-top bottle design that floored the competition with it's rubberized fake bamboo straps to hold on the screw cap. The whole thing just reminds me of a prop you'd see in Spock's quarters on an episode of Star Trek (original series). Tai Winds came in a full suite of grooming accessories too, so you can really smell like your sleezy old uncle Tom who still trolls sawdust bars and practice fake Karate moves to pick up on retired women spending their pensions on Keno. Or, you could do what I do and slip Tai WInds directly into the place of what would otherwise be a wearing of Clubman Pinaud after a shave with Pinaud products, and watch as it seamlessly layers over top of them with a thick glaze of "man musk" and tonka. If nothing else, this stuff is hilarious; but you need to have a sense of humor about your fragrance wearing to even find joy in using something in such poor taste (culturally and scent-wise). Truly, this is not Avon's finest hour from an otherwise spotless era for the house, but it sure is a hoot. Thumbs up

2nd September 2017

248155

Varanis Ridari
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RPM by Avon

Avon R.P.M. was released in 2004, and although it saw see moderate success in the US (enough to gain the flanker R.P.M. Intense), it would ultimately be discontinued in that country and launched elsewhere in the world as KM/H (Mexico and UK) and Full Speed in other parts of Europe. Oddly enough, not every country got the sprayer built into the bottle with a plastic housing, and some instead just had a cap, but otherwise the same bottle shape. Hmmm... anyway.... I used to make fun of R.P.M. when first we met in 2004 because it's top note of mandarin orange is so blunt and heavy it almost drowns out anything else going on, even the mild yuzu that also floats around, giving this a slight link to the immortal Issey Miyake fragrance I need not name. This is in no way a me-too fragrance, and it smells literally like nothing else (unless there's another mandarin orange cologne out there I'm unaware of), but at the time that dominating pang of citrus almost made me declare this a single note scent, which after a decade of evolving tastes no longer seems a bad thing to me as it once did.

R.P.M. is quite the linear scent, but it's such an interesting linear that it's enjoyable. With all the citrus sporty active this and that propagating on store shelves at the time, Avon just very elegantly cut to the chase and said "Hey guys, you wanna smell sporty and fresh? Smell like an orange!" when they joined in on the trend. What's odd is this trope is still popular to a niche degree in the US, so why Avon pulled R.P.M. from it's catalogs after a few years remains a mystery. I can understand some territories not liking something this simple (Mexico still has plenty of robust, complex, and manly Avon scents long killed off elsewhere for example), but I'd never suspect the U.S. to be a market where a sport scent during the era of sport scents would fail to appeal. Regardless, the "Smell like an orange!" idea must have been a real big hit in Poland, where the R.P.M. line under it's "Full Speed" moniker would continue past not 1 flanker (like the U.S.) or 2 (like other territories where it would also die off) but a total of 6 variants including the original, all still available. All I can say here is that Polish guys must really love their oranges, and I mean that in the kindest way possible. Hey, it means once the U.S. variant is too rare for me to care, I can just import some of theirs and maybe try a few of the flankers for kicks. It's seriously successful there, more than all the Black Suede and Wild Country flankers combined have been here.

The juniper and cardamom notes are not so visible to me in the drydown, although something slightly dry or woodsy seems to surface right at the very end, but that orange is just so in-your-face from beginning to end that it's the only thing I can really focus on in this review. If you want to smell really fresh on a disgustingly hot day, and are utterly tired of cool aquatic tropes, this is for all intents and purposes a modern citrus-based scent that isn't some throwback chypre or sweat bomb. I recommend applying it to the shirt because projection is mediocre, but at least it's an EDT and not EDC so longevity is more what you'd expect out of a department store fragrance, instead of the "take the bottle to work" strength of most Avon colognes. I rate it very highly because what can I say? I love oranges. I also could have just skipped all the details and called this a drier clone of Clinique Happy for Men (1999), but where's the fun in that? Come on Avon, bring it back. We need some Vitamin C in our wardrobes here in America too ya know!

1st September 2017

223107

Varanis Ridari
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Open Road / Prospect by Avon

Avon Prospect (2003) was part of a new generation of Avon fragrances made in conjunction with perfumers and suppliers outside the Avon ecosphere. Prospect wasn't the first masculine not made entirely by anonymous internal Avon perfumers, as this is something Avon dabbled with previously in the 80's when it went on a diversification spree to try and stem off market loss to a growing cavalcade of designer competitors in their home market of the US, particularly when the renowned Ann Gottlieb came on board. However, after selling off all that stuff and cutting ties with collaborators into the 90's to go it alone once again, Avon decided to flip the switch back in the 2000's and double down further on the collaborations with celebrities, outside perfumers, designers, and suppliers. In this particular case, perfumers Jean-Claude Delville and Ilias Ermenidis from the firm Créations Aromatiques (now Symrise) were tapped to create Prospect, which was manufactured in Europe but sold there under the alternate name of Open Road. The first thing that gives away this as not your average Avon masculine is that the fragrance is oddly listed as an eau de toilette, when Avon at that time still mostly stuck to their age-old tradition of calling everything for men a "cologne" regardless if it was or not; it's a banal practice Avon held onto too long. Being an actual EdT in name doesn't make Prospect any more potent than your average men's Avon fragrance, but that's not why this is special.

The actual smell of Avon Prospect, now that is what truly makes this scent special. Imagine if you will, a fragrance that banks a bit on the creamy peppery woody style popularized by Gucci Rush for Men (2000), but also focused on a sharp juniper head like Morgan de Toi Homme (2003), and merging soft white floral elements of the female-market Calvin Klein Truth (2000). Sounds like quite the mixture right? Well Jean-Claude Delville had been cranking out hit after commercial hit for Liz Claiborne, and with future perfumer of Paco Rabanne 1 Million (2008) Ilias Ermenidis also in tow, it's easy to imagine how this turned out so dialed into then-current trends while also being a little left of center in the usual quirky Avon way. The opening is mainly about juniper and a ginger note that propels a note of mate and the odd herbal choice of celery leaf. The spiced green herbal opening is met with pink pepper (in another astonishing early use by Avon), moving into a dusty dry cold spicy heart of artemisia, nutmeg, geranium, and muguet. By this poiont, Prospect resembles a rounded and mellowed take on Azzaro Visit (2003), which was created by another Créations Aromatiques alum of the time: Annick Menardo. Unlike Visit, Prospect goes in a powdery prim direction into the base, rather than a woody one, although cedar is part of the show alongside coumarin, musk, and a bit of denatured patchouli. Prospect stays sharp, clean, woody, musky, and "white shirt" appropriate, making it a great office choice year round with mild projection but great longevity. Best use in other contexts would be in spring and fall for casual social gatherings.

This kind of stylistic quality was most likely lost on the average Avon buyer at the time, as Prospect merged perfectly into the background of a catalog dominated by $15 and $20 fragrances with various Avon idiosyncrasies on display, like attempts at classic chypres or amber-heavy orientals. The rather plain, tall, nondescript cylindrical bottle probably didn't help win this over with Avon buyers either, as they were still used to flashy plastic caps, wild shapes, and loud colors. The smell inside the bottle most definitely wasn't your average Avon for men, and had none of the usual hallmarks of an Avon masculine of the time, which is why it's so cool. No heavy use of "Avon amber", no lavender/tonka shoehorning into otherwise modern-themed styles, and no other "Avonisms" met the nose upon smelling Prospect back in the day. I really like Prospect a lot and still wear from my little stash quite frequently, although as one of the shorter-lived 2000's Avons, I can't really recommend hunting or paying good coin for it either. At the end of the day, this was a fragrance created like a designer, by perfumers usually assigned to designers, and followed a popular theme among designer masculines of the time, but it was still an Avon. The woody/peppery/dusty micro-genre would continue throughout the 2000's, but none of them had the powdery floral juniper edge of Prospect. Fans of Rush for Men, Visit, or the Morgan de Toi scent should explore their prospects with Avon on the open road wearing this obscure gem. Thumbs up.

31st August 2017

238135

Varanis Ridari
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Everafter for Men by Avon

Everafter for Men by Avon (1990) is a rather interesting bookend to the rather lackluster masculine output from the house in the 1980's, built from stock components and feeling like a halfway step from Avon Cordovan (1982) and Giorgio Red for Men (1991), the latter being a fragrance developed and released by Avon for Giorgio Beverly Hills while they owned the brand. Because of this, there are fits and starts of elements you'd recognize from Cordovan plus some notes and structures from previous Avon masculines in the 80's like Avon Signet (1987) and Avon Legacy (1988), mixed with the floral chypre themes that would turn up in Red for Men. This showed a bit of that iterative development process Avon always used but would become notorious for in the 2000's when they cranked it up to 11. While it shouldn't be said that Everafter for Men is a clone of anything, especially not if it just recycles and refines some ideas from other Avon scents, it can be said that at least within the stable of Avon itself, Everafter for Men isn't very unique. I do like this one quite a bit because I get along with the ideas and concepts here, but I admit the execution is a little threadbare, but effective nonetheless.

The most interesting thing about Everafter for Men is how closely linked it is to Giorgio Red for Men, feeling like it was a test bed sold at a cheaper price to prove concept, while the much older Cordovan feels instead more like an organ donor of sorts, being a good idea given a bigger budget and taken further to be metamorphosed into the Giorgio fragrance, making Everafter for Men a step in that process. The opening has a similar sweet spicy bergamot, cumin, and artemisia, with bits of Cordovan's verbena too. The heart is carnation and jasmine with geranium, rose, and herbs like thyme and juniper. By this stage, Everafter feels more like Red than Cordovan, but eventually the base shows up with the same plasticy patchouli as Avon Legacy mixed with castoreum, tonka, and oakmoss found in Avon Signet, dialed down to civil levels with Avon's smooth amber note. Performance isn't awesome, but won't make you sad either, being a quiet wear of at least a workday, best for use in fall or milder winter climates due to the musk and spice. Everafter for Men is meant to be romantic, but to me it feels more office appropriate. A few people liked to compare this one (along with Red for Men) to Drakkar Noir by Guy Laroche (1982), but I definitely do not get any such resemblance when wearing it.

Along with Seazone (1992), Everafter for Men is one of the few discontinued Avon masculines from the early 90's that seems to have any kind of fans decades removed, and you'll occasionally hear its name dropped in conversations about old Avons X or Y used to wear in high school and so on. The good news is if you still love this stuff, you'll really enjoy Red for Men by Giorgio Beverly Hills, as EA Fragrances put it back into production after buying the house from Avon and the stuff just floods the discounter market. No need to look for potentially expensive vintage examples of Everafter for Men as Red for Men is literally the same idea with a much better chypre base that doesn't skimp on performance, although Avon collectors or those nostalgic for the scent are forgiven if they want to track down a bottle of this for sake of completion. All in all, Everafter for Men feels like another early Ann Gottleib work for Avon that recycles what was good, cuts out what wasn't, and recycles what can be put to good use without being too obviously rehashed. Knowing she would also go on to work with Calvin Klein with their cK One (1994) range, it's clear Gottleib was perfect for making perfumes with "off-the-shelf" materials that didn't entire smell like it, and Everafter for Men is clearly a good example of that. Thumbs up.

30th August 2017

238768

Varanis Ridari
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Triumph by Avon

Avon Triumph (1995) is a johnny-come-lately of sorts, being mostly an attempt to capitalize on both the fresh fougère craze and the aquatic fragrance craze that overtook the designer men's realm in the late 1980's. By the mid-90's it was in full swing, with many of both genre's most defining fragrances having already been released save maybe one or two game-changers that came later. Avon however, was still in the transformation process to be more competitive with said designers, shuttering internal development of fragrances and working with the big chemical firms to have the latest novel materials in their perfumes. You can likely thank Ann Gottleib for this, but how long she was with Avon is really unknown beyond her coming on board in 1987 and actually perfuming two scents in 1988 for them herself (she mostly consults/directs). Of course, the days of Avon masculine scents keeping to their staid, simple, but satisfying wet shaver and barbershop lanes were by the 90's over, so we get stuff like Triumph instead. What this, to be plain and simple about it, is one of Avon's inspired takes on designer masculines where they take two popular fragrances and make a twistie soft-serve cone of them. With Avon SIgnet (1987), this mix was two early 1980's powerhouses blended in about 70/30 fashion. Here in Triumph, we see the pioneering aquatic Davidoff Cool Water (1988) and the pioneering fresh fougère Calvin Klein Eternity for Men (1989) mixed in about a 90/10 ratio. Surprisingly, this works, but it won't blow minds and isn't worth any significant change should it become more expensive than the things it copies.

The opening is where this is most like Eternity for Men, to be sure. Although the kind of lavender Avon Triumph opens with a bit more powdery than what the Calvin Klein uses. This powdery old-fashioned lavender is also accompanied by an unusually sour bergamot note, that quickly gets absorbed into the dihydromyrcenol, calone-1951, and acetates miasma of freshness that is the rush of Cool Water. Triumph moves pretty smoothly from fougère to aquatic, using really subdued versions of the violet ionones that inflect the Davidoff, themselves a holdover from god-parent Creed Green Irish Tweed (1985). All of these types of fragrances, including the much-greener Coty Aspen (1989) and every Middle Eastern clone of the 21st century that came much later, are all usually swimming in this violet leaf, but not Triumph. The fact this leans more heavily on its traditional powdery lavender more than the rest, before settling on it's mostly clean white musks base sets it far apart from all competitors. There is oakmoss here too in a tiny bit, plus some sage, tonka, woody materials, and that similar soapy sparkle; but it all just hits a little different. Of course, Triumph doesn't have the tenacity of the rest, and is goes to skin level in just an hour. You'll get about 6 hours from Triumph, so it sits below average for its class, making it not the best deal even for the price unless you're an avid Avon collector, or that unique twist of powder really speaks to you. I find the best use for this is right out of the shower if you shower at night and only need a few hours before bed anyway.

I can tell Avon Triumph was not a big push for Avon because it didn't get its own unique spray bottle like Mesmerize for Men (1992) or Seazone (1992). Instead, Triumph was given the old splash treatment then later released as a spray only in the "pill bottle" with the cheap sticker and plastic caps. This is something they mostly stopped after 2004 except for the original Avon Wild Country (1967). These bottles really do no favors for the fragrances they come in, and the plastic spray heads are super cheap, give a big airy puff of scent that goes everywhere but where you put it, and can lead to evaporation from the mechanism not fully resetting after a spray. You don't know how many new old stock bottles of Avon released in these things with a quarter or third of their juice missing, just because someone sprayed them once 20 years ago and never bothered to check to see if the ball valve in them shut all the way, which isn't something you should really have to check, to be totally fair. Instructions even say the sprayer may need re-priming each time it's used, like they know the things are dodgy but didn't care. Oh well, at least the caps fit unlike Creed, and the sprayers don't hose you down like Creed sprayers from this period did. Nobody wants to wear 10 applications of their scent at once. Of interesting note, Triumph did get released in a 1996 Olympic Winter Games trophy splash because Avon sponsored the US team. This is separate from the actual "Olympic fragrances" they made that year, and handy if you like their kitschy decanters. A Cool Water clone perhaps, but not an indistinct one. Thumbs up

29th August 2017

248500

Varanis Ridari
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Wings for Men by Wings

Wings for Men by Giorgio (1994) was definitely a climax of sorts for the aquatic. Everything seems to come in threes with popular fragrance tropes until somebody deviates enough from the genesis of the trope to make something that sets a new precedent (and thus another trope), everyone else following in the me-too attitude is doomed to obscurity (see my old review on Navy for Men for an example). In this situation, Wings for Men by Giorgio (the final scent under Avon ownership and now distributed by EA Fragrances under the "Wings" brand) rounds out the 3rd and final truly-noteworthy progression of the "blue" aquatic fragrance trope that was started by Cool Water (1988). That scent by Davidoff, despite it's landmark characteristics that actually succeed in imparting the aesthetic of a fresh ocean breeze, was and still is a rather linear experience from start to end. Everyone in the mainstream fragrance world wanted to have a "cool" and "refreshing" masculine after that point but it was Ralph Lauren that really tried challenging the supremacy of Cool Water with his Polo Sport (1992), a fragrance that deepened and emboldened this style with heavier baselines; Polo Sport inadvertently also helped kick off the 2nd-wave "sport fragrance" craze that followed the blue aquatic rush, but that's another story. Two more years later, and little ol' Giorgio would come to challenge the modernity of Ralph Lauren and Davidoff with Wings, which is something they desperately needed in the men's scent scene since Giorgio for Men (1984), alongside the Avon-created V.I.P. (1987) and Red for Men (1991) were fast becoming dated with male buyers while fresh fougères replacing them.

It seemed that turning the volume up higher yet again was the name of the game in this category, for if Polo Sport was immediately more intense than Cool Water, then Wings for Men was even louder than Polo Sport. It was almost a powerhouse mentality that Avon applied to the aquatic with this stuff, and Wings comes across more intensely fresh, clean, sweet, and tangy than any other blue fragrance of this type I've ever experienced. One might as well say it's an "Intense" flanker to Polo Sport or Cool Water, for all intents and purposes, even if it's note structure is different enough to give the scent it's own character. Wings also has something the other two in this triad do not: complexity. Granted that the complexity here is a synthetic one of dryer sheets, dish soap, and bathroom air freshener at odd times, it's still much less linear than anything else in it's class. I feel this overwrought complexity is why the scent gets beat up so much in reviews: when you get niche enough with any theme you weed out the casual interest parties and home in on the folks who really really enjoy a thing, and that's what Wings does best. Quite simply, it's the bluest of the blue aquatics, and you either love the smell of that or you don't. I don't ever wear the EdT outside of summer for this reason. Lavender, fir, and "citrus fruits" compose the opening of sheer aquatic sweetness. Perfume Jean-Claude Delville would go on to make many more synthetic freshies but here he struck the biggest chord. Mint isn't super evident in the middle, but the peach definitely is, and is a surprisingly feminine twist in contrast to other "bro-worthy" aquatics before and since. Basil and tons of calone surf this into a base of woody aromatic chemicals and soap, bringing this into unchallenged clean territory.

Wings and it's intense bent on "blue" makes it poor for anything but a walk outside on a hot summer day. It can be a scent to spray on when going to a meetup where you know the people well enough that you don't want to make an impression, but want to be at least minimally pleasant company for everyone else. It's not classy enough for the business world, unless you're interviewing for McDonald's, because it's so blatantly synthetic. I'd call it a comfort fragrance if you find comfort in clean (which I do), and it's the unrivaled master of that. Most things "blue" that followed this fragrance was either a watered down or overwrought and ambivalent riff on it or it's notable predecessors, or something that just plain got it wrong, at least until the second wave aquatics showed up in the mid-2000's. It's the fragrance you find in everyone's cabinet as it's popular enough to be made into gift sets every holiday season, so ubiquity has to count for something, and as the ultimate conclusion of this trope in my eyes, I rather enjoy it for the purposes to which I've assigned it. Wings for Men is one of the few fragrances I've purchased more than 3 times due to this imposed utility, so I give it a thumbs up, but I'll be the first to admit there is about as much perfume art in this as there is cinematography in a gore-soaked direct-to-video B horror flick, and that's basically saying something like this is enjoyable only to a person who appreciates earnest intent and can forgive a total lack of grace or sophistication in the delivery of the content.

28th August 2017

216352

Varanis Ridari
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Musk for Men by Avon

Avon Musk for Men (1983) seems like quite the latecomer for a genre that started in earnest a decade beforehand; but this wasn't the first time Avon took a long time when finally responding to market movements within men's fragrance, as Avon released Tai Winds (1972) nearly a decade after Jade East by Swank (1964) established a trend for "far east" barbershop scents, which themselves rode the back of Hong Kong action cinema in the US. Here with Musk for Men, Avon was finally answering the battle-cry of other tonquitone-based men's musk fragrances like Jovan Musk for Men (1973) and Coty Musk for Men (1974), both which were heavy-hitters despite really being more about amber than musk. Avon did try releasing a fragrance called Light Musk (1979) a few years prior to this, and that one was marketed as being a basic musk fragrance for a down-to-earth guy that didn't need more than that, but I guess that shot in the dark proved a big miss. Here with Musk for Men, Avon actually delivers the big swinging yarbles once and for all, even if it was too little too late for most people shopping at this price point looking for musky things to stalk the night. I think it's pretty funny too, since Avon made their Musk for Men actually about the musk note itself, choosing not to bury it in a bunch of barbershop powder, amber, or spices. Yeah, Musk for Men still has that typical "brown" approach to musks that makes it feel way more 1970's than 1980's, but I wouldn't really call that a bad thing.

The opening of Musk for Men is pretty in-your-face tonquitone musk, itself being a reconstruction of tonkin musk (from Siberian musk deer). There isn't a lot of sweet citrus or soapy notes to get in the way of this slightly powdery, slightly fuzzy musk note that gives off warm-fur vibes as its made to do. Eventually, Musk for Men does show a bit more complexity than its primary accord, with the oddly aromatic accompaniment, with anise and pine joining with a bit of patchouli later into the development. These piney aromatic facets also really set Musk for Men apart from its competitors, and there's a sense of clarity about it too that's really nice. Avon Musk for Men doesn't feel thick or stifling like some of the others can, and never overdone, assuming you're not over-spraying. A tiny bit of woodiness does emerge near the very end, alongside a touch of something leathery from a small pin drop of castoreum, while the final skin scent of Avon Musk for Men stays pretty linear and stable. This linearity is pretty much all because of that musk molecule, which is the first note to enter and the last one to leave, as it should be with fragrances like this. The woodsy and pine-inflected touches, plus the tiny bits of spice here and there, really make Avon Musk for Men a real joy, as they accent the musk rather than trying to smother it in an attempt at being more palatable. Best use is winter time during the day, or used sparingly at night for bed time or hanky panky with someone you hold dear, at least to me. Performance is also tops.

The directness of the musk, combined with the aromatic spicy touches and subtle but long-lasting performance make this my favorite straight-ahead musk fragrance. For how much I love Monsieur Musk by Parfums Parquet (1973), I don't quite consider it a musk as the carnation, rose, orris, and other dandy florals swarm around the musk note at its core. When I wear the Monsieur, I don't feel like I'm wearing musk, but here with Avon Musk, I feel like a fur trapper ready to ski off into the blizzard looking for my next score. Maybe the fact that this stuff was so direct made it less than successful for Avon, because they made a softer Wild Country Musk (1985), Avon Jamoca Soft Musk (1987), and Billy De Williams Undeniable for Men (1989) all a cleaner white musk vibe. Eventually this was completely re-orchestrated and repackaged in 1990, with the identical bottle expanded to 3.4 oz from 2.8oz and made with a black cap. The color of the juice changed, the spices and pine went away, plus a bit of lavender was snuck in. This rebooting happened again in 1999, with the core product brightened some and made soapier with bergamot and neroli joining the more-subdued profile of the 1990 variant. Finally, this version was used for a series of "Musk +" flankers that added spicy, woody, aquatic, or other elements to the core 1999 scent. For me though, I'll always love the original 1983-1989 Avon Musk for Men, as it's just right to the point of being fuzzy and warm while still being easy to wear casually. I mean really, what else do you want from synthetic musk? Thumbs up

27th August 2017

248688

Varanis Ridari
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HisStory by Avon

Avon HisStory (2003) is an unlikely fragrance for the time, but that is probably the point. Avon had been experimenting with broadening its men's range for some time after CEO Andrea Jung (formerly Nordstrom) took over, in an attempt to make itself more attractive to the luxury buyer that had replaced brands like Avon with discount designer fare found in places like The Rack or TJ Maxx, but Jung wanted the brand to be the first choice for entry-level luxury cosmetics and fragrances again, like it had been years before indoor shopping malls had chipped away at Avon's middle America dynasty. The way to do that, or so Avon thought, was to broaden selection and apply an upscale makeover to everything, which is why we have something like this. Avon had freshies and aquatics for the younger guys, rich orientals and gourmand tones for the clubbers, and dragged the old chypre out from oblivion to try and make a selection of fragrances for it's older and/or more conservative male buyers. HisStory is but one of a small line of such chypres that started in earnest with Avon Uomo (2000), then ran through until the mid 2000's before Avon moved to something else.

The fender-like cap houses a clear liquid that smells like it could be petrol with the violet ionones in the opening lifted by galbanum and verbena, although an herbed heartof basil, muguet, and a light mid-century lavender/geranium mixing with modern hedione quickly irons things out. The base is isobutyl quinoline leather, with benzoin and oakmoss/treemoss giving smoothness and clarified body. The Avon house amber powering the "cypress" here is also very slight like in Avon Paradigm (2002). The whole thing sort of reminds me of the "Crystal Pepsi" version of Dunhill Blend 30 (1978), Dior Jules (1980), or Pascal Morabito Or Black (1982), in that it tries for the whole "green leather" thing, but is gutted from all the heft and haunch of those fragrances. Instead, HisStory has the green pushed to the max, and does a few then-modern aromachemical tricks to keep this grassy freshness touched with a hint of petrol leather and benzoin, but still smelling clean. I like HisStory but as um... history shows, not many others did and it got axed in short notice. HisStory really did become history... er.. nevermind. Wear time is good at 8 hours, but sillage is not monstrous. Best use is casual events spring through fall, making this the rare warm weather leather scent.

The thing to remember here is this scent was worked on by the esteemed Calice Becker, who handled many of Avon's 2000's output of this ilk, and making something of an iterative process of it, since this, Avon Uomo, Avon Modern Balance (2001), and Avon Paradigm are all thematically linked, even if they all don't share the same ingredients. Describing a scent as a "fresh green leather" is pretty weird, but also so is making such a scent in a bottle shaped like an old 1950's car fender, then putting a young greaser in a black leather jacket on the ads for it. Take that, and pitch it to guys who have gone gray and fat, then Everyone's confused, hooray! The problem here is mature guys like this is aimed at like what they like, they're set in stone and don't want their favorites "messed with", no innovation, no forward thinking, just give them what they've decided for themselves is good and go be avant garde somewhere else please. Avon didn't see the forest for the trees with this one because it is such an attempt to be both "modern" and "classic" at once. I like weird stuff so this is up my alley. Thumbs up.

18th August 2017

244358

Varanis Ridari
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Avon Uomo by Avon

The term "Uomo" is usually reserved for Italian fashion or fragrance houses, as the Italianate nomenclature usually denotes some authenticity of culture, so seeing Avon co-op it in this day and age may be construed as cultural appropriation. However, we had barely left the 20th century when they delivered Avon Uomo (2000) to the doorsteps of the Avon faithful in the US, and I don't think this was released anywhere else in the world; so most people just took it in stride without doing any sort of double-takes about if Avon should be doing it since the brand is not from Italy. The scent of Avon Uomo itself delivered the prospects of something old married to something new, and presented itself as a green masculine chypre with ambery bits that took more than a bit of inspiration from Guerlain Coriolan (1998). Avon probably didn't realize that Coriolan would be seen as behind the times and would become a loss leader for Guerlain when they copied Jean-Paul's homework and gave it the usual left-of-center Avon twist, but ultimately I think better of Avon Uomo and reach for it more, so I guess it worked out. Avon has always been about iterative design anyway, whether they are riffing off their own past work or someone else's, with each new take on a theme creating something that seems like progress if not for the fact they usually continue with themes decades out of vogue in what I can only guess is an attempt to appease their old instilled customer base along with new ones. In this instance, I'm talking about men's aromatic chypres, all but dead by the 21st century, outside of the Avon catalog.

Avon Uomo storms out of the gate with a similar opening to Coriolan, itself meant to be a lighter and fresher sequel to Guerlain Derby (1985), a legendary doomed masculine leather with fanatical fans and ridiculous aftermarket prices. If Coriolan was a fresher and greener kid brother to Derby, then Avon Uomo was a soapier, and more ambery cousin of Coriolan disowned from the family. I guess that last bit should earn it co-ownership from Nicholai Parfumeur Createur, but I digress. Juniper, bergamot, and basil come forth in the first moments of Avon Uomo, with galbanum, geranium, cedar, and patchouli entering a heart with a savon feel similar to Chanel Pour Monsieur (1955), likely from some aromachemicals. Avon Uomo asserts its leather with isobutyl quinoline in a sour way, mixed with labdanum, oakmoss, a "cypress" note that feels like a woody material like Iso E Super, and Avon's patent amber accord. The kind of amber here is not super musky, but more on the earthy side, while the musk is handled by the labdanum, some cashmeran, and feels sheer. Coriolan is much lighter on its feet and devoted to the Guerlinade floating in the ether of its own chypre base, while Avon Uomo goes for the ambery musky warmth underpinning the leathery soapy effluvium that ends up defining the experience. In 2000, there were scents similar in tone to this like Carven Homme (1999), and Gucci Envy for Men (1998), that Avon Uomo didn't feel entirely outdated, but it was a relic with that heavy leather soap and ambery bottom end, at least until Tom Ford made it cool again. Best use is as a signature, in most seasons save summer.

Avon Uomo is nothing if not versatile and agreeable, perhaps in every situation both play time and work time, save maybe the dead heat of summer when something lighter is better. Style-wise, this isn't going to be of much interest to anyone outside of those who have a taste for those late 90's through early 2000's revival of green smells that acted as a last hurrah before the blue juices once again lay their death grips on the market (of which they still have yet to let go). Most of the alumni surrounding Avon Uomo is long discontinued and costs exorbitant amounts on eBay (including Coriolan), so I guess just as Avon was then, Avon Uomo nowadays may be seen as a poor man's alternative to pricier treasures out of reach. Once again, I think Avon Uomo is better than that, as it feels heavier and more substantial than most things still trying to toy with green aromatic leather or woody-musky accords at that time. Avon Uomo has better performance than most things I named above except maybe Envy, and I actually prefer it to Coriolan because the amber and leather patchouli base is tuned in a way I find more satisfying, although it is nowhere near as sophisticated. I'm sure you don't need to be told that Avon is typically about as refined as your average Bogart fragrance, as in it's not. Still, there is a lot to love here, and although prices on this one also continue to climb, it is at the much smaller ratio to original cost that discontinued Avons usually increase because again, this is Avon. Nobody wants this stuff outside of house fans, and there are few of those in the online fragrance community. Definitely worth a sniff! Thumbs up

17th August 2017

253999

Varanis Ridari
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Intrigue by Avon

The early 2000's were a very interesting time for fragrances in the Avon catalog. Traditionally, Avon had only a few male offerings in comparison to nearly a catalog full of feminine cosmetics and fragrances, but starting around this time, Avon began focusing more on the male consumer to the point where they created a "men's shoppe" within the catalog itself containing new expanded arrays of cologne and personal grooming just for men. I can't say exactly if it ever panned out for them, but for the first time, there were more than a half-dozen men's scents to choose from alongside the usual Wild Country and Black Suede; this fragrance being one of the more unique creations. Intrigue was one of several exploratory men's fragrances that didn't follow the mainstream conventions of the day. Yeah, Avon had aquatics, ozonics, orientals, and all the staples men would want, but then they were making stuff like woodsy chypres and this lovely dark little fougère/gourmand hybrid, when nobody else was. It's interesting in that it has a very rich woodsy base of moss and tonka like a fougère, but doesn't try to offset it with fresh green accords like most, but instead just goes almost to a gourmand level with vanilla, hints of coffee, licorice, ample amounts of bergamot, tobacco, and a smoky vetiver accord that makes it a very rich and.. well.. intriguing fragrance. It's closest comparison is the similar but slightly lighter and more dynamic Yohji Homme by Yohji Yamamoto (1999), but before you try to crucify me for comparing Avon to a Jean Kerleo creation, keep in mind this came -after- and might have been a riff off of that obscure Japanese fashion house.

Intrigue (2001) opens with the bergamot and licorice first much like Yohji, but there is no spice or any real appreciable sweetness in this opening, with a tiny bit of dry lavender instead worked in, which then takes us down into a cavern of coffee, tonka, and vetiver tones before laying on a bed of musk, leather, dry vanilla, cedar, and patchouli. It's definitely a lower-cost-ingredient note pyramid from the usual fragrance of this type from this period, but it's very effective and overall doesn't actually smell like a cheap-out at all. Avon was definitely shooting for the budding gourmand scene with this one, but they probably weren't ready or able to fully commit to the style as their perfumers are usually years behind the higher-budget designer perfume houses, and make something in a style that usually peaked years before they launch their own iteration. Not so with Intrigue, as male gourmands had just started to appear in number around Y2K, after the great success of Thierry Mugler's A*Men in 1994. In fact, they kinda couldn't have timed this any better, but of course, nobody really -into- fragrance takes Avon seriously, and this was light-years beyond the blue collar Joe just getting his feet wet browsing his wife's Avon catalog out of boredom. This kind of rich, rich, and more rich note pyramid is something you have to sort of knowingly want up front, and those guys still think their bottle of Gilette Cool Wave (1994) is perfectly suitable for a night out, so they weren't biting. It's kinda sad because this has perfumisto material written all over it, and anyone found of a good masculine tobacco scent in the fragrance community would be all over this if made by a niche house.

Unlike a lot of other heavy-smelling men's fragrances that rely on fatty notes, Intrigue is just layer upon layer of delectable ingredients that swirl together to achieve a drier kind of richness; it's like an over-steeped cup of Earl Grey tea (probably from the bergamot) with a licorice candy stick shoved in, enjoyed next to a fireplace with a smoking pipe, that you can wear around with you in spray form. This is also a fragrance that understandably flew in the face of what was popular at the time and was thus not the biggest seller for Avon, since they don't usually target niche designers for their inspiration and instead stay with mimicking what's hip with the mall crawl crowd; Avon didn't keep it around very long for that reason. People who liked it loved it, but they weren't enough to sustain a production line longer than a year. Finding a bottle of most discontinued Avon fragrances from the beginning of the millennium isn't too difficult or pricey, as a lot was made and the demand for discontinued Avon vs more prestigious houses is lesser (also read: only maybe 3X the rather low MSRP max unless somebody is being a gouging opportunist), and considering they rename and market fragrances in other territories, sometimes what one wants isn't actually discontinued at all, just sold outside the US. Tragically, that isn't the case with Intrigue, so I recommend trying sample towelettes before blind buying only because if the sweeter gourmand tones of the aforementioned Yohji Homme sound a bit scary, this is basically that but taken to a darker, even earthier, and more intense level. If semi-sweet, rich and smokey scents that flirt with being both a fougère and a gourmand sounds good to your ears, then maybe this is your new favorite.

17th August 2017

223101

Varanis Ridari
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Paradigm by Avon

Paradigm by Avon (2002) is a fresh leather chypre scent that really went quite counter to what was gaining popularity in 2002, but that seemed to be the modus operandi of Avon anyway. After a decade of pretty much trying and failing to play hardball with the big designer brands, Avon had reached peak malaise before management shakeups lead to Andrea Jung becoming CEO, the first female CEO in the storied company's century-plus history despite carrying the banner of being "by women for women". With Jung at the helm by 1999, it was decided that what Avon needed to be more competitive with with upscale perfume and cosmetics brands was a physical retail presence inside department stores like traditional brands such as Lauder and Arden, which Avon achieved with its Mark stores within JC Penny. Meanwhile, variety and expansion of product assortment was the name of the game for the catalog sales, plus a huge doubling-down of celebrity and designer cross-ventures like what Avon had dabbled with in the 80's to some success via celeb-scents for the likes of Cher, Catharine Denevue, Billy-Dee Williams, and so on. For Avon's own house-branded products, no more creative negligence would be tolerated too, and since Avon was now sending briefs to the big oil houses courtesy of Ann Gottlieb's creative direction a decade prior, the company could put many irons in the fire simultaneously. This mean that while Avon did pursue more youth-oriented men's products, they no longer had to do so at the expensive of their mature legacy market, since they weren't doing all the heavy lifting of creating fragrances in house and then trying to manufacture and market them too. Paradigm was one such swing at capitulation taken towards mature men who had stuck with the brand for decades.

What's really funny about this, is that you can tell Paradigm was built to have traditional masculine fragrance values but within the context of modern design, materials, and budget, like someone trying to make a fragrance akin to a 1960's designer but not with 1960's materials. As such, we get a bright aldehyde opening like you'd expect from Aramis by Estée Lauder (1965), but with a clean modern soapy edge in the heart that reads more like Boucheron pour Homme (1990) than Aramis. Basil, thyme, and sage all meet the aldehydes and bergamot in the opening, before a sharp sour isobutyl quinoline leather note is detected, mixed with dry clean bits of aromachemical wizardry borrowed from 90's citrus freshies, with linden blossom named as the responsible note in the pyramid. Jasmine is listed here but I don't get much of that (maybe hedione), but I certainly get juniper and coriander. Labdaum and a camphoraceous patchouli mix with Iso E Super "woods" and a bit of oakmoss and a dry red sandalwood-like woody material. The leather remains, and the herbs combined with the soapy facets make for a scent that reads like a classic Italian masculine in theory, but executes in practice like an adjunct of Jean-Claude Ellena's clean minimalism, just not shy with the sillage like Ellena's "transparent" compositions can sometimes be. Paradigm is anything but transparent, and will pierce the air with a zip and zing, settle in to something clean and refined, but with that sour punch of leather and herbed citruses which hearken back to things like Capucci pour Homme (1967). This classic chypre stretched over modern bones has impressive performance and longevity, considering it is listed as a "cologne", but is a bit of an acquired taste as a "bastard sword" of old-school design with modern materials. Best use is pretty much all seasons as a signature, except for maybe the dead of winter.

Avon saw fit to release this in the UK as Class Act, and Aspire in the South African market, then change out the bottle and re-release it as Aspire again in South America, so for many of you, this is one of those and not "Paradigm". As Paradigm, this fragrance only lasted a short while in the US and Canadian markets, as it wasn't particularly successful; not that any Avon masculines from then really were. since all the men's market releases that flooded the Avon catalogs served to overwhelm buyers and compete against each other for sales. Avon also launched a serious of more mature-minded chypres and green ambery fragrances that each came into the catalog then disappeared to be replaced by another, and Paradigm was just one of such ephemeral but highly-unique anachronistic gems from the period. Others like Avon Uomo (2000), Avon Modern Balance (2001), and Avon HisStory (2003), all had their fifteen minutes of relative obscurity. Of these, Paradigm is my favorite because it blends so deftly the citrus aromatic chypre of old with it's aldehydic leather counterpart of the same period. Who really cares if there aren't oodles of real sandalwood or unfettered bergamot oil, birch tar, or whatever else floating in the ether of this scent? The modern soapy edge also makes Paradigm rather unique in my opinion and I have never in all my years exploring fragrance found anything that comes remotely close, at any price point, from any other brand. I just wish I could thank Pierre Negrin for really breaking the mold on Paradigm, although he has since attained reknown with brands like Amouage and Tom Ford, so he probably doesn't need it. That this scent didn't become a successful evergreen like Avon Black Suede (1980) is even more of a shame. Thumbs up

16th August 2017

254840

Varanis Ridari
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Preferred Stock by Coty

Preferred Stock by Coty (1990) has a rather interesting story. This is a fragrance that briefly began as a more-posh flanker to Men's Cologne/Men's Line by Coty (1955), which was Coty's attempt to re-enter the very small men's grooming and fragrance market after the mostly-forgotten pre-war Bacchus by Coty (1935). The original Preferred Stock by Coty (1955) was a yellow juice in a bottle with a blue label and gold lettering, detailing that men now had a "secret weapon" getting the ladies, I guess. Next to nothing of that iteration survives and it didn't market for very long, with Coty not releasing another stand-alone men's fragrance until they revived Bacchus in 1969, this time with a matching aftershave. After that, it was Coty Success by Day (1970) and Coty Success by Night (1970), which were more erm... successful, and Coty suddenly started making more-regular attempts at penetrating the by-then growing men's "cologne" market. Fast-forward to 1990, and Coty had a smash success with Stetson by Coty (1981), the unlikely oriental chypre that bore the name and license from the famous and eponymous American hat maker, so suddenly every men's fragrance was "from the House of Stetson" now, including a resurrected Preferred Stock. It's difficult to say how much like the 1955 version the 1990 iteration of Preferred Stock was, as the former is almost impossible to smell anymore, but this sure doesn't come across like a 1950's scent anyway. I'm actually glad for that, surprisingly. Unlike Bacchus and its time warp from the 1930's to the 1970's, a revived Preferred Stock formula from the 1950's would not have survived the 1990's.

The basic premise of Preferred Stock according to Coty is to be an exercise in sandalwood and vetiver, with some citrus up top, and if this was the 1955 version, I could believe it. Here however, we get something altogether more aggressive than just mid-century citrus and wood tropes. Preferred Stock must have some sort of aldehyde introduction, alongside some bergamot, some sour fruity essence which reminds me a lot of French Line by Revillion (1984) or Balenciaga Ho Hang Club (1987), with some soapiness and leather which smashes up Drakkar Noir by Guy Laroche (1982) into the mix with some carnation from Avon Cordovan (1982). Yeah, there is vetiver here, but it is buried underneath the soapy leathery fresh tones, clashing with the sourness, dandy florals, and eventually emerging only after the isobutyl quinoline settles with patchouli, oakmoss, and what feels like carnation right on the periphery. Preferred Stock is the dark cousin to the later Red for Men by Giorgio Beverly Hills (1991), and Coty would somewhat revisit this composition again with Coty Stetson Black (2005) fifteen years down the road. Overall, this has all the makings of an 80's powerhouse fragrance for men, with the complexity and clashing dynamics of musk, cleanliness, woods, leather, and a touch of smoke, but just lacks the actual power. Compromises must have been made to get this under budget, even if it wears long enough. I'd say you could almost year-round this stuff too, if it weren't discontinued. Best use for me is with a black tie or just when you want to smell like you read more than Facebook and Twitter.

Preferred Stock followed on the heels of Stetson, and would be joined by Coty Aspen (1989) brought over from the acquired Quintessence in 1993, to sit with Coty Gravity (1992) and eventually Coty Stetson Sierra (1993). With a nice and neat little "House of Stetson" portfolio that covered different moods and temperaments, Coty masculine fragrances would dominate the drugstore scene into the early to mid 2000's, where they (along with mail brands like Avon) would finally feel the squeeze from discount designer fare moving down-market into liquidators like Ross or TK Maxx. Within that 15 year span though, many a guy wore Preferred Stock, either because it was a stocking stuffer as part of a mini collection given away at Christmas, or just an impulse grab for a mostly-uninterested blue collar guy looking for "any cologne" that would get them through a wedding or funeral in a pinch. The latter was the case of my oldest brother Charles, who kept a bottle of this stuff in the bathroom, where I first caught my sniffs of it as a pre-teen. I've always had a soft spot for Preferred Stock due to this, and was extra saddened to learn Coty divested all its masculine drugstore staples (including the Stetson range) to focus on its designer portfolio, so I made sure to get a couple bottles in case the world ends or the stuff ends up the price of Creed on eBay after a while. This is a good clean leather scent, not worth a fortune to acquire post-discontinuation, but you'll smell like you have money at least. If you missed out, Red for Men is actually better anyway, it's just not what my brother wore so I'm partial to this. Thumbs up

16th August 2017

276093

Varanis Ridari
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Red for Men by Giorgio Beverly Hills

Red for Men by Giorgio Beverly Hills (1991) came at a time when its particular style of masculine perfumery was nearly at an end in the mainstream market, representing a class of fragrances launched between 1988 and 1992 that all more or less shared the same doomed fate. Sure, an initial splash was made because people just don't change tastes overnight, but the in the long run, Red was a flash in the pan that only got a second lease on life due to Elizabeth Arden wanting to properly re-issue most of the prominent Giorgio Beverly Hills catalog from the brand's days under Avon. My guess is that Avon never really gave this brand much of a fair shake, and just gobbled up both prestige labels like Giorgio, and designer perfume manufacturers like Parfums Stern to diversify its holdings while it was still king of the catalog world in the 1980's. Like with Sears, this decision to diversify holdings rather than reinvest in the business proved just about fatal, and Avon only survives today due to the marketability of its history by larger companies that have since bought and sold it several times since the 2010's. As for the scent of Red for Men itself, we have a mish-mash of things from soapy fougère-like top and heart notes, to indolic floral dandiness further into the dry down, and finally a sneaky ambery leather base that veers just shy of being oriental. If Aramis JHL (1982) and Guy Laroche Drakkar Noir (1982) had a love child, and the wedding was presided over by Avon's own Cordovan (1982) and Everafter for Men (1990), you would be really close to the smell of Red for Men,.

Now, I'm not saying that Red is 100% iterative perfumery, but since Avon was at the creative wheel, it would be folly not to at least consider that Cordovan and Everafter for Men didn't at least give some of their DNA to Red, since it was clear that Avon was still straddling an in-house lab and a transition to outsourcing perfumers via Anne Gottlieb's creative direction at the time. Whatever the case may be, we neither know the perfumer nor supplier here of the original Red for Men, but it was the second of three Avon-crafted masculines for Giorgio., following the V.I.P. (1987) flanker, and itself followed by Wings for Men by Giorgio (1994). The opening here is going to be soapy, clean, a bit sweet, and full of similar countenance to fragrances like Preferred Stock by Coty (1990) and Xeryus by Givenchy (1986). Cumin is cleverly hidden under artemisia and bergamot, with sweet indolic jasmine and just enough juniper to avoid it being sweaty. Carnation further fusses up the heart, as basil and galbanum keep things greem. Metalliic geranium and rose recall a bit of Aramis 900 (1973), but lavender avoids any close comparisons. The ambery leather conjures up another Aramis fragrance in the form of Devin (1978), but the amber is stronger, with a much sweeter scent profile overall, Oakmoss, frankincense, patchouli, and cedar make a close parable to an oriental finish, sans any real animalic musks or sandalwood Wear time and performance are good, with no complaints on sillage either. Best use would be fall through spring for me, in a casual setting.

Most talk surrounding this fragrance will come in the form of reformulation arguments, and you'll have wildly different opinions about both different batches of the original GBH bottles and different batches of the Elizabeth Arden bottles, drilled down even to where they were made, going just shy of batch code hysteria. Now, older bottles can simply be explained away as different storage conditions between bottles for the most part, while latter bottles should if anything be more strictly-controlled for materials by IFRA and therefore have less variation between them. A general comparison between any old and any newer bottle is going to yield the usual results of yeah, the older one is deeper and a bit richer, perhaps more noticeable oakmoss and frankincense, while the newer bottles will feel thinner, cleaner, more-restrained. Are the newer bottles of Red for Men shadows of their former selves? I don't think so, and I really hate using that term so take it with a sense of irony when I do, as most people who lay the claim never actually do the homework to back up their online hubris. One thing is certain about newer bottles of Red for Men, and that is they do not project as far, and live in the top notes a bit longer. Overall, the fan base for this one is small, and therefore exceedingly rabid about it, as Red for Men is a fragrance that slipped through the cracks of time to be appreciated only by those who wish time stood still; as a "Heinz 57" of the late 70's and 80's, I still enjoy it more than I probably should. Thumbs up

15th August 2017

253004

Varanis Ridari
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Sex Appeal for Men by Jōvan

Jovan was on top of the world when they released Jovan Sex Appeal for Men (1976). The company had formed in 1968 under Bernard Mitchell and Barry Shipp, deliberately taking its name from the phonetics of American entry-level competitors like Revlon and Avon. These transparently gimmicky hucksters used oozing sex appeal ever since they started peddling synthetic musk oils to five and dime stores and broke hippies that didn't need sophistication nor believed in the usual social class nonsense of high-end perfume marketing. Some of the later fragrances like Sex Appeal for Men became downright classics, but most of them were abominable, and since they made their ways into so many homes only to be used up, the large array of rightly discontinued ones which survive command insane prices that belie their actual value as fragrance. Sex Appeal for Men had become a diamond in the rough for the budget disco-goer back in the day, and has since somehow passed the test of time. A lot of people unfairly compare this to Pierre Cardin Pour Monsieur (1972), as both fragrances have a huge lean towards sweet and spicy, but I think where the major difference lies is in the way each scent balances them out. This doesn't feel out of place in a collection that contains the eponymous Cardin masculine, as I find them wearable in different moods, albeit the much-cheaper Sex Appeal sees more use because it's easier to replace. Sex Appeal for Men was for the Saturday Night Fever fan that could barely afford the cover charge to the club, but wanted to fit in with all the guys "musked up" in designers. Flavor chemist and unofficial house perfumer Murray Moscona was starting to get decent at making scents by the time this came about, and is honestly the best of the original 70's bunch on which he worked.

Jovan Sex Appeal for Men opens simply enough with bergamot and lemon oil, but then quickly mellows down to a stew of lavender, geranium, carnation, vetiver, patchouli, and a sandalwood note in the middle. Here in the heart of the fragrance is where the most confusion is caused; and for me actually compares more favorably to a hybrid of Yves Saint Laurent Pour Homme (1971) with its labdanum-heavy musk, and the yet-to-exist Giorgio Beverly Hills for Men (1984) with its sweetened patchouli, than it does to Pierre Cardin. It's fair that this gets accused of copying something, especially in light of how Jovan followed the Avon and Revlon trend of acclimatizing the artistic breakthroughs of the high-end designers of the time to the budgets of the mass-market; it simply is less like Pierre Cardin's fragrance than most think it is. Ultimately, it boils down to experience with perfumes and direct side-by-side comparisons to see that it actually sits closer to a hybrid of citrus chypre and spicy oriental than as an semi-oriental fougère, mostly due to Sex Appeal's labdanum replacing the amber in the Pierre Cardin. I mostly get a very smooth masculine spicy green lavender and patchouli over that "yellow" musk in the dry down, but your mileage may vary. The most important thing of all is to consider how resonant and long-lasting this is despite it' price and cologne concentration, which is the hallmark of any Jovan vintage, discontinued or current: you simply won't find a more potent juice at these laughably low prices, unless you shop at Goodwill and get lucky. Best in fall through early spring, Jovan Sex Appeal was a statement fragrance then, and still is now, so beware when you spray or splash it on that people will look at you. Best news of all: this stuff seems bullet-proof against reformulation outside a little oakmoss lost and added sweetness in newer bottles, so just buy any bottle you see.

The 1970's mass-market opinion of sexy probably wasn't gathered in focus groups or beta testing like modern R&D procedures, and the folks at Jovan probably just thought "lets make it zesty and inviting in the opening, then bring in the sweet stuff the ladies like (or what boneheaded white dudes thought they liked at the time) before making it all warm and cozy for snuggling later", like a three-step hook-line-and-sinker process. I mean that's what I imagine must have gone on in the heads of the marketing guys when they were instructing the perfumer, who then just phoned in the accords based on stereotype and blended it until it was the approximation of what they were asking for, which worked better than anyone could reasonably expect considering he was a flavor chemist. Is this amazing? No. Is this complex? Certainly not on this budget. Is Jovan Sex Appeal for Men strong? Definitely. The key here is this one comes across like a bedroom lit by candlelight, but not just one gentle candle, about 2 dozen, so the combined glow of all that melting wax is earnest in intent but a little creepy in execution. I feel Sex Appeal only survives today because despite its amazingly dated feel, it still somehow casts it's spell on the morbidly curious like original Old Spice (1937) still does. Jovan Sex Appeal for Men is a presage to other oriental hybrids that started appearing in the 80's and 90's, when stuff like Creed Bois du Portugal (1987), and Guerlain Héritage (1992) would come to pass, just rude and crude by comparison. If you're looking to smell "like the 70's" for a themed dinner party or night club event, and don't want to spend a bank roll on a vintage designer, Jovan Sex Appeal for Men will help you do the hustle, for less than the price of a rhinestone cowboy hat. Thumbs up

11th August 2017

254819

Varanis Ridari
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Navy for Men by Dana

Navy for Men by Cover Girl (1996) was an unlikely flanker to a fragrance line launched by the entry-level cosmetics brand, the parent company of which was The Noxell Corporation, makers of the formerly eponymous Noxema medicated cream. What makes Navy for Men so unlikely is it came from a label that singularly catered to women, as a men's companion scent for Cover Girl's first and so far only foray into perfume. Navy by Cover Girl (1990). Waiting six years to make this decision seems even more bizarre, because by the 1990s most men's accompanying fragrances launched were either simultaneous with the women's counterpart, or only staggered by a year or two at best. When you also factor in that parent company Noxell wasn't known for fragrances to begin with, choosing to enter the game so late after having been in the drugstore health and beauty business since 1917, and that they used Cover Girl as the parent brand rather than let then-owner Proctor & Gamble market the Navy line (both scents) as a new unique entity, it just gets more bizarre. Now for some personal context: I used this fragrance a lot as a teen, but so did a lot of poor Baltimore inner-city youth because Noxell was a local company and thus it was at every store imaginable, selling for $10 a bottle. If you weren't keen on stealing a bottle of something more expensive from that same Rite Aid or Revco (local defunct Baltimore drug chain) which stocked the Navy for Men, you could just honestly buy it with cash you very well may have stolen or hustled to get. The fact Navy for Men was never locked up actually made it an easier swipe, but it was too cheap to be worth the risk for my sticky-fingered peers, and for the asking price smelled way better than anything else at that same price. I can't say the same for more recent bottles, but more on that a little later.

I'm no thief personally, and made my money slaving away full time under the table while somehow managing to attend high school, but if I wasn't wearing one of the things given to me or picked up from Avon-selling relatives, I wore this. I liked the fact that Navy for Men had a passing resemblance from afar to Polo Sport by Ralph Lauren (1993) in the same way something like Montblanc Explorer (2019) has a passing resemblance at a glance to Creed Aventus (2010) on the street; but truth be told the Navy and the Polo were two different fragrances once you started living in them, just like with the Montblanc and the Creed. I don't know who the perfumer was for the men's version of Navy; but whoever that fellow was, they really loved juniper berries. The biggest standout feature to Navy for Men now that I have the nose to know what the heck is going on, is definitely sweet juniper berry. The stuff jumps right out at you upon the opening spray, flanked with some mint and dihydromyrcenol aquatic madness, but there's only a little calone-1951 here, not overly-abused as was the case by the mid-90's. There really is no resemblance at all to Polo Sport in this stage, and some sweet tangerine takes you down into lavender, geranium, and sage, as if the perfumer was trying to sneak a fougère into an aquatic. The muskiness in the base alongside whatever "siam wood" is also precludes any notion of this being a modern-smelling aquatic, even by the standards of the day. Like with Jean Patou Voyageur (1994), Navy for Men seems built by someone who didn't want to do what they were actually asked. A balsam fir and nutmeg note joins a sour leather (likely isobutyl quinoline) to bask in this laundry musk finish and there you have it. Performance for a "cologne" is admirable if we're talking the original bottles, so about 8 hours with moderate sillage You could wear this as a dumb reach all year round because there is enough depth and heft in the base, while that sweet juniper berry continues to define the experience of this aquatic oddity.

The castor oil that Noxell snuck into the formula (and had to be declared in the ingredients even in 1996) is part of the oddly long retention, and I guess they did it for the very reason of extending wear time. Original Cover Girl/Noxell bottles have solid blue caps and come in boxes with the vertical "Navy" stripe. This one didn't stay a Noxell/Cover Girl product for very long, and the P&G-owned Noxell quickly sold the license off to New Dana Perfumes (as it was known at the time) in a couple of years to continue making both Navy scents for them. New Dana bottles and boxes until 2002 are identical and some even still have Noxell Corp. on the paper labels that come on the bottles, showing that they were still being pumped out of Hunt Valley, MD (where Noxell manufactured everything) for New Dana to sell. These bottles, whether they say Noxell Corp. on the label or match the box with New Dana's Mountaintop address in PA, are effectively the same formula. After this, when New Dana became Dana Classic (then just Dana), caps went clear blue and packaging started rotating designs. Formula got cheapened into a chemical nightmare when manufacturing moved to NJ, so you don't get the depth or the nice juniper, and don't want anything without the original packaging and short ingredients unless you're asking for a bad time. This was wholly a Dana product until put out to pasture, and resellers can't give newer vintages away, because they suck that bad. Part of this fragrance's incredibly bad rap I feel is from these post-2002 bottles, in addition to the Polo Sport clone accusations and general lowbrow nature of Cover Girl or Dana. For at least a few years though, this was a serious drugstore underdog that punched up against the big designer aquatics of the era, and survivor bottles from then will exonerate Navy for Men in your eyes if smelled. Thumbs up

17th May 2013

246767

Varanis Ridari
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Dirty by Gorilla Perfume [Lush]

Dirty was originally a creation of "B Never To Busy To Be Beautiful", a sister-company founded in 2003 by Mark Constantine, one half of the duo that founded Lush in 1994. When he joined it with the main company in 2009, this was re-branded as a Gorilla Perfume product under the Lush brand and relaunched as one of their complete lines. Dirty is really anything but, and it's named cheekily because the modern "bro/slacker" kind of guy this product courts isn't known for the best physical hygiene, so this scent is made to combat that, but also present itself in a modern-day organic hipster-friendly version of a traditional barbershop scent. It's actually a fairly nice and complete line of men's grooming from the house, with the perfume joined by a body spray, shower gel, skin care products, and sometimes solid soap. Dirty gleefully takes the traditional turn of the 20th century style barbershop fougère style it apes and breaks it down to it's core, building it back up with the simplicity BNTBTBB/Lush was/is known for. The results are something that is the essence of the barbershop fougère rather than a modern retread of it. I would say it works: this stuff is seriously good for a shave, a good after-bath scent, or something to pick up the spirit before venturing out into the world, but it also isn't very versatile outside of those uses. Dirty is an ode to the long-lost fastidiousness of Victorian grooming, the core of the "clean manly" smell, and a must-have for guys that love the vibes of niche shaving shops, but it isn't going to set the world aflame. It's the "Barbasol smell" for the hipster crowd, and it shows.

The opening of dirty is mint and tarragon. Luckily we're working with spearmint and not peppermint, so it goes on smooth alongside the piquant tarragon and will wake you up in the morning if your coffee isn't up for the task. From there, we shift to thyme and lavender, the latter being fougère 101 material. It's a perfectly seamless transition and frankly is done better than dozens of similar throwback barbershop hopefuls being pumped out by much more prestigious houses than lil' old Lush. It's a unique thing overall that a house which is almost content to rebel against centuries of dynastic perfume house tradition, pomp, circumstance, and perfume development as a culmination of generations worth of layering ideas can nail something that itself is the product of such development on it's first try almost blind, but once the heart is there and in place the mint and tarragon no longer seem as shockingly brisk. Afterward, we're in oakmoss and sandalwood territory. There is of course coumarin here, as there almost needs to be in order for it to finish the way it does, but it's that raw tonka absolute variety and not the refined perfumers variety, which again lends itself to the organic DIY nature of Lush. Dirty simmers down into a mighty fine daywear scent at the end, with the moss, tonka, and wisps of that mint coming and going through the lavender. It's not a revolution to be sure, but it just "gets" that vintage grooming smell without a half dozen florals littering the pyramid. Projection is good, longevity is great, and layered with the other products, the perfume will send waves and waves of minty fougère freshness all day.

Dirty won't have the pedigree needed for the aristocratic types that place stuff like Bond, Creed, Lutens and Xerjoff on a pedestal, nor will it has the complexity and sophistication of folks used to niche fragrances in general. Designer guys probably already know the Lush line, as chances are they have a local Lush shop in a nearby mall and walk past it (smelling it before seeing) on their way to the Macy's counter, so venturing inside (with nose pinched) will yield a tasty treat for about $50 a bottle. A lot of Lush perfumes admittedly feel amateurish, like the garage punk rock equivalent of the niche scene, lacking the social graces, education, and refinement of their peers, but come in swinging like a baseball bat to the nose, hence why the young and hip simply love them. Dirty, one of the rare gender-specific scents in their catalog (as most are unisex), doesn't particularly feel anti-establishment, just simple, neat, and tidy. Something like Dirty could have easily come from a Victorian barbershop back in the day, especially considering that stuff made by Geo F Trumper isn't exactly swimming in notes either, but the deal maker/breaker here is going to be that spearmint. Either you love or hate it, and there are plenty of also-good barbershop scents without it. A good simple grooming scent, with a farm-to-table vibe for the Whole Foods avocado toast crowd. Thumbs up.

13th November 2012

236982

Varanis Ridari
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Cool Water by Davidoff

Cool Water is landmark fragrance that changed the face of masculine perfumery overnight. It wasn't the first masculine scent from Davidoff, with Zino Davidoff (1986) and Davidoff (1984) predating it by a few years, but it gradually gained ground then completely overshadowed not just those older Davidoff scents, but pretty much everything else that came out in the 1980's before it. Much like the simple and unfettered loudness of Grunge swept away all the big hair, tight pants, and neoclassical-infusion that Heavy Metal had become, Cool Water suddenly made all but a few of the sophisticated and gaudy "powerhouse" masculine scents from the 1980's obsolete. Love it or hate it, this stuff redefined masculinity for the foreseeable future, and only into the 2010's did mainstream masculine perfumery finally dare to wander outside the aquatic, astringent, and BO-fighting freshness that this scent and it's progeny offered the world; that's 30 some years of setting the standard. I feel like it's the one aquatic to have in any collection, and not because it's the first, but because it's the one that gets the oceanic/fresh water vibe the most correct, with everything that came after just wandering further in one direction or another. It's been pretty much worn to death in the course of it's three decade run so far, so much like a lot of 90's aquatics to follow, it's been worn by your dad, your uncle, older brother, and the guy behind the counter at 7-11. To say it's the biggest freshie would be a misnomer however, as Calvin Klein's Eternity for Men (1989) would be just a wee bit bigger in sales, attributed to it's "met halfway" style of blending aquatic notes of calone with traditional lavender fougère construction, allowing a bridge of sorts between old and new. Conversely, Cool Water just went strait for the simplicity and freshness of it's theme without compromise, tradition be damned. Cool Water certainly opens like no other fragrance before it, with one glaring exception: Creed's legendary Green Irish Tweed (1985). Perfumer Pierre Bourdon was responsible for this game changer, but although not credited for decades. The US$500 price tag (adjusted for inflation) originally was partially justified by the fresh lifelike smell of this ultra-luxe juice, and Creed used it to launch their new career as publicly-available high-end perfumers sold in select department storesm rather than bespoke boutique fragrance makers by appointment.

Pierre was effectively pulling a Jacques Guerlain trick by aping his own creation and reinterpreting it as Cool Water for a different audience, which was the masses in this case, but I wouldn't call them the same, or one a clone of the other, because the lemon verbena, galbanum, and ambergris define Green Irish Tweed's signature accord is absent from Cool Water. I wouldn't quite call his making of Cool Water an act of socialism either(it's still perfume after all), but more like derision for the NDA he likely signed while with Creed, and a bit of cheek. Cool Water starts with classic notes of lavender and coriander mixing with orange blossom and peppermint to affect that "cool" blast of fresh water on the face. The dihydromyrcenol synthetic that all later aquatics would use for their "water" note was given it's debut here, and many a vintage masculine perfume hound hates this stuff for that. The heart and basenotes here simply help this initial impression stick around longer, with the oakmoss oddly in the middle of the dry down with jasmine, then musk, sandalwood, cedar and amber just doing their jobs as fixatives and not really standing out much from the top notes due to their blending. It really recreates the feeling of "cool water" in the mind's eye and if you didn't have access to a note pyramid, you'd never even guess what's in the damn thing. The same mind behind this was also responsible for YSL's Kouros (1981), so it only makes sense that the blending would be spot-on and produce a similar "feeling in a bottle" that Kouros evokes. Cool Water is a smell that can pull year-round duty if you live in California or Florida, but for everywhere else that gets an actual winter, this will reduce to vapor on a chill day. Davidoff oddly enough issued a "Hot Water" flanker for this to probably remedy that problem in 2009, but it didn't make the same splash, pun intended. For everyone else not completely enamored with the brand, this just makes an appropriate active day scent in summer, particularly if you work outside.

A bottle of this literally lasts me forever in the Pacific Northwest region of the US where I live because truly sweltering heat is rare, and I might wear it once a year if that. The cultural impact this had on perfumery is incalculable. Every aromatic and oriental anything was suddenly an "old man" scent overnight, and even feminine fragrance had to ditch the light florals and run the opposite direction towards thick and sweet gourmands to be a counter to the "clean" direction this was taking the men's market. The paradigm shift it caused is pretty much directly to blame for the loss of many a great classic fragrance, some nearly on the chopping block a few years after releasing becasue they came out after this rendered their genre as passe, but I won't lump that guilt onto what is otherwise a good product. As with any pioneer of a new style, consequences the rest of the market it inhabits were considered minimally at best, and there's a chance this could have been a failure. Simply put: this stuff is the Fougère Royale (1882) of it's time, with CK's Eternity for Men being something like a Canoe (1936) by comparison: it's much more commercial cousin. Even older perfumistas (that aren't huffing oakmoss from paper bags) seem to respect this stuff while hating Eternity, if that's any indication of it's importance and the respect it's creator wields within the hobby community. The only problem I have with this stuff personally besides it's ubiquity, is the fact that a lot of people who wore it heavily tried to use it in place of proper personal hygiene, which is undoubtedly because of how cool it smells, so my memories of Cool Water are tainted with teen guys who skip showers after working out and substitute with this, or grown men who come back from a hot day in the lumber yard and keep a bottle of this in their glove-box like a cure-all for body stench. Otherwise, thumbs up from me!

5th November 2012

209532

Varanis Ridari
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Chaps (original) by Ralph Lauren

Chaps Ralph Lauren came hot on the heels of the debut masculine Polo (1978), and was a proto-powerhouse that reached the same voluminous conclusion but without as much artifice under the hood. It's rich, animalic, raw, leathery, and loud; this fragrance assaults the nostrils upon first whiff, but does so with blending and concentration rather than with the augmented density of aromachemicals like many 80's siblings. Chaps seemed to be wholly inspired by Avon Wild Country (1967), the first proper and successful mainstream masculine to be constructed around an American "Country Western" theme. It's perhaps a dirty secret and rather ironic that a designer should be inspired by a value-oriented cosmetic giant rather than the other way around, but it was inasmuch an untapped market outside of the iconic Avon fragrance, which had allowed -that- company to hold a near-monopoly on the style until this showed up. Granted, any western-themed man's scent is a hard sell outside the actual American West in the 21st century, but this one has certainly aged the worst. Most of this is due to the sheer darkness and density of this scent. it's certainly no Knize Ten (1924), but this kind of hair-raising leather sandwich faded from light in the mid-eighties, when the emerging powerhouse style favored bright bergamot tops and mossy bottoms, and became more for the really-conservative "man's man" types which this was actually targeting in the first place. Chaps draws comparisons to Van Cleef & Arpels Pour Homme of the same year, but most similarly to Dior Jules (1980) which also rode along a similar dense leather line without the western personality.

Chaps is a rather strange animal in that it is still a fougère much like it's source inspiration Wild Country, but where that scent went for the romanticized view of western life with it's comforting warmth and rustic charm, Chaps wants to take you on a stagecoach robbery or romp through the Ozarks with your stolen gold, dodging Pinkertons and staving off attacks from natives rightfully unsympathetic to your plight. There's just so many notes here I won't bother listing them all, but anise, lavender, bergamot, lemon and lime all pounce on a sage bush to awaken your senses, and that's just the start. The heart notes of this could easily be the base of something else, since both cedar and sandalwood mix in rare form here, with patchouli, orris, jasmine and geranium. The actual base is even heavier, with tonka, amber, oakmoss (as expected in a fougère), vanilla, musk, honey, and the single chemical boost of benzoin. This stuff is odd in that it goes on dry and ends up sweet, which is backwards from most aromatic fougères that get the sweet out of their system as they transition into to the dry warmth later. Either way, that means the final result is actually more relaxed than the frenzied opening, so patience is a virtue. Chaps was typically over-worn by most "cowboys" back in the day, which were usually "city slickers" that liked the machismo the stuff represented, adding a little swagger into an otherwise docile step that did more reputation damage to the scent than it deserved for the indiscretion of it's fans. The overall aura of Chaps is pretty much pelvis thrust-way-out as it is, but even still, moderation can make this a pleasant wear in the right conditions.

Chaps succeeds in being the epic shootout western to Wild Country's rerun of "Little House on the Prairie", but the John Travolta Urban Cowboy shtick would not bode well for Chaps in the long run, as it's veritable beef stew construction, although beautiful in it's exemplification of old cowboy masculinity, would make it drop completely out of favor like a lead weight after fresher and cleaner scents took over post-1990. When Cosmair lost the Ralph Lauren license, this was given the axe and a new scent called Chaps Est. 1979 (2010) was launched exclusively for the store Kohl's, which held a license for Chaps-branded apparel. The new Chaps is nothing like the old and goes in an entirely different direction that is more "generic Americana" than country western. If you can find vintage Chaps (and extremely daunting task as it quickly became a unicorn for vintage hobbyists), you'll find it's actually an intermediary between the loud and proud powerhouses of the 80's, and the ardent masculine strides of 70's aromatics. It's a belt buckle in a bottle. Just do yourself a favor and keep this limited to cold weather and personal outings, as this has no place anywhere warmer than room temperature, nor anywhere that presentably groomed is a requirement, since it's just too much "the hair of the dog that bit me" for any of that.

29th October 2012

198662

Varanis Ridari
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Contradiction for Men by Calvin Klein

Calvin Klein finally returned to making dedicated masculines again with Contradiction for Men (1999), after wandering off into la-la land with two "ostentaciously unisex" fragrances that got more attention for being genderless than being good (which they mostly were). Evidently CK really knows how to cap off a decade, or in this case, a millenium. 1999's Contradiction for Men not only has a completely mind-blowing optical illusion cap (but not the first, since Avon beat them to it with Deep Woods and it's cover-over plastic log cap), but also puts a really interesting piney spin on an aromatic fougère-like abstract, basically making what is a late 90's take on the stuff that was wafting off collars of guys in the late 60's and early 70's, but with the artifice of typical Calvin Klein design. I once likened this to a fougère-like take on Eau Sauvage, but I now know this is actually more like a sweet and modernized take on a Azzaro Pour Homme/Halston Z-12 type fragrance, just not strictly a fougère. It has a bit of a pine note that isn't really there but is recalled perhaps unintentionally by the combination of bizzare top notes in this. I think this was Mr. Klein trying to revive the aromatic style for a modern palette in the wake of Gucci Envy for Men (1998) in the same way he did the fresh fougère a decade back with Eternity for Men (1989) in the wake of Davidoff Cool Water (1988), but rarely does lightning strike twice when trying to capitalize on trends, revival or not. Klein would also not be the first to do this (just like with the goofy cap), as a handful of designers from all levels of the market tried doing similar sweeter versions of classic aromatics earlier in the 90's, but none of them with as much green in them. Carlos Benaim of Eternity fame was tapped again to make this failed attempt at double-lightning, but was paired with Peter Wargnye, who concocted the classic Drakkar Noir (1982) for Guy Laroche. Considering Benaim also made the original Ralph Lauren Polo (1978), the green aromatic factor here was almost guaranteed.

Contradiction opens up with that faux-pine accord, which is made of the "Kleinisms" known as "key lime", "grove clementine", "frosted leaves" (whatever that is), plus sage, and lavender; I imagine it was their intent to make something a bit more woodsy and resinous than past efforts since their last heavy hitter was Obsession 13 years prior but still tried to keep it light. Cardamom, coriander, nutmeg, and an early use of pink pepper give the heart a masculine body, before more "Kleinisms" fill the base, like "bubinga wood", and another pioneering aromachemical use of cashmeran, then normal stuff like vetiver, evernyl, sandalwood, and patchouli, the latter which is the heaviest note in the base. Contradiction for Men stands as the day to Gucci Envy for Men's (1998) night, starting sweet and green, getting a little nutty in the middle phase, then ending in a light synthetic and grassy patchouli with residual sweetness. Contradiction for Men was the last time anything masculine made in "The Age of Eternity" would attempt to smell natural, or like traditional perfumery with synthetic augmentation, as CK would just ditch categorization outside the ozonics that followed and went full-abstract with it's stuff going forward. This makes Contradiction for Men a bookend of sorts, with the original Calvin by Calvin Klein (1982) sitting at the beginning of the row. Most vintage purists clocked-out on CK after smelling Contradiction, and understandably so, since it was the last time the house made anything even remotely recognizable to fans of classic perfume styles. Aura Jacomo (2000) does this brief green revival better by adding a leafy tobacco note to the mix, but Contradiction does live up to it's name by feeling natural in places, but being almost total artifice. It's like using fake crab meat in a pasta dish: if it's really well done, you almost can't tell, but that's just not enough for the die-hards, and since the mainstream folks didn't "get" this scent, it ended up without an audience, but more on that later.

I first encountered this fragrance on a shelf at Sears, right after my introduction to fragrance via Avon, and I immediately compared it to a more pungent and piney version of Wild Country Outback (2003) due to my lack of exposure at the time, but later discovered this to be an entire class of fragrances in and of itself, and started working backwards through time discovering which scent begat what etc. Eventually this has led me to completely revise the review you're reading multiple times to something that makes sense, but in hindsight this cologne really isn't all that special. Calvin Klein overall had been championing the cause of "fresh" fougères and ozonics in the male categories since they first dropped the aforementioned Eternity for Men, then the Aramis New West (1988) doppleganger known as Escape (1993), which was a bit of a lark since it was slightly on the green and dry side too but it was still relatively clean and sweet, and of course their revolutionary "smells like musky nothing" unisex CK One (1994), followed by "sorta smells like something" CK Be (1996). Calvin Klein was perhaps informing of us of this fragrance coming down the pipe with the direction of the previous releases, who knows? Contradiction was moderately successful by weight of the name it carried, but a lot of people didn't know what to make of it, and after a few years, I stopped seeing it stocked in stores outside of perfume shops and online. I hear it's still popular in Asia, but that doesn't help domestic fans without internet savvy. I imagine even though it was an ultra-modern take on a past trope, part of Contradiction's mediocre success back then can be pointed towards young guys at the turn of the millennium not being ready to start looking at retro fragrance reinvention just yet, for fear that they were wearing "their dad's cologne", which was a huge taboo I remember from my early 20's, and if anything this green was seen as old-fashioned by most. Grapefruit-scented ozone would be the next trick in CK's bag, and they'd use age demographics for the next set of masculines. I understand why this gets lukewarm reception, as it's so weirdly artificial for what it tries to be that it might as well be something else, but I'll always have a soft spot for this "plasticine aromatic" and recommend you test it youn can if only for laughs. For everyone else, this may be too much of a contradiction. Thumbs up.

29th October 2012

232175

Varanis Ridari
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Azzaro pour Homme by Azzaro

Azzaro Pour Homme was almost never made in the form we now know, as Loris Azzaro had no interest in serving men since his main entry point into fashion was making dresses for high society members in Paris where he lived. The Tunisian-born Sicilian designer first had a really limited 250-bottle production of a perfume distributed with his dresses in 1975, but was coaxed into making a masculine scent by initial distributor Mäurer & Wirtz, so Loris compromised and stated that if he was to make a masculine scent that it would be for "men who love women who love men" as he considered himself, since he was a lover of the female form. He further insisted that had he been listened to, it would have become a feminine perfume anyway, so its creation was to be more like a perfume and less like a traditional "cologne" in his eyes, with ambergris in the base and a visual quality like bourbon. Ultimately his romantic vision for the scent paid off, as its background of woods, musk, patchouli, and traditional perfume elements with the masculine garden variety "barbershop" notes meant that it would be a balance between something sensual and something practical men could wear to the office, and to the after-party or dinner date. In later years this would become almost the reference aromatic fougère for its decade, being copied closely dozens of times, but most-notably by Aramis with their Tuscany Per Uomo in 1984, a scent that also treads down the road of Italian-inspired aromatic fougère; but is drier, more sun-kissed and less romantic, and honestly not as refined.

What makes Azzaro Pour Homme so interesting, is it tries to marry the mid-century citrus tartness that had then fallen out of fashion with the green leafy aroma of the 70's juices popular at the time. It's barbershop elements make it feel more like a contemporary man's salon scent, in the way modern products like American Crew shampoo are and not in the powdery lavander/moss/musk way of old 19th century/turn of the 20th century scents more people tend to associate with a classic corner barber. The latter was what Mr. Azzaro was probably trying to avoid in the first place. The lavender and musk are definitely here in this, but on the top and in the base respectively, while the token moss resides in the aforementioned crowded middle alongside vetiver, sandalwood, patchouli, basil and lemon. In case you can't believe what you just read, this fragrance indeed places lemon in the middle instead of in the top, which is quite the reversal of roles. Doing this makes Azzaro have its resinous tartness throughout, while the moss being in the middle keeps the "meat" of the scent around for longer as well, bringing that final push into what is undoubtedly only a synthetic impression of ambergris on the bottom without much change in the overall interplay on skin. The full effect of Azzaro is a sharp "almost pine sap" aromatic head with the licorice-sweet anise floating up periodically to keep it from being too dry, while the lemon/patchouli/oakmoss/vetiver heart keeps it green, zesty, and robust with just the right touch of richness to convey a sense of clean without the soap notes of its competition. If there's soap here, it's more by way of glycerin than tallow, but I can't really feel it.

Azzaro Pour Homme has long since lost any perceived risque factor after aromatics were replaced by powerhouses, then gourmands as the big macho go-getter scents for the young man on the dating scene. It survived the changing of the guard because of its crystalline and resinous qualities (in part from an early use of dihydromyrcenol) that resonate an uncanny cleanliness, manliness, and sensuality without breaking down the door with heavy-handed spice. It sat with one foot in classic perfumery and one foot in the modern conventions of it's day to begin with, so perhaps Azzaro was destined to be timeless and unique. Azzaro surely did spawn a glut of imitators all throughout the end of the 70's and through to the mid-80's, being a scent which few realize is actually approaching its fourth decade in production due to its iconic and now somewhat ubiquitous nature that's still inspiring new creations. Much like the later Chrome (1996) it is seen as a utility scent for men of all ages, even if it stays in high-end department stores unlike its newer sibling due to the class it exudes. Modern versions of this turn down the moss and musk in favor of pushing the citrus and herbal/floral notes longer, which makes it more linear and ironically might be part of its continued popularity as Azzaro is now more in line with modern fragrances that stay the same from spray to skin. If you're not a fan of aromatics, this won't appeal to you no matter how crisp it may be, and you've probably smelled it a million times before due to it's popularity and how often it has been copied, leaving some to now consider it boring and generic. Azzaro Pour Homme is one of the few of its generation that doesn't seem out of step, and can easily be a year-round signature scent for all but the hottest days, which are qualities that speak for themselves. Thumbs up

27th October 2012

273183

Varanis Ridari
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Chanel Pour Monsieur Concentrée by Chanel

There must be something said about perfumer Jacques Polge of Chanel, as he not only shaped the olfactory progression of the design house's perfume division almost single-handedly, but also has overseen the reformulations of his own creations to meet new IFRA standards, assuring that whatever is in the bottle is closest to how he envisioned it upon release year. Although allowed to flirt with creating scents for other houses, he has utterly remained a house perfumer for Chanel since 1978 until his retirement, amongst the first of his kind as perfumers were typically of the journeyman persuasion if they didn't have their own shops or labels. Jacques created the infamous Antaeus Pour Homme in 1981, being the first new masculine at the time since 1955's Chanel Pour Monsieur by Henri Robert, but since Polge was also the curator of Chanel's legacy too, it was only a matter of time before he lay his hands upon it. He had already tinkered in 1983 with a unisex EDT version of Ernest Beaux's Cuir De Russe (1930), but while that iteration faded to be replaced with reformulated versions of the original creation in later years, his next tinker job, Chanel Pour Monsieur Concentrée, would prove a success. It wasn't like "Concentrée" or "Haute Concentration" versions of past masculine chypres hadn't been made, as YSL, Givenchy, and Rochas all made such versions of their debut masculines in the 80's so they could compete with the strength of the powerhouses at the time. It was the same loudness war the compact disc would face, but via fragrance concentration.

Jacques Polge did not simply increase the amount of perfume compound in Pour Monsieur Concentrée, nor did he up the ratio of it's louder notes in relation to it's quieter ones; what he gave us instead was an entirely different fragrance built around the themes of the original Pour Monsieur, which came across as a stronger interpretation repeating the older scent's core values but with increased presence. This wasn't a higher-gravity version of Pour Monsieur from 1955, but a stunning remake peppered with Polge's own artist flourish. The first thing to notice here is the exchange of the original's lemon opening for the sweeter citrus of mandarin orange, which is a far rounder smell than the citric zing lemon brings. The original's neroli is also gone and in it's place is the softer lavender, instantly pulling this into a creamy barbershop direction and away from the dynamics of a chypre, which when combined with the remaining petitgrain note, gives this a more heady and rich opening than standard Pour Monsieur. The cardamom and animalic middle is joined by nutmeg, furthering the almost oriental richness of the Concentrée variant, and barrels it's way with a head of steam into a base that keeps the vetiver and oakmoss from the older sibling but mires it down in somewhat cloying vanilla and opoponax. If this had coumarin or tonka in it, we could pretty much call it a barbershop fougère take on the classic mid-century chypre, but as it stands, it's more like the son of the original Pour Monsieur, who deviated from his father's urbane lifestyle to go into the country and grow a pair of muscular arms chopping his own firewood. Speaking of wood, there isn't a bit of it at all in this version, so if the original's cedar was a delight to you, then alas, you might want to move on.

Pour Monsieur Concentrée would come on the heels of the Chanel limited-release Bois Noir (1987), which also had a mandarin top and lots of creamy vanilla, but it looks like this scent inherited the mandarin while Bois Noir was revamped with tangerine into Égoïste a year after this. Americans eventually saw this replace the original Pour Monsieur (which was just marketed as Chanel for Men at the time), while the UK got to keep their "Gentleman's Cologne" iteration alongside this until it too was replaced a little bit later, which makes many younger folks see this as the original Pour Monsieur, because in their part of the world, it actually was. Eventually the original version saw worldwide online-only re-release under it's French name while this little number got replaced with a parfum iteration in 2014 that reworked the scent pyramid without the heaps of now-restricted oakmoss this relies upon to be rich. If you are a fan of the thick Clubman-Pinaud-on-steroids base that this possesses, you may not approve of the sweeter more vanilla-driven and gourmand-like parfum replacement (which also drops the cardamom and animalic as well), but otherwise they are fraternal twins from the neck-up. Polge did good work here, and this has more "mature romance" opportunities than the 1955 legend that it revises, but despite my fondness of it, I still endorse the standard version of this since if not for the vetiver and petitgrain holding their own against the oakmoss/vanilla barbershop vibe, I'd dare fault this as being a bit ubiquitous in its genre. Definitely a modern classic, even if not the best in class.

27th October 2012

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Perfume Reviews by Varanis Ridari– Basenotes (2025)

Interact by Avon

Tomorrow for Him by Avon

Perceive for Men by Avon

Tai Winds by Avon

RPM by Avon

Open Road / Prospect by Avon

Everafter for Men by Avon

Triumph by Avon

Wings for Men by Wings

Musk for Men by Avon

HisStory by Avon

Avon Uomo by Avon

Intrigue by Avon

Paradigm by Avon

Preferred Stock by Coty

Red for Men by Giorgio Beverly Hills

Sex Appeal for Men by Jōvan

Navy for Men by Dana

Dirty by Gorilla Perfume [Lush]

Cool Water by Davidoff

Chaps (original) by Ralph Lauren

Contradiction for Men by Calvin Klein

Azzaro pour Homme by Azzaro

Chanel Pour Monsieur Concentrée by Chanel