Against Power - Brecourt's Contre Pouvoir

Ceci n'est-ce pas une power scent

Contre-Pouvoir means counterforce, but I read the name of Brecourt's 2011 release (which - intentionally? - omits the hyphen) as meaning "against power," the rejection of force, the triumph of subtlety over power. Contre Pouvoir succeeds through what may appear as weakness.
It is true the ad copy relies on stereotypes of male power, the Club, cigars, leather armchairs, but really there is little of this to be found in the scent. It is not so much a powerhouse as a Dandyesque fragrance in the strict Brummelian meaning of that term: not exalted baroque but rather inconspicuously elegant, to the nines. It is from this characteristic that I find Mme. Bouge's creation to be less of a fall or winter scent but quite perfect for hot summer days, when it serves as an effective shield againt sweat and stench, as it gently but persistently radiates its irridescent aura of exotic citrus-spice and sweet woody powder, thus ennobling its wearer in ignoble circumstances. This strategy of a masculine skin scent appears more successful than many an attempt at camouflaging one's heat-induced odors by means of shrill aquatic-citrus-fabric-softener sledgehammers.

It is also a pleasure to observe a perfumer not overdosing on ambrox, for once, but using it as a soft-focus lense and diffuser; in fact, despite the modernity of the notes, this Eau de Toilette's feel harkens back to the classic era  - the interwoven construction rather than blatant singularities, balance rather than a front-loaded firework; though there is only a subtle development in the scent. It aims at linearity, the citrus component proving to be quite persistent, and the most prominent notes, cardamom in the top, licorice in the heart, and a modern vetiver component at the base being deeply embedded and intertwined in the ambrox-diffusiveness noted above. Sweetness and spice, tartness and powder, beautfully entangled. In terms of its general appearance (including price) this fragrance thus appears to me less like your typical algorithm-spawned "niche" of the day, but more like an update of the kind of quality designer scents of the old school; the Van Cleef & Arpels, Cacharels, Jil Sanders and other pour hommes and Mans of my youth and young adulthood.I, for one, found myself pleasantly surprised and quite taken.

Varon Dandy Part 2: The Fougère Cousin of Knize Ten

Source of original images: https://perfumecharm.wordpress.com/2016/04/17/knize-ten-by-knize-perfume-review/ and parfumo.de

 

The Knize Ten	Shared notes	Varon Dandy
Lemon, Orange, Rosemary	Bergamot, Petitgrain	Lavender, Anise, Clary Sage
Rose, Iris, Cinnamon	Geranium, Cedar, Carnation, Sandalwood	Fern
Castoreum, Vanilla	Oakmoss, Amber, Musk	Tonka

At last we return to Varón Dandy, whose history I discussed back in August. As I suggested then, I find it to be a relative of Knize Ten - they may be from different streets, Chypre Boulevard and Fougère Avenue, but the neighbourhood is the same: 1920s men's fragrance and they share a surprising number of notes that give them both a similar old-time feel of powdery-spicy florality. 

As you can see from the table above, Varón is an old-school barbershop fougère: a citrus-lavender top with green clary sage, very powdery from the get go, a heavily coumarinic heart ornamented with some florals and woods, that has a primarily powdery soapy-carnation feel to it and a sweet-mossy-musky base. It doesn't last too long and generally comes across like an old-fashioned hotel soap (the reason of course being, that these were frequently fragranced with a standard fougère formula). It makes me want to wear a top hat and truly feels like from a different era, one that still lingers on in some increasingly obscure old-boy grooming products (like the Spanish Floid Aftershave) but has all but disappeared from the fashionable perfume world (although it is still echoed in a scent such as Burberry Brit for Men). Clearly it's hanging on in the Spanish and Spanish-speaking nicks of the wood though, just as Tabac Original is north of the Alps.

The leathery chypre Knize Ten is darker and heavier from the outset with its motor oil-floral combo, but the cousins share the dense clovey-woody powderiness of the heart, with a more textured florality in the Viennese scent and the serious sweetness of cinnamon, where Varòn's fern-floral is almost giddy and somewhat flat by direct comparison. The castoreum and leather notes create ever more depth where the Spaniard treads more lightly with sweet musk and amber, with just a smattering of moss, though the combination  does in fact create a suede-like effect. Varón Dandy has been described as a woody, leathery, animalic and oriental fragrance , so perhaps, in previous iterations, it was even closer to Knize than it is in its current state - oh to have a vintage bottle of Parera-made juice, which I suspect might have pulled more punch and contained more facets. As it is, the Spaniard is a paler, slightly anemic cousin to the Austrian Dandy, one whose tails have perhaps been a bit tattered from an awfully long history in the mass market, a fate of so many old timers that Knize Ten has yet miraculously avoided.Still - I like its old world aura and it would probably be considered less obnoxious by many a mainstream nose than Knize Ten. I imagine the infamous L'Air de Panache in Wes Anderson's Grand Budapest Hotel as being pretty close to Varón Dandy, even if Mark Buxton decided to render it as a Chypre.              

 

Source: http://www.vogue.com/866538/lair-de-panache-what-wes-andersons-fragrance-smells-like/