Parfums de Marly

„A powerful, almost tempestuous opening that leaves no doubt about its nature and immediately sets the pace of a true nobleman. Spicy herbs and refreshing notes unite in a resolute duel of the elements, while at the beginning a hint of apple flashes like a green gemstone through the alchemical mist. Yet, as the fleeting fragrant spirits fade and the elixir bonds with the skin, nothing remains but pure, masculine power—proud, striking, and of unyielding presence. This fragrance wondrously whisks me back to the days of my youth, when I once purchased a sporty scented water from the house of Adidas within the walls of Berlin's Drospa, a long-vanished drugstore chain. Whether it was truly that elixir, I can no longer say with certainty today; yet the memory stirs like yellowed parchment unfolded once more in the candlelight after years. A scent for the man of the world—resolute in demeanor, dignified in nature, and with the unmistakable aura of a gentleman who needs no grand words to make his strength known.“

„A most lovely fragrance elixir, as warm and gentle as a woolen cloak on frosty winter days, as sweet as the confections of princely banquets. Lovely vanilla forms the heart of this alchemical brew, caressed by a praline-like sweetness that coats the senses like golden honey. A most comforting unisex scent, belonging neither to man nor woman alone, but revealing its sweet magic to all alike. Repeatedly I let the essence linger upon my skin, yet it always revealed to me predominantly vanilla, praline, and an almost fairytale sweetness—as though an alchemist had united nature's sweetest treasures within a single vial. In its later drydown, I occasionally seem to perceive a distant kinship to Drunk Lovers from the house of Borntostandout, as if both scents had once rested in the same secret cauldron, forging a pact of sweet temptation.“

„Woe, woe! Nevermore can I approach this concoction with a sober mind and an unbiased judgment. For scarcely does a single drop of the elixir rise from the atomizer and enter through my nasal portals into the inner chambers of my body, when a most wondrous lever is thrown within the labyrinthine halls of my garret. That lever, concealed beneath seven seals and guarded by the demons of my own unsoundness of mind, unlocks an ancient drawer in the rearmost, mustiest chamber of my scarred spirit. Therein rests, amid dusty parchments and long-forgotten fragments of memory, an association of downright alchemical inevitability: By all the powers of heaven and the infernal arts of distillation—to my nose, this perfume seemeth naught else but the blue deodorant from the house of Dove! And thus any pretense of objectivity crumbles into dust, ere the fragrance can even fully work its art.“