L de Loewe belongs in the pantheon of forgotten 70’s chypres. The ones that memory and time have faded to obscurity, that little place where Azzaro, Vu, Loewe II and many more haunt me. Coming out in 1971 or 72 as the debut fragrance of the house, L smells like an expensive perfume spilled inside a good leather bag. The opening lacks the typical aldehyde slap of the era. Instead, it diffuses neroli with citrus freshness, highlighted by the green notes to come and a touch of aldehydic sparkle. My personal pixie dust! The heart though is where the magic starts to shine! Green in all variations; verdant, emerald, mossy and inky slopes filled with the bitter bracing touch of galbanum, the rooty feel of vetiver, the forest floor canopy of oakmoss all laced with powdery hyacinth and iris, leathery and animalic narcissus, and a touch of sparkle provided by magnolia! Lily, with its indolic beauty, provides the highlight of floral notes, adding a cast of white shimmer. I’m sure there are more, but the flowers are blended in such a way that they enhance the greenness and avoid becoming the star of the show. The fragrance echoes the idea of luxury, but more city and less countryside. Fidji did it for exotic islands, Aliage made country chic and L simply spilled itself inside the finest leather handbag. And the basenotes enhance it even more. Rich musks, glimpses of leathery castoreum, powdery civet and salty ambergris provide lasting tenacity and ample sillage all the while maintaining the opening freshness. Elegant on all sides, L could go from shopping, to work, to a dinner party or the opera. Just like Aromatics, another chameleon of a fragrance, L didn’t limit itself to a certain mood or social setting, but it adapted to its wearer making itself at home in every situation. The hallmark of elegance. Along the way, L fell out of style, although it remained popular in Europe, Scherrer came with a darker and sexier sillage, and slowly the doors of 80’s excess opened welcoming big white florals and animalic orientals. Power scents like Opium, that mystified the forbidden, remained popular, new is always more shiny, and the green floral chypres of the previous decade, with their hopes and dreams, ethereal but fierce, became too ‘country girl’ for the city execs that strutted the dark streets of a neon metropolis inhabited by the big bad wolf. Danger was du jour, and L was not that animal. Today, easily found on eBay, the vintage edt shines like the brightest emerald. Mostly forgotten, it can shine anew, becoming once again a radiant and elegant signature for the man or woman that loves the likes of Scherrer, Aliage, Y, Givenchy III, Futur. After all, it defies time, gender and settings; elegance is far above that. Review based on early 70’s original formula edt.

After living with Peau Intense for the past month or so, and comparing it with my mid 80’s vintage Montana, before the Parfum de Peau moniker was imprinted on the box and bottle, I find I’m enjoying it, but I also feel it’s redundant. The original is, or was, a leather clad, dominatrix version of the popular 80’s dark rose chypre. Think Diva, L’Arte di Gucci, even Explosive by Aigner or La Perla. Dark rose, animal breath, oakmoss and leather galore, held together by incense and resins. Nothing of that can be found in today’s Parfum de Peau, an almost transparent and anemic version of the great Claude Montana. That’s the reason Peau Intense was launched right? Years of reformulations had taken their toll and Parfum de Peau was just not Parfum de Peau anymore. Peau Intense is, firstly, intense. It’s got a very hefty sillage and all day longevity. The rose is dark and moody, the incense shines in all its cold and churchy glory, and the patchouli takes a wonderful camphor turn as soon as it starts to come to life. It doesn’t turn gourmand nor does it take a turn for the modern “woods” and “amber” that permeate every release for the past 5 years. So, only for that fact, Bravo! But it also has some differences; while the original is civet and castoreum heavy, this version is far less animalic. The leather still shines and the castoreum seems to be solo this time around. The darkness of the rose is still here, but instead of the blackberry touch and highlight, the fruitiness now comes from the orange blossom. Oakmoss ruled before, now it appears as a mere introduction for the hardcore patch. Old formulas had resins among the incense, giving a warmer and more opulent feel, more decadent. Now, the incense is far more pronounced, appearing colder, aloof, more solemn. But still, I’m enjoying it a lot. So why do I feel it’s redundant? Because it exists. IFRA, prohibitions, consumer taste and changes, regulations...everything that made Parfum de Peau a shadow of itself are now reversed for this. So, if this formula can be created in 2019, and is IFRA safe, why not simply do a reformulation (again) and revamp the original? Is it such a big seller? Then this change will surely be embraced by fans. Is it a slow seller? Then is a flanker really going to boost sales or bring it back to the spotlight? Why do a new version that smells more like the original than the current Parfum de Peau, put the Intense moniker, charge double and present it like an improved version of the original, when you could have simply improved the original? Fans know what type of perfume Parfum de Peau is, how it smelled, and this won’t attract those who dislike it already. If it’s for the fans, be less greedy. You’re simply saying “we can make the original better, but we prefer to launch a new one, more expensive, more intense, and call it a day”. Had you given Parfum de Peau this formula, even with the updated box, and not called it a new scent, it would be lauded like Mitsouko in 2015 and Wasser’s award winning reformulation. That said, I still enjoy it. I bought it because the price was less than half of the original retail and even with the smoke curtain, I hope it lasts on the market. And if it somehow attracts new customers, then all the better. Fans of the original will rejoice, especially if they’re not the type to search Ebay for vintage bottles, which still exist and some, reasonably priced. Original vintage, still easily found on eBay: 10/10 Parfum de Peau sold today: don’t bother Peau Intense: 8/10

Thick, sweet myrrh. Vintage Shalimar slivers, placed upon an airy lemon meringue. Opulence like it used to be and smell. Bengale Rouge is a lovechild of the past with a nod to the future, and is giving some serious competition to my beloved Salome! The star is the myrrh. Thick, chewy, molten, glazed myrrh, like you rarely smell. Not smoky, incense like, but rather comforting and evocative of La Belle Époque. Airy but rich, served upon a silver platter with the finest honeyed rose petals, a dark brooding bergamot and a helping of lemon meringue that inevitably recalls vintage Shalimar parfum circa 1940. There’s also a silver ray of freshness that recalls the lavender used in Jicky, although I could be just imagining it. The vanilla takes on a smokier approach, rum like but never cloying or sickly sweet. There’s not a trace of gourmandise, just the tease of it, but never materializing. And like every perfume that smells like real perfume, an innate warmth that radiates and pulsates from the skin. Civet traces along Liz’s proprietary musk blend, a slight lick of saltiness (real ambergris perhaps) and a gentle creaminess from sandalwood, that recalls the buttery and salty smell of genuine and long gone Indian Mysore. The enveloping sensation of oakmoss of yore picks through, but never steals the show, firstly because of the limited amounts allowed today, and secondly because this is not its show. If Salome was brooding red blooded seduction, then Bengale Rouge is her (his) younger self; naïve, sensual, smart. Playful and welcoming, just like the inspiration for the perfume: the fuzziness and warmth of a Bengal cat. Liz has given us a wonderful creation, one I was prepared to like but ended up loving. Wonderfully tenacious but never intrusive; instead it shimmers on skin for hours, gently scenting you and those near you. I couldn’t be more excited for what comes next, although my next stop will be the mesmerizing and potently green galbanum queen that is Dryad!

Youth Dew! The grande dame that put Lauder on the map by making a perfume accesible to the average American woman, is a landmark oriental that took hints from Tabu and adorned it with the American dream, made it classier and hid the animalic carnality in layers of spices and herbs. What Aromatics did for chypres, Youth Dew did for orientals, and paved the way for the later Opium. While Cinnabar came second, Youth Dew reigned supreme. Review based on a mid 70’s edp atomizer. Youth Dew is above all, spicy. Among the cinnamon, the resins, the pepper, the cloves, the carnations, there are subtle hints of lavender that bring it close to an after dinner digestif. The lavender, always thought as a purifying and cleansing herb, is more than likely attached to the bathing ritual that the original bath oil sought to bring forth. Advertised as a bath ritual/pampering that doubles as perfume, Youth Dew in its original incarnation sticks to skin like honey, enchanting the senses as well as softening the skin, all the while leaving a fragrant trail that is far removed from youth or dew. It’s not the first thing that comes to mind when hearing the name; there’s none of that ethereal softness and tenderness one associates with such a name, but I like to think that Estēe named it after the effect on skin after a relaxing bath; supple, moisturized and fragrant skin that retains the freshness and dew of, well, youth. Somewhere along the fragrant development, there are flickers of flowers. Some rose, some spicy geranium, a bit of jasmine. But nothing stands out, and if you blink you miss it. The star of the show is an incense veiled spice orgy that flickers with orange to create a signature Coca Cola fizz. And it’s not that far fetched; Coke has cinnamon, vanilla, orange and cloves in its recipe and here, Youth Dew eschews the aldehydes (they’re still there, starchy like a freshly pressed shirt) in favor of a citrus pop that makes it different and far more stimulating to the senses. Youth Dew relaxes a bit after many hours, revealing a civet rich base (in the vintage at least) enhanced with musks, earthy patchouli, sandalwood as rich as custard and some vanilla for added creaminess, that brings comfort and makes it more woody. But it doesn’t lower its volume, being highly noticeable for hours on end, especially on clothes and scarves. The trail of it after a long day feels like flowers dipped in sandalwood oil, then burned like incense and rubbed on skin that has a slight layer of high quality vanilla oil that has macerated with gardenia and ylang ylang petals. Vintage formulas turn dark, almost black, but they don’t seem to spoil, feeling freshly bottled. Newer bottles, from around 2008/2014 turn darker but they never reach the potential of the original, feeling one dimensional and a bit synthetic. The subtle variations of herbs and the cozy feel of proper musks and civet is gone, replaced by more vanilla, synth animalic notes and a sanitized patchouli. It feels closer to current Opium as they both share a dissonant starchy feel that aims to replace all the lost and forbidden ingredients. The bath oil on the other hand has fared surprisingly well, wearing perfectly like an extrait, as a layering fragrance, or with some drops added to a neutral cream. And it’s the best version available today for those who are scared of the spray. Youth Dew is a masterpiece, a landmark of American perfumery and of perfume history in general. Anyone looking for a deep spicy and exotic fragrance should at least try YD and decide for themselves if they like it or not. YD is above age, gender or social status. Estēe marketed her fragrance according to the standards of her time, but today it stands proud among current offerings, making it a steal at its price point, far better that current reformulated Opium, and far better than many niche fragrances that sell vapor dreams of the Orient. Had this been housed in a fancier bottle with a catchier name, it would sell like hot cakes well above 150$. Vintage: 10/10, stellar performance. Modern: 7/10 edp, 9/10 bath oil.

Then and now. Youth Dew has changed, or better yet, evolved with the times. It’s no longer that magical black potion with deep balsamic qualities. That mystical brew. Youth Dew has lost some of its heftiness. But just like Aromatics, I can’t seem to get enough of it, no matter the formulation or vintage. Today’s YD is lighter, fizzier and starchier. The drapes of balsams and animal notes have given way to a more spicy feel; the barks and leaves of yore are still there but now it feels slightly more chypre than oriental. What was the blueprint for Opium is, in modern formula, infinitely better than modern Opium. While that one has died, YD is still kicking. The character, the heart, it’s all there. But under new lights, that make the juice more ambery than dark brown, you still get the clove and cinnamon spices, a more pronounced fizzy cola note and a floral oakmoss in the drydown. I can’t say anything bad about it, as it feels today just as modern as it did in 1953. After all, isn’t modern something that is yet to be the norm? Youth Dew is still ages ahead. Long live its beauty!

Halston is elegance in a bottle, effortlessly chic and impossibly gorgeous. It’s the beautiful people that went to Studio54, not to show off like everyone does today, but to have fun, do drugs, dance till early morning and go home with a stranger or not. What turns me on about Halston is how perfect the melon/mint freshness is achieved. It smells like fresh breath. Like a rush of air. Wearing it I’m transported to a mid 70’s apartment, complete with shag carpet, palm trees and mirrored walls. Oh, and track lighting. Disco music is playing, people are gettin ready for a night out, the clothes are laid on the bed, and there’s a window open, letting in some cool breeze. Cristal (both Chanel and champagne), Azzaro, Opium, Michelle, Fidji, Paco Rabanne pour Homme, Pierre Cardin...that’s the kind of fragrances you find on the vanity table. But it could very well be Jean Naté or Jovan musk. Beautiful people, beautiful fragrances, a party ahead and some fun. That’s what Halston feels to me. Halston is mossy, woody, soapy. Soapy as in the smell of a fresh bar of soap. Fresh, like kissing someone that’s been chewing mint gum. Fresh like the new melon cocktail that’s all the rage and that you’re going to indulge yourself with. On me, the flowers take a back, unidentifiable seat. It’s all about the herbal marigold, inky oakmoss and woody cedar and sandalwood. Sometimes I get incense and amber, bringing it closer to a dark corner where everyone fabulously reeks of Opium. The richer crowd. But most times it’s about the green tapestry. Every time though it’s all about class and elegance. The kind of expensive perfume you use on special occasions. Like making a line outside Studio54, hoping that tonight you’re the lucky one. The one that Steve (Rubell) will pick to come inside and dance the night away with Bianca Jagger, and Elizabeth Taylor, and Jerry Hall, and Andy Warhol. But even if you don’t get chosen, the night is young and your friends will take you somewhere else. You’re in Manhattan, it’s the 70’s, you can do anything and go anywhere! Well, maybe not Studio54! Halston has little to no similarities to other fragrances. It could be, maybe, Ivoire, if Ivoire wears Ultrasuede and smokes menthol cigarettes. Halston, just like the fashion of Roy and the magic of decadent New York nights, is unique. It took something familiar, modernized it, and made it new again, complete with a sculptural bottle that fits it to a T. It screams optimism, elegance, all while shining like a disco ball. It’s not just about the beautiful people that made it famous, it’s about the feeling of letting go, having the time of your life and mixing with the crowd. Famous or not. Although it might appear as a nighttime scent, Halston, like most chypres, can be worn in any occasion. The vintage, mid 80’s bottle I own has intense sillage and longevity that lasts the night. I don’t know how the current formula fares but looking at what chypres have become, I have little faith. I think modern Halston wouldn’t be taken by the hand of Steve Rubell to go into Studio54. Adding: the vintage extrait (now own a 70’s bottle) has the same formula, amped up in a luscious animalic green. That night out at Studio54; well, it just moved to a dark corner. 🔥🔥

Beautiful is just, well, Beautiful! In its original vintage formula. But it’s also kind of an oddity for Lauder standards. Back when it launched, the mighty 80’s, Lauder had Azurēe, Private Collection, Youth Dew, Cinnabar... it lacked a big floral, but somehow it wasn’t what you’d expect from the house. Among the bitchy chypres and the fiery orientals, genres Estēe knew to a T, Beautiful was the obvious missing choice for the repertoire. But it also feels out of place. For starters, there’s no signature to link it to Lauder, and secondly, Bernard Chant and Sophia Grojsman? I couldn’t recognize their style even if I was gun pointed with a vat of Beautiful. Beautiful was launched as a permed, romantic and shoulder padded wedding perfume/bride. At least that’s what the ads wanted you to believe. But underneath the excess, it’s a stunner of gigantic proportions that somehow left an imprint for the forthcoming Boucheron and Amarige, and also set the standard for romantic but excessive floral arrangements/perfumes. In a cultural way, Americans had Beautiful, Europeans had Ysatis. Straight from the opening blast, the floral bouquet permeates the air. Tuberose, jasmine, carnation, mimosa, ylang ylang...the richest, most buttery florals don’t lose time to let you know they’re here. The accompanying salvo simply stays in the background. A hint of violet and lilac provide classic austerity but it’s short lived. And the rich base enhances the florals with vanilla and amber. There’s no modesty. Beautiful is gigantic, intoxicating, engulfing. And it’s got all the right to be big; it feels as if it took the best qualities of Ysatis and americanized them, imprinting the style of the house and instead of going for overt animalism, going for a more classic touch. Because at the end of the day, Beautiful is a gorgeously composed big floral that shines from beginning to end. Everything smells bigger than life, everything feels real, just like the era felt it was the bigger and better version of reality. Beautiful wouldn’t have worked in a different time. Lauder followed on the big trend launching Knowing a few years later, and smelling them side by side, you recognize in the latter glimpses of the former. Beautiful was anti Lauder because Lauder had simply not done this genre before. You wanted green florals, floral leathers, chypres and orientals, you had the best America could offer at the nearest department store counter. But once the fragrance does it’s 24hour run on your skin, it’s unequivocally Estēe Lauder at its best; the house welcomed the 80’s floral, made the best out of it, and made it feel like one more of the impressive and supremely classy house catalogue. There was drama and opulence, but also some dryness, some oakmoss and woods to make it stylish and avoid smelling cheap. And that’s were the artistry of Beautiful lies; it was bombastic but couldn’t hide it’s elegant pedigree. Sillage and projection of mid 80’s edp is big but restrained, coming alive with temperature and movement variations. Longevity? From ‘Yes I do’ to the end of the honeymoon. Or at least like a night out with Andy Warhol!

If you ever wondered what an 80’s fruity floral smell(ed)s like, here you have it! Main difference? Bigger sillage, long lasting and downright sexy. Clandestine, coming out a year after Poison, was a departure from Fidji and J’ai Osé. And it inevitably borrowed some of it. And from La Nuit. Starting out plummy and liquor like, Clandestine doesn’t take much time to show what it’s all about. Underneath a short lived metal ray of aldehydes, the top is about fruit. Big, decaying fruit. Plum, peach, a slightly pissy blackcurrant... it’s playful, carefree but yet, debaucherous. It also crams big bold flowers; tuberose, rose, jasmine...add some ylang with its custardy sweetness and a big dollop of honey, and what you get is a massively indolic heart. Sexy, decadent, narcotic. There’s a powdery veil that prevents it from going all the way...yet. But the drydown! Oh, the drydown, long and skanky filled with the last remains of honey, carnation, and joined by a big slice of civet and musk, dims the lights and lets the animal out. Clandestine starts fun and sexy, goes wild midway down the night, ending up in a dark alley making out with a stranger. There’s a ‘Poisonesque’ fruitiness, the same dirtiness of La Nuit but dialed down a bit, and lots of class. For all it’s notes and progression, Clandestine could just as easily go to a party, to a gala, or for dinner and drinks. 80’s volume, and yet, there’s a bit of elegance taken from earlier decades. The animalic aspect is far more amplified on warm skin, but never reaching the levels of other monsters. A fruity floral with a kick! Yeap! Just like they don’t make ‘em anymore. Review based on a splash from 1986 (Edt). Sillage and longevity? I’ll see you in the morning!

Ravishing! That’s the word that makes the most sense when talking about Femme, one of Edmond Roudnitska’s finest creations and one of the jewels of Rochas. Review based on a Parfum de Toilette from the 70’s. In the early 1940’s, with the devastation of WW2, fragrances sought to bring optimism and joy. Miss Dior was one, joyous and optimistic. Femme was another. But Femme was different; it was more sensual, more voluptuous. Originally dedicated to Hélène, the young wife of Marcel Rochas, it soon won the heart of its exclusive clientele and went public in 1944. Although it was created during a period of scarcity and post war devastation, Femme was incredibly rich, both in beauty and composition, featuring the now famous Prunol base from De Laire. Edmond discovered it in an abandoned warehouse and made copious use of it, creating the signature of Femme, and setting the path for future compositions. With a strong connection to Mitsouko, the fruity chypre from Guerlain, Femme amplifies the peach lactones, and marries them with stewed apricots and plums and prunes, creating a boozy fruit compote. Ionones, with their violet and rose tonalities, create a sepia haze of deep oranges and browns that shimmer in a silver ray of light. It’s fruity in a decomposing nature, almost rotting, honeyed; and it’s the most erotic ripe fruit accord in modern perfume history. Femme also makes use of warm spices; cinnamon, cumin (which degrades over time, making the vintage richer but also giving the impression it lacks cumin), cloves, with spicy carnation and a touch of rose and jasmine to create a tantalizing melange that feels warming rather than spicy. Rosewood, civet and castoreum, leather, resins and oakmoss in all its glory...they anchor Femme on skin for hours on end. It’s a candlelit glow, the warm embrace of a loved one finally returning home. Femme is sometimes oriental, more often than not chypre, but always gorgeous and profound. And this worn, lived in sensuality, is what makes her all the most appealing, less cerebral and more human than Mitsouko; they could be relatives, but while Mitsy was brought up among royalty, Femme had to fight her way through, gaining the experience that life brings the hard way. Femme, like many classics, was inspired by others (Mitsouko) but also inspired many; the rosewood in Habit Rouge is highly reminiscent of the woody accord in Femme. The bergamot, furocoumarin heavy in the vintage, has a dark edge just like in Shalimar, another inspiration that lends certain smokiness to Femme. Quadrille, Jubilation 25, Mon Parfum Cheri...tributes to the artistry of Edmond. Le Parfum de Thérèse; Edmond’s tribute to his own wife. There is a certain sensuality, eroticism, that Edmond knew how to infuse in his creations. He worked with many bases, he aged ingredients and created his own accords. His signature is complex, multifaceted, and never duplicated. There isn’t a creation of his that doesn’t scream elegance, carnality and beauty. And that’s why reformulations of his work are very inferior; they lack the artist’s touch. Femme was kept more or less loyal to Edmond’s formula until the late 80’s when it was reformulated to comply with the first big waves of the fragrance industry. From there on, Femme has been losing its chypre character and beauty to slowly become a spicy oriental, which is what is sold today. The complex formulation of the past, with its myriad of ingredients and accords, alchemically composed in a scarce period, as if pure magic, is now a simpler spicy peach that somehow still retains some of its beauty. It’s been facelifted, tummytucked and botoxed, but underneath there is still a glimpse of la grande vieille dame! Vintage: a spicy chypre, full on sensuality. Impecable, complex, engulfing. Not a single flaw. Modern: a less complex spicy ‘chypriental’, light on oakmoss and animalic notes, heavy on spices and cumin to make up for lost ingredients.

It took me almost a year to be able to grasp the beauty of N°19. While my vintage, early 70’s bottle was a wonderful discovery, and a wonderful experience every time it hit my skin, the golden liquid never unveiled its secrets to me. Yes, I could see the beauty of it, I could smell the marvel inside, but it didn’t resonate. I decided to give it some time. After all, galbanum galore! And all of a sudden, a month ago, I could finally understand. This is N°19 in all of its glorious beauty. In the beginning, I could smell the green splendor inside, the leather wrapping the iris..but now there’s a revelation. The star of the show, shines fiercely. There’s an intense verdancy that grabs me by the head and spins me around. The galbanum is simply stunning; piquant, spicy, herbal. Mesmerizing on its own, and stellar when surrounded by the hyacinth, the lilly of the valley and the warm narcissus. It’s a green bouquet with the flowers doing second act. The vetiver and the oakmoss serve as the forest canopy, the leather provides, along with the musk (nitromusks?), the animalic growl that warms this fantasy dreamland. There’s also a freshness all along; the neroli/bergamot duo feel as if a gentle mist, hovering above the skin until the late drydown, when a beautifully rich sandalwood engulfs my skin in creamy softness. It’s an edt, rich like an extrait, and made at a time when quality meant something. Unveiling its beauty, I’m transported back to the early 70’s with all of its dreams, big ideas and hazy beauty, ready to grab the world by the balls. N°19 has always been considered a ‘cold’ fragrance. I find it to be quite the opposite. Warm, radiant, pulsating from the skin, all while keeping a distance. It’s strong willed, stubborn, and yet serene. Perhaps the association with Coco influences our perception, and while I could never picture her wearing something like N°5, the image I have of her persona is absolutely N°19. And while I can’t comment on her as a person, this and the latter Coco give me an idea of what her personality might have been. N°19 belongs in the pantheon of lost beauties. My vintage bottle with all of its glorious Iranian galbanum, animal musks and rich absolutes, comes alive on skin like very few. The current, even in extrait, is a diluted watercolor painting that can only dream of such vivid green tapestry. Sillage is moderate, but longevity is from morning to evening. Absolutely and resolutely for every man and woman that loves green and chypre fragrances.

Genny, from 1987 and originally released by Rivara Hanorah (considered quite expensive to make, according to Roberto Garavaglia from Diana De Silva), was created by Jean Delville from Firmenich. For better or for worse, it smells almost identical to Aromatics Elixir in its vintage formula. The notes listed here btw are wrong; those pertain to -I believe- the current version of Genny. It has absolutely nothing to do with the original of which I own a 1987 parfum de toilette. Correct notes: Aldehydes, bergamot, green notes, coriander, orange blossom, geranium, rose, Iris, lilly of the valley, jasmine, oakmoss, musk, patchouli, sandalwood, vetiver, civet and cistus. On my skin, Genny opens with a huge herbal blast; aldehydes fuel the coriander, there must be a bit of chamomile as well, and geranium. I get the sense the notes on parfumo are truer; I love geranium which I smell intensely, and cardamom which doesn’t quite please me, feels absent. Moreover, the rose/patchouli/oakmoss trifecta shines just like in Aromatics, but it smells a bit different; it’s stronger than I thought, it’s more dry, as opposed to powdery, and there’s more floral sweetness than Aromatics. The Iris shines more later on, and the orange blossom simply sweetens very slightly what would otherwise become very heavy. Musk and civet; they’re there, but in the background. Only in the late drydown do they become far more discernible in their dirty lick of skin, making Genny far more sensual than the opening would suggest. For better, Genny was launched when Aromatics was already well established and loved. It came when Italian perfumery was booming, when there weren’t briefs, and when only the best would do; Aromatics is the core, but in 1987 it is made stronger, bigger, and à la Italiana; far more sensual and animalic, never becoming shy. If you don’t enjoy Aromatics, the herbal masterpiece chypre, you won’t enjoy Genny. They’re the two sides of the same coin. For worse, like most perfumes of the golden decade, Genny was discontinued somewhere in the late 90’s to be replaced by the current version and flankers that bear no resemblance. The original, albeit hard to find, comes in splash and spray, in plain black boxes that state Genny. Rivara Hanorah and Diana De Silva versions, clearly written on the bottom of the box, are the ones to go for. As a side note, I don’t think of Genny as a copy; Opium was inspired by Youth Dew, Cinnabar and KL are very similar, Aramis and Cabochard are twins and Poison/Giorgio/Carolina Herrera play with the same theme of grape bubblegum tuberose in varying degrees. Aromatics is (was?) so unique, so recognizable, so one of a kind, that any fragrance similar to it, would be considered a copy. Genny simply showed a different version of it. Both are absolutely stunning, and both are a lesson in perfume history. Buy it while you still can! Mood: Sandra - Liitle girl video clip.