for men

When Insensé was launched by Givenchy in 1993 the typical perfume shopper (be it the man or the woman who buys his grooming products) was not ready for it. Of course, that was before the niche perfume scene exploded- Serge Lutens has only opened his Salon a year earlier and Frederic Malle was still seven years away from launching his Editions de Parfums. A decade later, a men's fragrance in the style of Insensé might have been easy to accept from a smaller house, but in 1993 when designer scents started to be all about air and water, a big aldehydic fougere with a side of oakmoss had absolutely no chance.

Insensé is too complex for its own good. The aldehydes, lavender, bergamot and assorted greens make the top notes sharp and assertive. Insensé and its wearer are here to be noticed, and those sensitive to aldehydes are likely to recoil right away, especially if they associate this fizzy note with traditional and very French feminine fragrances. To keep things masculine there's quite a bit of greenery and balsamic resin. They are probably the reason Insensé was never fully embraced and adopted by women, unlike Givenchy Pi. Insensé, marketed as a masculine, has probably been perceived as neither here nor there and just too weird to have a mass appeal.

The thing is, Insensé might be one of the best scents of the early 90s. It's beautifully done, multifaceted and interesting. It has a quiet, confident elegance that comes from the fougere (lavender and green) accord, the dark gravitas of oakmoss and a very smooth, suave base. I wear it, masculine or not, because I like it and think it smells good on me. I recently decided it was time to share with the husband, who without knowing anything about it said the opening was borderline feminine. He thinks it's nice but is not (yet) a convert. More for me.

Givenchy Insensé was repackaged, most likely (though unconfirmed) reformulated and its current production status is unclear. The EDT in the original blue and yellow packaging can still be found here and there. Don't confuse it with the many flankers that came out under the name Insense Ultramarine.

Image: Givenchy Insensé 1994 ad- couleurparfum.com

In recent years since I've started blogging, I'm occasionally approached by some well-meaning but somewhat misguided people who try to show how well-versed they are in perfume. They tend to ask me what I think of their favorite fragrance, L'Eau d'Issey Pour Homme. My reply is usually "Oh, it's a classic. Very popular". And then I try to talk about something else. Because while there is currently a bottle of this masculine Issey Miyake juice in my possession, I use it as an air freshener in the basement.

The thing is I find L'Eau d'Issey Pour Homme smells a lot nicer in the air than on a man's skin (or on mine). The aquatic-ozonic note is certainly fresh and clean and I like the brightness it brings. I just don't think a person's body should smell like air and water. It has a screechy chemical aura that I detect from afar and find unpleasant mixed with skin chemistry. All the sunshiny citrus note in the world (this Issey Miyake is supposed to have yuzu, mandarin and verbena) can't compensate for the aquatic accord, and the combination of that with a water lily is probably the part that doesn't sit well with me.

It's not that I'm opposed to citrus perfumes. I loved the original (pre-reformulation) Eau d'Hadrien, and if pressed to pick a more modern one I'd go with Parfumerie Generale Yuzu Ab Irato. However, generally speaking, a traditional but well made eau de cologne (such as the one from Chanel Les Exclusif) smells infinitely better.

L'Eau d'Issey Pour Homme is available everywhere under the sun for under $60.

Several years before Ralph Lauren used horsey-set images and branding for his colognes and perfumes, Guerlain did the same thing with Habit Rouge. So what does a masculine perfume named something like "red riding hood" smell like? Surprisingly, pretty much like a butched up Shalimar.

It makes sense, really. Shalimar, at least in its former incarnations, is gorgeous and very complex. Many men like Shalimar and would have loved to wear it, but not everyone finds it easy to get over the branding, marketing and that powdery facet. So Guerlain kept the structure, the citrus top (made even crisper with spicy greens), the smooth sandalwood and rich amber base, took away some of the powder, added leather and poured into a pour homme bottle. The result is a smooth and sophisticated scent, lighter than Shalimar but still instantly recognizable as an oriental Guerlain.

Habit Rouge is sweet and creamy, thus making it stand out from the crowd of commercial masculines of the last couple of decades. Of course, it is a 1960s creation, a time when a good perfume was not a thin airy little nothing. I would have liked to conduct a blind testing of the Guerlain classic masculines in a college dorm and see the young men's (and women's) reaction. After all, this is the generation born into a world of CKWhatever.

In any case, those of us who like to dig deeper when searching for a good perfume can easily appreciate Habit Rouge. It's one of those masculines women like to adopt for themselves just as much as to smell on a man's neck (it promotes some serious nuzzling). I originally bought the (vintage EDC) bottle for the Blond, but have found myself wearing it often during this sizzling summer, often as a morning scent before switching to vintage Shalimar EDC. It's a splash bottle, but I find that dabbing isn't very satisfying (it is an eau de cologne, after all, so I shouldn't be surprised). Spraying gives a better impression of this sweet but tasteful concoction, and while the modern version seems a bit flat and less leathery, it's still light years better than any of the modern Guerlain releases for men.

Vintage Habit Rouge perfume ads: vintageadbrowser.com

I didn't mind it too much when Seth Aaron was sporting that goth black nail polish look on Project Runway. It was part of his charm, I guess. But Zac Efron's chipped metallic blue nails make no sense to me. Did he and Vanessa have a slumber party and gave each other a mani-pedi? I don't get what he was going for, other than a color that matches his eyes.

Photo: Dlisted

Some days call for vetiver perfumes and there are few more iconic vetivers than the classic Guerlain in any of its versions, past and present. The idea seems simple enough- a bright citrus opening, a crisp and dry vetiver-wood body and a peppery dry-down with a hint of unsmoked tobacco. Still, Guerlain's Vetiver is anything but simple or predictable. The secret, I think, is the perfect balance that allows the vetiver to shine without having to go to extremes- no bitterness or swampiness, only the best of its green qualities.

The older version (my bottle is an EDT from the early1990s or late 80s) seems less concerned about being clean. It's not murky by any means, but  has a darker aura. I believe there might be more tobacco and less citrus, but this impression might be a result of the bottle's age. Guerlain purists claim the EDT is not as good as the EDC, but I never tried the latter. The eau de toilette is good enough to make me swoon and I'm glad I got it for the husband (and myself. I have yet to find a vetiver I can't wear). It's better dressed and  less casual than the modern one, but just about anything designed in the 1960s feels this way, right?

The new EDT is bright and sunshiny at first, but becomes softer over time. It's like a cool breeze blowing through the grass, making it appear outdoorsy and light. The Blond likes to wear it on the hottest days of summer (apparently, he doesn't buy my theory about going in the other direction to cut the heat) and for easy weekends. I enjoy it year-round and like many other women find it genderless, as long as you love green scents. I wish Guerlain would bring back the body products. The shower gel (I think they labeled  it an All-Over Shampoo, though I never tried it on my hair) was perfection in a tube. I  bought the last one I could find a couple of years ago, and I think the husband might still be hoarding the last drops. I'd love to be able to indulge again.

While the original Guerlain Vetiver has all but disappeared (the aftershave and deodorant can still be found online, but the idea of a deodorant from eight or nine years ago isn't very appetizing), the new Vetiver is available from just about every fragrance department in the universe ($71, 2.5oz at Sephora, about half this price from various discounters).

Images of the two Guerlain Vetiver versions (from 1997 and 2002)- couleurparfum.com

When Paloma Picasso chose the Minotaur as the embodiment of her masculine fragrance, she was most likely connecting it to her father's way of identifying himself with the creature's virility and strength. The sexy perfume is certainly not meant to evoke any of the beastly aspects or the various tragedies connected with the monster. Or so we hope.

I bought the Blond a bottle of Picasso's Minotaur soon after we started dating. It was sometimes between 1993 and 1994, and while I was no longer wearing her Mon Parfum very often, I still liked her dramatic style and the fact the scents were quite different than anything else that occupied the shelves in the early 1990s. Minotaure was an unusual masculine fragrance back then as it is today. The obligatory citrus blast of the top notes is very herbal and spicy, and it soon becomes both leafy and sweet. The geranium note is very pronounced but it's not here to highlight a rose facet. Instead, the heart of the perfume is green like an overgrown and somewhat neglected garden. It's cool without being airy and has the feel and romance of an old stone bench that's half covered and hidden in the shadows.

Minotaure's dry-down is an oriental with a hint of soft leather and quite heavy on the amber. I remember it as more powerful and assertive than what I get from the current bottle I own. It used to make me swoon on date nights, but that was long ago, before the Blond had a full arsenal of Lutens, Malle and Guerlain bottles, among other lovelies. I foolishly got rid of whatever was left of that old bottle about ten years ago and only repurchased recently. Curiously, I'm the one who's been wearing Minotaure lately, while the husband has yet to even try it beyond a nostalgic sniff and quick spray on his wrist. Which brings us to the fact Minotaure is quite female friendly, as long as you don't mind some lavender and green geranium notes. I'd guess that a woman who wears Heritage and Habit Rouge can feel quite comfortable in this Paloma Picasso scent.

Minotaure can still be found online from various discounters, but considering L'Oreal (owner of Paloma Picasso perfume franchise) has stopped its production around 2004 prices have been slowly creeping up.

Images-
Pablo Picasso, King Of The Minotaurs, 1958 (abcgallery.com)
Paloma Picasso perfume ads from 1992 and 1994 (cauleurparfum.com)

L'Occitane Eau des Baux Stick Deodorant had two things going for it: it's an alcohol-free formula which I thought would be great for the husband's sensitive skin, and the scent- a blend of cypress and cool incense- is beautiful.

 I picked the deodorant the last time I was at my local L'Occitane store and happily gave it to the Blond. He was delighted with the scent and eager to try it on. The good news is that his armpits have never smelled so good. The bad news is that it only lasted for a few hours before nature took its course. I tried the Eau des Baux Stick myself on a day I was not going to leave the house (a lesson learned from other deodorant testings) and had to agree- it doesn't work unless you're willing and able to reapply every three to four hours.

Bottom Line: Get the shower gel instead.

L'Occitane Eau des Baux Stick Deodorant ($16) is available at every L'Occitane store and online.

Photo: esquire.com

I had the hardest time finding a good art work to accompany this post. Most of what you get when you google centaur images most of what you find is either gloriously hideous or bordering on pornography. Apparently, the concept of half man-half horse captured the image of people far less talented than Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier's Jean Laporte. Centaure the fragrance deserves much better than mytho-porn.

Centaure is considered a masculine and I'm not going to argue with the label on this 1991 Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier creation. All I'm saying is it's so pleasant, balanced and well-made it has a universal appeal and wearability, as long as one does not object to lavender, tobacco and mint in a woody-balsamic setting.  The overall feel of Centaure is very refined- no rough edges or out-of-place notes. It lures you in with a friendly citrus and herbs opening that is crisp without screaming "fresh". The lavender and mint don't try to choke you on hair tonic and toothpaste. Instead, they smell alert and natural and are greatly softened by the floral heart that feels like it's almost lit from within.

The dry-down is where things get a bit darker and more opaque. There is an elegance to the way Centaure comes together and moves from the summer garden into the shade of ancient trees. Maybe that's where the mythological creature is lurking. But if he's there, he's still out of sight and smelling range- don't expect any animalics. Instead, there's an aromatic honeyed tobacco, smooth and rich with an amazing all-day longevity. It's a fabulous summer scent for those of us who get bored easily with the usual citrusy suspects. Yet Centaure has enough depth and body to offer for colder weather.

Centaure and the rest of the Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier line ($120, 100ml) is available from Henri Bendel and Luckyscent. My bottle is of the older 90ml edition. As far as I could tell from a quick spray and Sniff at Bendel they smell the same.

Art: Centaur by Azriel Awret

The original (pre-reformulation) EDT version of Guerlain's 1992 Héritage is often hailed as a modern masculine classic for the formal and elegant gentleman. I find it ironic that it's a product of the same year that brought us L'eau d'Issey and all its watery fresh clones as well as hurricane Angel. Then again,  1992 also saw the launch of Sublime (Jean Patou), Minotaure (Paloma Picasso), Dolce & Gabbana (the original with the red cap), not to mention Feminite du Bois and the birth of Uncle Serge's Bois series. There must have been something good in the air and water that year to inspire the creation of these beauties.

But back to Guerlain and Héritage. I haven't been moved enough by the current EDT (insert the obligatory cursing and fist shaking at IFRA) to actually own a bottle and neither has the husband. Every time we sniffed and tested it on skin it was mostly pale lavender and dry wood over the typical but diluted Guerlain base, and since I already have Jicky, Habit Rouge and enough Shalimar in every concentration to fill a bath tub, I can't see the point. But the eau de parfum is a different story.

Luca Turin's Héritage review in the Guide doesn't specify vintage nor concentration. But he labels it as a woody ambery scent and sees the masculine label as quite arbitrary. I think it applies perfectly to the EDP. Other than the opening that might scare away women who have an aversion to lavender, Héritage could have easily re-bottled, labeled and marketed as a feminine fragrance. I happen to enjoy lavender and the way the opening with its herbal accords morphs into a delicate spice-floral-wood phase that lures you in. There's a certain sophistication in this process because it doesn't use the typical "hit you on the head with pastry" Guerlain technique- not that I mind the pastry and I admit I fall for it every time, from Cuir Beluga through Elixirs Charnel to Tonka Imperial. But there's something about Heritage that is almost restrained (at least in comparison) and makes me stop and remind myself what I'm wearing as I catch whiffs of it throughout the day.

The drydown is still very much Guerlain with the familiar ambery base of vanilla, tonka bean and warm sandalwood. But Héritage never crosses the line into the realms of yummy and remains dry enough to appeal to both men and women.

It seams like at least here in the US, the EDT is the only widely available version ($93, 3.4 oz in most department stores from Bloomingdale's and up). The EDP (as well as better prices) can be found with some help from Google or a trip overseas.

Images: Ads for Guerlain Héritage from 1992 and 1996- couleurparfum.com

There's a reason certain fragrances become classics. Everyone, including their father and my father, has owned Ralph Lauren Polo in the green bottle at some point between 1978 and now. The only surprising thing about this ultimate designer scent is how good it actually is.

The bottle I'm reviewing here is an aftershave splash from 1995 or 1996. It's incredibly strong, full and round for this concentration (basically an even more diluted eau de cologne), but the monstrous sillage and volatile opening calm down within five minutes leaving you (and me) with the core scent which is not as loud as its reputation. I no longer remember how or why my husband got Polo, and I ended up hiding it years ago, mostly because it's a cologne I associate with my dad who wore it excessively throughout the 80s and also later as a default scent every time he couldn't find anything he liked better.

Polo is a very green chypre and is much more elegant and sophisticated than I remembered. My scent memory was all about the pine and lavender, but now I also smell the other greens and a very distinct non-stinky smoky cumin note. There's a touch of a spice rack, but it's more a spice rub than a curry and the almost foody phase is so well blended with the green parts and the wood that it doesn't bother me too much, even if as a vegetarian something there is a bit too meaty for me e for a moment or two.

There's also quite a bit of smoky incense that I absolutely love, a strong-boned and very masculine wood-patchouli base, something a bit honeyed that doesn't take away from the general feel of dryness, and so much glorious oakmoss it makes post-IFRA perfumes and colognes hide their faces in shame.

And that's when it hits you. Once upon a time you could go to Bloomingdale's or to your local perfume store on Main Street and buy beautiful, sophisticated fragrances at a reasonable price. Some came from big names, other from smaller ones, but none of them assumed their customer was an idiot.

If I can have a choice I'd always pick the man wearing Polo out of a crowd of guys wearing Eau de Rinse Cycle Sport Light. And I'd ask to share his bottle.

Polo by Ralph Lauren is available everywhere under the sun in various sizes, concentrations and prices usually under $50. I'd bet good money that whatever is being manufactured these days has been heavily reformulated and is not quite as good as it used to be. My advice is to go into your dad's medicine cabinet and see if he still has some from before 2005. You might find yourself pleasantly surprised.

Vintage Polo ads (I especially love the one from 1979 where Ralph Lauren himself is the face of his creation): couleurparfum.com and vintageadbrowser.com

The first thought I had last summer when I heard about the new version of Terre d'Hermes, an extrait de parfum (pure perfume concentration), was: "Why"?

It's not that I don't like the original EDT. On the contrary- while it didn't work for the husband, I wear it myself and enjoy it a lot. But as anyone familiar with Hermès masculine bestseller will tell you, this stuff is very strong and tenacious. Terre d'Hermes is hardly the first candidate for a richer, deeper formula. Had anyone asked me which Hermes fragrance I'd like to see as a pure perfume I'd beg for Hiris. Obviously, they didn't request my input.

Jean-Claude Elena , Hermès in-house perfumer and the nose behind Terre in both formulas didn't think, either, that the world needed a stronger version of the original. Honestly, I cannot imagine such a beast- the EDT is indestructible and survives 24 hours and a shower when I wear it. Monsieur Elena decided wisely to fine-tune the notes and elements of his creation. The best way I can explain the difference between the two is by talking about a certain texture they evoke. Terre d'Hermès in EDT can feel a bit coarse, like a very grainy sand (it's the earthy mineral note). The pure perfume feels more finely-milled. It's smoother and a little more suave. The citrus notes are surprisingly darker, longer lasting and retain a lot of the orange rind.

The parfum stays closer to the skin and has a touch of sweetness that doesn't appear in the EDT. The wood is  a little mellow, polished and would probably appeal to more women who found the original too masculine to wear comfortably without compromising the core masculinity of the scent.

Terre d'Hermes Pure Perfume ($112, 2.5 oz) is available from select department stores and Hermes boutiques all over the world.

Photo: the  construction of Hermes Manhattan men's store on Madison and 62nd  from therealdeal.com

Cravache is probably the weakest link in the otherwise excellent and captivating reissued Robert Piguet line. That's not to say that Cravache is bad or poorly made. It's not. But next to stunners like Bandit and Fracas or the beautiful and intriguing Visa and Futur, a starched and stiff traditional men's fragrance doesn't stand much chance.

It has all the familiar elements: a blink-and-you-miss-it citrus burst at the top, a lavender, spice and green herbs heart that holds the questionable achievement of smelling both generic and formal and a patchoulified drydown. Regular readers know I have no problem wearing perfumes with a heavy testosterone marketing vibe, but this version of a Piguet classic (the 1963 original is rumored to have had a leather note) is something I can't spend a full day wearing. It's just not fun.

Not that a full day is even possible- Cravache is too weak and thin for my skin, despite the promised vetiver-patchouli base. It behaves too much like an eau de cologne- light, airy and fleeting, especially when dabbed from a sample. I had to give the perfume a couple of hefty sprays from the testers before I could form a real impression. This probably makes Cravache even easier to wear for conservative souls, but doesn't particularly endear it to me (or to the husband).

I'd say Cravache is a safe fragrance for a Father's Day gift, but since my dad is a bit more fashion forward when it comes to scent I'm going to skip this one.

Craveache by Robert Piguet ($55, 1.7oz) is available from Neiman Marcus (including online), Saks and Henri Bendel. It also comes in an aftershave and body wash form.

Photo: Summer afternoon on Piccadilly, London- Frank Horvat, 1959

Two years ago while visiting La Maison Guerlain in Paris, The Blond got a sample of L'Ame d'un Héros (soul of a hero), one of Guerlain's less famous masculine perfumes. He liked it it, but not enough to buy the 125ml Les Parisiennes bee bottle on the spot, especially at the outrageous exchange rates of summer 2008. L'Ame d'un Héros smelled like a very suave woods and greens cologne,  understated and easy going but having a strong backbone.

Looking online I realized that L'Ame d'un Héros had somewhat of a murky history and several incarnations, the most distinct was in 1998 under the name Coriolan. One look at the note list for Coriolan reveals that with bergamot in the top notes and an oakmoss-patchouli drydown, it's most definitely a chypre. A quick search has also revealed that while discontinued and replaced with the newly orchestrated (Guerlain-speak for reformulation) L'Ame, bottles of Coriolan were still available online at a deep discount.

A bottle was promptly ordered.

Interestingly enough, I probably wear Coriolan more often than the husband does. I love the almost tactile feeling of juniper branches and berries. It's green and can feel a bit sharp at times, and the lack of sweetness or smoothness in the base is unsettling, but I discovered that one tiny drop of Shalimar extrait on the décolleté fixes and Guerlainifies Coriolan for me. Most men probably don't need this gilding. Coriolan is easy to wear and despite the military association of the bottle, it has the same suaveness of L'Ame and bedroom eyes of the model from the ads.

Coriolan can still be easily found online for under $30 (1.7oz, 50ml). The oakmoss-less gentrified version, L'Ame d'un Héros, is available from Guerlain boutiques around the world ($225, 125ml)

Coriolan 1998 ads: couleurparfum.com

Grey Vetiver, Tom Ford's 2009 masculine release, is an attractive and intelligent scent. It had to be, since it was launched into a market that already has several vetiver perfumes that are considered classic. Most vetiver fans own more than one (or six) of them, so seducing us isn't that simple. We've already experienced the bracing (Vetiver Extraordinaire, Route du Vetiver, Turtle Vetiver), the light and uplifting (Guerlain, Racine), the dark (Sycomore, Encre Noire) and the unusual compositions (Vetiver Oriental, Vetiver Dance). Tom Ford had to offer us something that was still missing.

And he did.

While the opening notes are familiarly citrusy and bright and you can't miss the grapefruit , this is not a new variation on the classic Guerlain theme. The scent quickly takes new direction, first with spicy and herbal notes (most noticeably sage), playing the warm and cool game vetivers often do. From green to wood and back, but Grey Vetiver has a certain mellowness, making the ride smoother and more calculated. But to me the big story here is the orris. It's not quite powdery and not earthy carrot-like as some can be. It feels like the orris note fills the gaps and spaces between the green and woody patches, giving the scent incredibly soft. It makes you listen and pay careful attention.

The drydown is also not your average vetiver. The official notes speak of oakmoss, but as much as I try, I can't smell any. I doubt any perfume from the last couple of years that is intended for mainstream retail has enough oakmoss in it to make a difference. What I do smell here is an incredible dry amber. The salty resinous kind, not the garden variety powdery vanilla.

Tom Ford's interpretation might be the easiest to wear among the vetiver colognes in my (well, the husband's) collection. It has no jagged edges or any semi-objectional notes. It's clean and modern enough to befriend the younger (but discerning) crowd, just as it has what it should appeal to those familiar with the classics, men and women alike. I bought a bottle for my father after testing it myself a couple of times. Got a mini which the husband and I used for a while before going for a full bottle.

Grey Vetiver by Tom Ford ($85, 1.7 oz EDP) is available from most department stores- basically you can find it everywhere Black Orchid is sold, including Sephora, which is probably your best bet for a free sample.

Photo of Anderson Cooper: cnn.net

I don't have any statistics to back me up on this, but when it comes to sandalwood perfumes the more popular ones seem to have that comforting creaminess of 10 Corso Como and Tam Dao. These scents go well with hot cocoa and a cashmere blanket, which is probably why they are considered more unisex than the formal Santal Noble by Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier.

Santal Noble is a very dry incense and wood scent with a dark amber-patchouli drydown. It's quite spicy and peppery, especially during the first couple of hours I have it on, and has an exotic vibe at times. If I spray enough of it (and I do. It makes a world of difference for Santal Noble's staying power), I seem to pick a light saffron note, especially in warm weather. The overall impression of this Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier cologne is very woody, crisp and impossibly proper. It can be the male equivalent of a cashmere twin-set and heirloom pearls, except that it's a lot more tailored than that. Santal Noble is a scent fit for Tim Gunn, and just like him, it's always right.

The original version of Santal Noble (before MPG repackaged and reformulated) seemed to have a richer, almost thick drydown, but since the sample I have is much older than my bottle of the newer formula, it also might be due to aging. In any case, the new Santal Noble is very good and satisfying, with its dignity intact. As for the gender issue, I understand why many women would balk at wearing a scent that goes well with a tux.  I still think it's worth trying, because you never know. I'm as girly as they come, but it's no secret that I wear vetiver, cedar and other woods much better than I wear rose or violet. It's all about skin chemistry and personal taste, after all.

Santal Noble as well as the other Maitre Parfumeur et Gantier fragrances ($120, 100 ml EDT) is available from Henri Bendel in NYC, Luckyscent/Scent Bar in Los Angeles and beautyhabit.com, which was where I purchased my bottle.

Photo of Tim Gunn from chicagotribune.com

It's probably impossible to talk about Duro by Nasomatto without referencing Luca Turin's review (from the Fall 2008 addition to The Guide):

"...This is a masculine, intended to celebrate the exuberant, unwarranted fondness Italians have for their weenies.
...Useful as a contraceptive, but little else."

Basically, Dr. Turin is telling us that Duro smells like an Eros Ramazzotti* song.

The thing is, I really like Duro. It's a leather scent, and I have yet to encounter a perfume in this category I didn't like. It opens with a strong almost camphoric note that softens after a few minutes into something reminiscent of Daim Blond, though not as soft and sumptuous. Duro is darker and leaner- if Daim Blond is a smooth and luxurious suede jacket from a top Madison Avenue boutique, Duro has a more downtown vibe. But I don't get the scent of an Italian playboy Luca Turin is talking about.

I also don't feel any vulgar in-your-face masculinity. Maybe it's because my skin amplifies the ambery, almost sweet drydown and tunes out a lot of the dry spicy wood I smell when my husband wears Duro. Or maybe it's because telling me a perfume is only for men always makes me say "just watch me". The bottle in my perfume cabinet might belong to the man of the house, who tested several Nasomatto scents and favored this one every time, but I wear it happily. It goes well with a cashmere dress in the winter or a white tank top and ethnic jewelry in the summer.

I bought the bottle of Duro by Naomatto ($148, 1 oz extrait de parfum) from Barneys. It's also available at Henri Bendel in NYC and Luckyscent/Scent Bar in Los Angeles.

* I actually have a weird soft spot for Eros Ramazzotti. The Blond and I have spent our honeymoon in Italy. I don't know how things are today, but back in 1996 Eros was everywhere and you couldn't escape his voice, no matter where you went- on the radio, on TV,blasting out of random cars and played in most restaurants.



Photo: Marcello Mastroianni in Fellini's 8 1/2, 1963