Stetson Sierra

If I said this smells like a fizzy pine tree would you understand? Because it does. It smells alive. It smells like it is in motion. It isn’t quiet reflection in a forest. It is running through the forest, branches whipping past you. It is unique and it’s too bad it has been discontinued, because it had something to it that was rare, a pulse.

Just found some 1.5oz bottles on clearance at Walmart for $7ea and grabbed three of them. It's the best $21 I've spent at Walmart in a while. I absolutely love Steston Sierra and I think this wonderful fragrance should be in everyones collection. I highly recommend!

I have not been able to find this in stores or online anymore. I emailed Coty and its official.. This great cologne has been discontinued.

This stuff starts with a great subdued foresty opening, both because of its low concentration and because of an interesting lack of sharp top notes. A sort of sharpness later develops which is very solventy...it smells (and burns) more like alcohol 5 minutes after application than it did 5 seconds after, which is really strange. Gradually a sweetness creeps in which I didn't detect in the first few minutes, which in part is fruity: banana-like and metallic in the same way as the sweetness in Acier Aluminium, though of course not as well-executed. The rest of the sweetness is provided by wintergreen. At this stage, I think of household cleaner...maybe this is the Pinesol aspect that people say they smell in a lot of foresty scents. As the drydown progresses, the most off-putting element probably is the wintergreen because it's too mouthwashy. The other issue is, how did those steel bananas find their way into what used to be such a beautiful forest.

When I was at school in the mid-70s, our Form teacher, who was also Head of French, used to arrive each morning as if he had just taken a bath in 'Brut-33, Splash-on'. A podgy, stocky, red-faced, irascible bully of a man, 'Sir' possessed a characteristic gait similar to that of 'Policeman Plod' as his feet pointed outwards beyond 45-degrees, making him an 'easy-target' for 'us boys' as we conferred him with the somehow befitting moniker of, 'Penguin'. Teenagers can be so creative, yet naughty and cruel all at the same time. Still, 'Sir' - a veritable 'product' of Britain's former good old 'National Service' - arguably deserved our contempt, as he was behaviourally predisposed to violence, both physical and psychological, often shouting with rage and furious anger when, typically, he caught an inattentive boy doodling: "Pay attention, boy!" he would bellow, "or I will hand out slabs of persecution!" And without further ado, whilst habitually weilding a size 12 old 'Dunlop "Greenflash"' tennis shoe for added menace, 'Sir' would accost the said pupil forcibly, as he tried to discover the now quickly hidden collection of cartoon-sketched, dripping knobs and pussies 'Smith' had been industriously drawing, instead of paying attention to the French lesson in which we were meant to learn how to conjugate verbs. Moreover, despite 'Sir's' daily application of Faberge's popular zeitgeist 'men's aftershave', come first-break, when we bundled back in to our form-room to get our books for the next lessons of 'double-chemistry' - an event noteworthy primarily for its relative state of tedium, as opposed to inspired learning, one was hit by a stench of gargantuan proportion: a Leviathan of a stink, as 'Sir's adrenaline, classroom-rage-generated B.O. and obnoxious pipe-smoke breath 'coloured' the airways further with the sweet fougere delights of Faberge's paradigm scent. This was duly exacerbated in Autumn and Spring terms as all the ancient iron-framed windows were hermetically sealed by decades of fossilised lead-based, gloss paint, together with the massive ironmongery of the archaic radiators gushing-out unrelenting, excessive heat like Satan's lair. Add to this environment, the combined odours of the 2 previous classes of hormonally labile, restlest teenage boys, and the result was indeed, 'pure chemistry', albeit of the most wantonly disgusting variety, especially if the last pupil exiting 'Room, 3A' had 'dropped one' just for purposes of boyish sport. Anyway, the point of this preamble is that for reasons apposite to my logging-on, here, I have sensed this odour of fear, bullying, rebellion, and strategies of retreat all last week, and, when at the gym this morning, I espied and then smelled someone spraying-on 'Stetson', it propelled me back to those 5th-year days in '76: 'Sir's "Brut"', his outrageous 'control-freak' bullying and the accompanying deeper stench of purulent dysfunction. It's funny what perfumes make you think! "Chin chin and au revoir!" Andyray