Highschool Hallway (ROUND 4)
Let’s workshop this poem about betrayal at a coming-of-age pool party thrown by a girl whose parents are out of town
scent of the day: Beach Hut Man, by Amouage
Owned this scent for awhile but I have yet to formulate a thorough review. Here are my notes.
Ivy-vine mint fougere with unripe plantain woodiness / Right in the extended family of Mousse Illuminée, Tuscany Per Uomo, Dryad, and so on—but this one is the most futuristic and clean of them all / It is also the only one with unripe plantain (that, as the scent sweetens, becomes like plantain chips) and ivy vine and mint/ even though I like Mousse (especiallky for its quality oakmoss) and Dryad (especially for its combo of artistry and ingredients) better as scents, this is clearly the most expertly blended—every note corralled into one neat aim / it is almost oo neat though, like writign that has gone through creative writing workshop (like the same minimalist dreck in todays climate: “He was a good man. A saint. In part a sinner. But in whole an ally.” /
Some people with not like ivy but through this it is definitely one of the best green notes / it might even be one of my favorites notes (perhaps up there with black pepper and vetiver) / Has vegetal verdancy of Dryad and orange blossom brightness of Tuscany and Irish Spring soap of Mousse but none of the fungal aspects of Mousse and especially Dryad—indeed, even its vetiver is more like space-grown grass on one of those centrifugal-gravity space stations / That is my image—a spinning centrifugal space station where a jungle scenario is recreated and it is where the neo-rastafarians of willamn gibsons Neuromancer live) / Unlike Mousse and Dryad we are not brought to dewy moss on bark in an enchanted forest but something much more sunny and bright and futuristic—a forerunner of Amouage’s Purpose /
A mint-and-ivy fragrance of near radioactive verdancy and oomph, Beach Hut Man hits the ground running with grass-and-peas galbanum together with a few cooling mint leaves and even fewer sweet petals of orange blossom pestled in a mortar out of which within minutes blooms a barbershop ivy that at first teeters on getting too soapy (Irish Spring)—an ivy whose cells are so water-engorged that, with the help of rainforest floor foot-rot dampness (dewy moss, dank patchouli), it seems to creep up around the scent-bubble wall, creating a machete-trail jungle impression that goes more into a peaty bog impression (no doubt reinforced by the Irish Spring connection) as smokey-sweet-resinous elements (vetiver, myrrh, patchouli) become more prominent and the humidity levels drop (never to the point of foliage browning) from the peppery contribution of dry woods like cedar and sandalwood / after realistic mint fades too quickly in beach hut we get galbanum grass and vegetable quality, the bitter ivy there from the beginning coming out more explicitly in drydown until a woody resinous base of myrrhh is left with echoes of the earlier green nuances / like everyone says: its name with a fragrance that brings to mind a secluded jungle retreat rather than a breezy seaside hut/ The performance is remarkable, with a strong projection that lasts hours, making it ideal for cool spring and fall days, though it may become overwhelming in humid summer weather / more contemplative than it seems by the hype and by the jungle vibrancy with which it opens, but it becames more prominent in the last-stage bog period (especially after many wears)/
Extremely green, and so is important for my dark dark dark collection / but really it is so green that it almost becomes dark through the back door, not like Mousse but rather in the way that light can become so intense that it is blinding / did not like that much at first (and its popularity and deep deep love did not help that), but I opened up (like with a lot of niche fragrances, especially at beginning of journey, you need to submit yourself to be worthy of them—and like a lot of Amouage, but I cannot always say this about other houses, you are in good hands to submit / boy what I would give for the chong-era Amouage to do a version of some of my favorites that in some way or other seem marred: Laudano Nero for example by synthetics / I am glad I gave this one a chance because it not only has massive power even for its widely-acknowledged reformulated current state, but awesome galbanum (which has grown on me especially with the help of reckless leather opus vii) and a lovely mint and an unforgettable benchmark-worthy ivy.
Bamboo reeds / incensy drydown / bright green / Wholefoods artisanal toothpaste (the neo rasta men in the space station use this green mint pulp toothpaste) / eating plantain chips / unique / beastly / seems like a really good cyber rendition of a bamboo jungle hut overgrown with ivy and mint, somewhat futuristic like Purpose in that way
Highschool Hallway The terminal liquor-cabinet visuals from the pool party you, queen of the cucumber challenge (“Bitch a freak— fuckin deep wit it!”), could never tell your mom you threw loop, datamoshed: splintered by vomit tears, smothered by the slaver-strung scrotums of jump-cut classmates impatient for another stab at the very throat that became the last bunker of I'm-running-this-show agency before it turned on you like every other hole, retching as the swarm heckling skull-side (“Bitch sloppy wit it”) escalated itself into nose-pinching abandon—“White bitch crazy tight!” devolving tailbone-side into “Dayum, nasty bitch shittin!” Some girls get saved. Others get creamed in airdrop HD. Yet among those filming—much more than filming, gonzo journalism the only non-supernatural explanation for the sheer volume of coagulated gak gluing every crease in the bloody dawn's short-lived tranquility of birdsong over the wash of the pool-pump drone—one face, phone vying for angles at a guilt-diffusive remove close enough still to land his own splats (“Mm”), will not stop surfacing like a Polaroid into the face of a day-one friend, the one there to help you clean up later that day, moaning ecstasy (“Oh fuck yeah, fuuuck”) away from your molesting eyes.