Classic Values ~Kouros by YSL: fragrance review

Kouros : how misrepresented you are. I almost feel pity... Or perhaps not. Because it has been over applied and misused by many, it earned a reputation of no less than "piss" (enter the comment of a character in the indie film “The locals” who says so, when the other guy slips a bottle of Kouros out of the glove compartment saying girls at work like it). Yet I still love it in small doses!

Someone I know who actually did work for Yves Saint Laurent back in his heyday had a little anecdote on its creation to share: when Yves visited Greece in the 1970s he made a stop at Sounion/Sunium, that cape at the edge of Attica with the famous Poseidon temple {click to see an atmospheric photo and here for a more classical one}. This temple is situated at an advantageous point for surveillance of the Aegean in case of a potential enemy fleet and formed part of the Holy Triangle, marked by three major temples (Aegina island – Athens – Sounion cape). The day was bright, the sea ahead was azure blue, the columns of the temple stood imposingly solid. The only etchings on the marble then were those of Lord Byron who obviously felt the need to leave his name on a piece of antiquity: see, vandalism was not unknown even back then, even if Byron assisted the country’s National Revolution. It must have made an impression: he quoted Sounion in Don Juan ~

"Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
Where the waves and I can only
hear
Our mutual murmurs sweep
There, swanlike, let me sing and die."

But I digress... Yves contemplated the view and was inspired to recreate the feeling in a perfume. The progressive sketches he made were of stylized columns that little by little became the austere white image of the bottle we know today. "Living Gods have their perfume: Kouros", ran the advertising campaign.

Kouros the name was in keeping with the Greek theme: Kouros (plural kouroi) is an iconographic type of the archaic Greek sculpture of 6th century BC that featured the famous archaic smile. A statue of a young man, in the nude, with one leg slightly protruding before the other, it gives the impression of motion that is about to happen any minute now.
Kouros, the fragrance, composed by the great Pierre Bourdon (Iris Poudre, Ferre by Ferre, Dolce Vita, Cool Water) launched in 1981 and became iconic of that period winning a FiFi award the next year and holding a place in bestsellers for years to come. With its intense, pungent almost orangey blast of the coriander opening it segues on to warm clove, sensual oakmoss and a touch of ambergris (that infamous whale byproduct that is so hard to come by) and infamously civet, managing to smell both sweet and bitter at the same time, urinous with sage, quite powdery which is unusual for men’s scents; insolent, animalic, audacious, almost Gordon Gekko! The drydown is like freshly washed hair on a sweaty body.

It is usually recommended to all ages, but frankly I can not picture it on the very, very young, nor the old. It's best in between: a little experience is necessary, but not that much! To be rediscovered by a new generation pretty soon. I just wish they came up with a feminine version of this one : if it’s so common to do so with women’s perfumes, then why not with men’s?

The Flanker Fragrances of Kouros

The original Kouros is one of the fragrances with the most "flankers" over the years (flankers are new, often wildly different fragrances coat-tailing on the success of a best-seller using the name and bottle design in new twists, as devised by the company). These tried to lighten up the load of the odoriferous original. The experiment started with Kouros Eau de Sport in 1986 (now discontinued) and Kouros Fraîcher in 1993 which added bergamot, orange blossom and pineapple, while still remaining the closest to the original.
From 2000 onwards, interest picked up, a comparable case as with Opium, and parfums YSL launched Body Kouros composed by Annick Menardo (of Bulgari Black fame) in a black bottle goving a twist through vibrant eucalyptus on the top notes and adding Camphor-wood and Benzoin to the drydown, the latter's sweet caramel vibe clashing with the mentholated notes of the former.
Kouros Eau d'Ete in 2002 plays on blue-mint, rosemary and cedarwood and comes in a clear ice-blue bottle. Kouros Cologne Sport came out in 2003 and relied on cedrat, bergamot and tangerine for the top with the florancy of jasmine and cyclamen in the heart. Neither of those really resembles the original ~which is either good or bad according to your reaction on the latter.

Kouros Cologne Sport Eau d'Éte sounds a little like they ran out of words (cologne, sport and summery!): it launched in 2004 as a limited edition in a gradient blue bottle (predictably). Yet another limited edition Kouros Eau d'Ete launched in 2005, with just a marginal play on the box.
The latest was the Kouros Tattoo Collector (2007), another limited edition: lighter and with a peppery accent it comes in an Eau Tonique concentration which fits somewhere between Eau de Toilette and Apres-Rasage/aftershave. And what about the tattoo? Well, it came along with two temporary tattoos in the box. Booh, if you're going to be serious about anything, get a real one, please!
This year sees a gradient bottle of blue (again!) with the tag Kouros Energising. Ooouff! Enough!

So, what do you think of Kouros? Love it or hate it?

Image of Archaic kouros from Getty museum, pics of ads by Parfumdepub

Chypre series 6 ~Masculine chypres: does such a thing exist?

In this month of chypres examination and discussion, Perfume Shrine pondered on their origin, their composition, the modern variations, their aesthetics and the relation they have to the zeitgeist (Click on the links to go to respective subject).
It was about time we focused on the question whether there are indeed masculine fragrances that fall into this category of chypre.
The matter arises because most of the frequently mentioned chypre perfumes are feminine, if you think about it. We also attribute traditionally perceived feminine characteristics to them, such as elegance or sartorial sophistication (for some reason this wouldn't resonate with the Italian man, but I digress).
And the subcategories of floral or fruity within chypre often predispose one to think into such terms, although the seasoned perfumed lover is not restricted by such artificial limitations pertaining to gender.

Like we discussed before Chypre relies on the juxtaposition of bergamot and oakmoss, with the traditional inclusion of labdanum and usually of patchouli or vetiver. There is a comparable fragrance family for men, called Fougère (pronounced foozh-AIR), the French word for fern. In reality this is a fantasy accord because ferns have no real scent of their own. Fougère fragrances have fresh herbaceous notes, juxtaposing lavender with oakmoss on a fern-like base, with an element of Coumarin (the smell of freshly mown hay, naturally found in tonka bean, the seed of a West African tree which contains up to 40% of it).
Masculine fragrances have usually gone the route of the fougère when trying to recreate a forest floor impression instead of chypre, perhaps due to the fact that chypre perfumes have been marketed to women, or because they often included floral elements which are traditionally thought of as feminine in the 20th century (albeit not before!).

Classification is rather dubious territory, as there are countless exempla of diversifications according to the source. Open any guide or reference site and you will see the differences leaping to the eye. Therefore the following is only an attempt to examine whether there is any logical base in attributing scents to this or that odorous category.

For starters, the matter of whether leathery scents are a subdivision of chypres (as they do mostly contain the basic accord)or a seperate category termed Leather/Cuir (according to the French Society of Perfumers) is significant. Going by that leathery and oftentimes tobacco scents very often do smell rather more masculine; such as the various Cuir de Russie versions (Chanel, Creed, Piver etc), Miss Balmain and Jolie madame by Balmain, Caron's fierce Yatagan and smoky Tabac Blond , or Bandit by Piguet, lost semi-legend Jules by Dior and Bel Ami by Hèrmes. You will notice that there is a proliferation of both -marketed as- masculine and feminine scents in the above. Should we or shouldn't we classify them under chypre? The matter remains open for discussion.

Another cross-polination happens, involving woody undertones.
An example that would implicate those as well as a whiff of leathery castoreum is Antaeus by Chanel. Decidely butch, pheromonic almost and a powerhouse, it came out in 1981 by in-house perfumer Jacques Polge. It contains the pungency of male sweat and animalistic nuances with honeyed touches and much as I love it, I can't bring myself to don it on my person. The official notes listed (clary sage, lavender, myrrtle, labdanum, patchouli) do not include the classic accord of chypre despite the cool opening on an earthy animalistic background, yet one is hit with such a composition that might remind one of the family.
Shiseido's Basala is another one, as well as the original Armani Pour Homme.
There is some argument that coniferous elements such as pine essence as witnessed in Pino Sylvestre could be included in a subdivision of chypre.

The flip side of this confusion would be the lighter citrusy notes that might blurr the line between hesperidic and chypre. As chypre compositions contain a discernible citrusy pong via the inlusion of Calabrian bergamot, the notion isn't too far off.
Chanel Pour Monsieur could be such an example. Elegant, refined, conceived while Coco Chanel was still alive, it pays tribute to all the famous men she had known. Created in 1951 by Henri Robert, second nose in la maison Chanel after legendary Ernest Beaux, it plays on a sharp and clean citrusy top that includes lemon, petit grain (the essence rendered from the twigs and leaves of the Seville bitter orange tree, Citrus aurantium) and neroli (the distilled essence of the flowers). It then segues to spicy notes of cardamon and white pepper that invite you closer, only to end on a whiff of cedar and vetiver that retains freshness and discretion for the wearer. Perhaps citrus-aromatic would be a closer categorisation.

And there are various decidedly masculine propositions that reek of the pungency of patchouli and vetiver, notes that are so much used for the modern chypres of the last few years.

Givenchy Gentleman, which is sometimes described as a woody oriental, is a beast of a patchouli perfume that remains untamed even though its name would suggest hand kisses and opening doors for you. He does, but then ravages you, ripping your bra off.
The original Aramis for Men could be another case in point, especially given -again!- the suave name that would belie its intentions that open on a crisp note of artemisia and bergamot. It has of course intense woodiness too, thanks to sandal, but with the elements of a classic chypre in place as well. Coupled with a pinstripe suit it goes out to the City to trade stocks and in the lunch break goes off for supposedly a gym session that is in reality an illicit tryst.
Why do such powerful and assertive masculine fragrances are given names that imply a more gentle approach? This could be the subject of another post...


For the time being, please offer your suggestions on masculine chypres and the reason why you classify them thus.

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