Ménage a Trois: it’s a man’s world.

This time round, we’re trying out our threesome in a butch style, reviewing two iconic men’s scents (P: Is this mantalk for phallic?): Chanel’s à‰goà¯ste and Creed’s Green Irish Tweed, both frequently the subject of discussion over on Basenotes. How do they measure up (P: aha, it is!) with the Posse?First then, Green Irish Tweed. Apparently created in 1985 and, according to Creed, enjoyed by a range of people from Prince Charles to Naomi Campbell, GIT contains notes of lemon, sandalwood and ambergris.

March: I don’t spend a ton of time smelling men’s product, and I’m married to Mr. Dial Soap. So the good/bad thing is, I can’t smell this and think of all the ways it does/doesn’t remind me of a gazillion other men’s scents. I browsed Basenotes and am amazed at the number of reviews it garners: not all positive, but jeez. For some folks this is the ultimate long, hot, throbbing (okay I’ll stop there.) Are you ready? It smelled fine to me. I’m not feeling the whole “wear it to the boardroom” thing, really. The VPs are wearing this because they want to smell rich, like the country club lawn. (The CEO is wearing Yatagan, or some weird chick scent, and whip marks on his back under his bespoke shirt, because Mistress says he’s been a bad, bad boy.) I wore GIT to the gym, the grocery store and Target, and nobody said much. It does not have the Creed base, that sour, bitter note I don’t care for. I get plenty of sweet citrus up front — hello, bergamolemonverbena — and then it settles down into generic Eau de Dude, on the green side, a little grassy, somethin’ leafy, no monster sillage. It’s not really unisex, but it’s not like wearing a jockstrap, either. The guy next door in the cube farm could do worse. I didn’t become damp with desire.

Patty: I’m probably not going to hate this as much as March and Lee since this is the first time I smelled it, but I can certainly see how being in a pub full of fellows wearing it would send me out in the street looking for some fresh air and celibacy. It’s crisp and bracing and really does suck up all the other smells around you. I don’t think it’s entirely horrible at all, but I don’t really like it either. So now what happens to me? Does Basenotes send their Perfume Thugs over to pay a visit? All Things Creed have such mindless adoration an enthusiastic following there, I’m afeared for my nose. :::shakes in out-of-style Ugg boots::::

Lee: GIT is the perfume thug and a more appropriate acronym would be hard to find. It’s the epitome of all I hate in a scent – sharp, overly-assertive, overpowering. There’s something wrong with me, cos I just don’t get how anyone could actually enjoy this. I like some of those in-yer-face 80s scents, but not this one. And it has that awful modern Creed accord – like hot metal or a chemical factory in meltdown. Okay, to be fair to the noxious juice, there are one or two notes in there that are potentially attractive, but this blooms like the plant in Little Shop of Horrors when it hits skin and doesn’t stop growing in intensity. Any man who needs to overcompensate this much might want to hunt down a good implant surgeon or just get a sports car.

Now onto à‰goà¯ste. Released by Chanel in 1990, it contains notes of coriander, sandalwood and ambrette seed.

Patty: When this first went on, I thought…. ew!!!! It’s everything I hate in a scent! It was like a blast of Satan’s breath, but as it warms up on the skin, it morphs into a damn fine scent, the coriander and ambrette seed are pretty brilliant. After No. 18, I’m fast becoming a fan of the ambrette seed. I get its iconic status now. Is this discontinued? I think Mister Patty would smell pretty great in it. And now I’m going to have to shower and reapply it because I spritzed on GIT on the other arm, and it jumped across to the other arm and strangled Egoiste to death. WTF?! Vicious little scent.

Lee: If you’re a chic metropolitan European like me I wish I was, you’d have smelled this everywhere in the 1990s. Just as trendy fin de siecle folk were starting to wear all natural fabrics (jute sack, anyone?) in non-shades like ecru, Chanel launched this counterstrike against bland. And it’s a palpable hit: starts off like medicine with a bit of a dirty accord (the reason it failed in cotton-clean USA?), then dries down to a variation on Bois des Iles. I had to teach myself to like this again – those first few notes remind me of reckless living a little too strongly, and it is without a doubt a decadent scent. It’s supposed to have mandarin and rosewood in the topnotes as well, but I can’t pick up on them – in fact, it’s one of those seamless blends where the whole is a long way from its components, though I guess the sandalwood is pretty clearly marked. I’ve learned to love it again. It ain’t butch, it ain’t manly, but it is right.

March: Wow. What else is in there? I’ve never smelled this before; all the stores around here carry a flanker (Egoiste Platinum?) which I’m assuming has some silly “fresh” accord to make it more, you know, sportif (note from L: not actually a flanker – an entirely different scent). I wouldn’t have identified this as a masculine scent; it seems very unisexy to me. The same elegant, slightly chilly elan of the Rue Cambon collection, with more weight and sillage. I’m not crazy about ambrette, which can have an almost acrid feel to me, like rancid wine, but this is different. It definitely opens with something citrus/juicy, and there’s a spicy, dusty floral aspect to it that reminds me of Paestum Rose, only less pugnacious and less sweet (L: you’re good March – rose and carnation are supposed to be in there, alongside the ole mandarino in the top…). I’m giving it two thumbs up. I do wonder whether most men find it too feminine? (An aside: Didn’t Egoiste do those goofy TV ads years ago, where the guy’s leaving the apartment and the hot, semi-naked babe is yelling after him, “Egoiste!!” which I assumed was French for a–hole… and what kind of message is that? Fragrance For The Chump Who Leaves?) [Third pompous note from L: it was a whole load of ladyfolk opening the shutters on some shabbychic mansion yelling out the perfume name to some unseen philanderer…] {P jealous of editorial sidenotes L leaves for M and huffs some Vetiver Tonka to calm down}

Final whine from L: can we do more men’s stuff, posse?

March: Not unless you send me pictures of you wearing a dress.

Patty: No, and an even bigger Nyet if you DO send pictures of you wearing a dress. Send Colin Firth instead, I have an open position for him to fill.

March: Hahahahahahahaha!!! Okay, going to wash my mind out with soap.

Lee: You smutmuffin Patty! Dial soap, March? But that’ll just get you thinking of hubbahubba hubby… Sheesh, these men’s scents have got both of your saps arising…

[image from http://autrynationalcenter.org]