It's this quality, coupled with the fact that it's discontinued, sought-after and commanding outrageous prices that makes me love this fragrance and hate it as well. I had a bottle a few years ago, as well as a few minis, that I sold off because they sat in my parfum cabinet like an enshrinement. I would periodically sneak a spray here and there and revel in it, but was unwilling to give it full wearings after a while because I felt I was wasting it. Once I realized the folly of this obsession for Patou Pour Homme, I mustered up the courage and then promptly sold them off.
It was the right thing to do. I am wearing this as we speak and yes, it was the right thing to do. Even though there's nothing genuinely sensual about this fragrance, to me it's the equivalent of liquid sex. There's no rhyme or reason for that statement except it is borderline perfect and pushes the buttons on my pleasure centers. Kerleo, for all his achievements, will go down in the books for this one. Of that I am certain.
Patou Pour Homme is a combination of Fougere and Oriental and embodies one of the two best openings I've come across. The other belongs to Honorah's Pancaldi, which is in the same category and both exhibit the smoothest green top accords you're likely to stumble upon.
Patou has to be tried as opposed to hearing myself and others rave about how damn good it is. Those who gravitate towards more modern creations may find PPH a bit stodgy, but to those who have a wide palette will be amazed that this was made and marketed as a mainstream designer.
I have no inclination to perform a fragrance autopsy like I normally do when reviewing. This is fabulous and will NEVER be repeated. Read it and weep. Jean Kerleo rocks for all time because of what he envisioned in 1980. It deserves all the praise you read.
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