Salvador Dali Pour Homme

This is a fragrance foreseen in nightmares. I have a suspicion that this was what Colonel Walter E. Kurtz in Apocalypse Now was talking about when quoting "The horror! The horror!" from Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness". In a recently discovered letter from Howard Philips Lovecraft to Clark Ashton Smith, in which Lovecraft describes one of his nightmares, the following passage was surely portending the birth of an anomaly like Salvador Dali pour Homme, some 50 years before its coming. "...I dreamt of a dark pond amidst a desolated garden with long dead rose bushes. Its green, stagnant water was shimmering under an alien moon, emanating an unbearable foreboding of great evil. I was standing mesmerised in front of it, staring at its unfathomable depths, and completely unable to avert my eyes. And then I heard a cacophonous, orgiastic commotion of fifes coming from the ominous line of trees in the distance. And like answering to a call, the water begun to stir, like something unimaginably dreadful was about to emerge any moment. And along with the tumultuousness of the water, there came the smell...Oh dear God, the smell... With a terrifying feeling that something was standing right behind me, I woke up drenched in sweat, and shaking. The last thing I remember from my dream was a fleeting glimpse of a pair of pitch black lips over my shoulder, whispering "I shall find you..." And although I'm sure that it was my imagination playing tricks on me, I'd swear that for what felt like an eternity, although it was only a few seconds, the smell seemed to have followed me, filling my bedroom. God have mercy on us all, should this foulest of smells ever finds its way from the world of dreams to the world of the living." If one and only one creation of every art was to be displayed in a gallery dedicated to art's finest examples, then it should be no other than Salvador Dali pour Homme representing perfumery. I guess it would be redundant to say anything about its bottle, other than it's the most bizarre and surrealistic vessel ever used to contain a fragrance. But since we're talking about Señor Dali, I also guess that this shouldn't come as surprise. I'll just add that this is not a bottle that anyone would like to sleep in the same room with. Perhaps Henry S. Whitehead's short story "The Lips" could give a good reason why. But if the bottle is bizzare one time, what's inside it simply doesn't have anything analogous in the known universe. I simply can't describe how it smells like, because I don't know what I'm smelling. But whatever it is, it is something on a titanic scale. Words like notes, sillage and longevity have absolutely no meaning here. Maybe this is the reason why it took Thierry Wasser 13 years to create another fragrance. Maybe he was someplace hiding, terrified after he realised what he had unleashed upon the world. For this is one of the very few scents, of which when I trace a whiff of them in the air, I wouldn't want to meet the one wearing it. I could swear that the air around me becomes thicker every time I dare to spray a single shot on me. And judging by their body language, I could also swear that it changes people's behaviour towards me when I'm wearing it. It's like they sense an undercurrent of hostility coming in spindrifts. And it makes an otherwise friendly smile looking beguiling in the light of day, and dangerous after dark. It is a scent that defies the senses and all the usual ways of perceiving a scent, and speaks directly to the soul. Or threatens to steal it...

On my first wearing of Dalí pour homme since at least 1991, I have to say it brings back quite a few memories. I remember it being a bit polarising back then, when it was an upmarket scent that "everyone" tried (not to mention the fact that it was much more limited what you could choose from). This was the era of the black and white bottle of Jazz from YSL, Fahrenheit, Ungaro pour homme, etc. I can hardly remember anything from "noble" houses like Chanel, Guerlain, Givenchy etc. being popular at all. They must have been taken aback by the daring experimenting that was going on in the artsy decade that was the 1980s, I can easily se before me some desperate board meetings whith people in elegant suits smoking and bickering heftily. Dalí pour homme pretends to be a fougère and has a base that I would say is more than just *inspired* by Drakkar Noir. Listing the various notes that the houses (and Fragrantica) do is often incredibly misleadning, however. You will not believe me without trying, because if you read that list, DN and SDPH would have little in common. But they do. Salvador Dalí pour homme has a timestamp and a signature that makes me wonder at moments if I am only being melancholic or if I really still love the scent, because your natural first reaction is that it is like trying to hook up with a girl you were a bit in love with when you were Adrian Mole, aged 13 3/4. But I realise I was and am still Profoundly in Love With Pandora and with this scent. It is a fantastic experience to wear it, and everything I loved about it comes back to me. Where Drakkar Noir at least in the current version leaves you wondering what really sets it apart from numerous shower gels and spray deos from the era (Lynx/Axe anyone?), SDPH is a masterpiece of delusion and surrealism that has withstood the test of time. It is full of surprises, it is youthful, it is tongue in cheek, it is old money, it is yuppy and gaudy, it is elegance and decadence. It makes you doubt for a moment if you are wearing a masculine scent at all because wow, you are Driving Miss Daisy, and she smells of Jicky plus talcum. Or is it you? What is going on? But then via, say, Hermès' Twilly – a more recent women's perfume that has a solid base – something animalic starts growling, You start oozing of multiple Chuck Norrises, Tom Sellecks and Sylvester Stallones, all doing what they mostly did back then. Everything can be McGyvered. After that, you realise what kind of a complex thing life can be. And you accept it. The process is over in seconds, and you realise that the capacity for appreciating art is the only thing that can really make you mature and learn to know yourself. You realise how worthless experience is without the ability to see yourself and the world from the outside – in all its messy beauty that is both extremely elegant and crude at once. You can now face anything, at least for several hours, and whatever life throws at you is already in your bubble so you can happily reject it, accept it or both. Salvador Dalí pour homme is a Schrödinger's scent. And yours. And someone else's. Everything, everywhere, all at once.

This... Is an odd one. Salvador Dalí pour homme is dark, warm, heavy and intense. It is very dark, warm, heavy and intense. Very intense. This is unapologetically masculine, but not in the way that Polo Green or Quorum are masculine, where youre almost wearing the smell of a sledgehammer of pine, tobacco and leather hitting people in the face. Dalí is so smooth and rounded that it could almost be a women's scent, if it wasn't for the fact that it is most definitely not a women's scent. Dalí is not masculine in the way of a lumberjack or a bareknuckle boxer, it is masculine in the way of Javier Bardem in Vicky Christina Barcelona - a man who wont think twice about cordially fondling another man's sweaty chest while having a conversation with him, because he is man enough to do it. But while Dalí is very rounded, don't be fooled into thinking it is not potent. It is. Very. Potent. I have worn this on my chest, under a shirt, under a suit, and the lapel of my jacket smelled of Dalí for weeks afterwards. And this is not just a matter of longevity, it is also a matter of sillage. The description 'fills a room' might seem like hyperbole, but it is not in this case. Dalí is a fragrance that announces your arrival at a function, before you enter. It is the fragrance of a man who doesn't mind that everybody knows he is wearing perfume (not cologne, not aftershave, not fragrance or any other coded language to avoid the word perfume, because it seems to feminine). It is the fragrance of a man that prefers everyone to know that he wears perfume. It is one to be worn with confidence. Now, one spray is enough (some would say too much), but this juice almost demands two sprays - because let's face it, you're not fooling anyone anyway - maybe even three sprays. Four sprays... you die. But you will leave a very fragrant corpse. And while you're at it, you might as well open the third button on your shirt as well, because you're going to smell like a man who does - but not in the same way as if you were wearing Paco Rabanne One Million - Dalí is very classily inappropriate. In other words, Savador Dalí pour homme does indeed smell like it was designed by a nose, that has lost some of it's potency - but none of its sophistication - due to excessive tobacco consumption, which the designer's photo here on Fragrantica suggests might in fact be the case. As such, it pairs excellently with cigarette smoke, and is in fact enhaced by it - at least to my tobacco addled nose. Now, if you're intrigued by this description but don't want yourself, your clothes and everything in a 10-15 yard radius to smell like a sweaty, inappropriately dressed, slightly sexually ambiguous Spaniard, then I suggest you spring for the aftershave. That one smells just as good, is rather classy, and doesn't project beyond an arms length. However, if you want an adventure. If you want the full experience. Go for the EDT. I promise you, you won't regret it... Unless you hate it of course, which is a very real possibility.

Recently found a box of old possessions, including a number of very old fragrances - L'Egoïste (the very first version of Egoïste), Antaeus and the very first release of Salvador Dalì pour Homme. Note: the original Salvador Dalì pour Homme and the current, reformulated version are two entirely different, totally unrelated fragrances. This is about the original civet-heavy Salvador Dalì pour Homme from 1987, not the current pretender of the same name Enraptured, and in a haze of nostalgia, I removed Mae West's lips (they're not really hers but hers were the lips Dalì is best known for) from the flacon to give it a good shake (as I always do for any fragrance that's been sitting for years and years) and suddenly realised it wasn't a vaporisateur but a splash-on ... I had just inadvertently splashed on a hefty dose Flashback to the late 1980s. Whoa! Animalic, aromatic, fougère. Civet and oakmoss make the first impression, and the dry down is quite lovely. People often describe this as "dark", and "gothic" - but I've always thought of it as majestic, sumptuous and more than just a bit "out there". First got this many years ago as a pretentious teenage Fine Arts student - used to wear this with a dinner jacket or a morning coat. During the day. Of all the fragrances released under his name this is the only one that feels authentically Dalì - as well as a brilliant artist best known of the Surrealists, Dalì was a bit of a weirdo, obsessed with genitalia and body fluids yet a devout Catholic, rewarded by Spanish dictator Francisco Franco for his unwavering loyalty to the Fascist regime (that endured until 1976) with a noble title: he became the Marqués de Dalì - in stark contrast to his contemporary Pablo Picasso, an implacable opponent of Fascism and of el Caudillo (Franco), and who lived and died in exile. Anyhow, Dalì is best known for his art, and this is a community united by the love of fine fragrance - even those associated with supporters of an oppressive, murderous dictatorship. This has clearly been reformulated because above the notes list has absolutely nothing to do with the authentic Dalì pour Homme I know and love. The original version, which I have, is a civet bomb. An atomic bomb. Dalì pour Homme is quite possibly the most civet-y fragrance I've ever owned. Compared to this stuff, Kouros and Furyo are like cordial for a little girls' tea party. From the reviews below there seems to be a lot of confusion about the old and new versions of Dalì pour Homme - some folks don't seem to realise that the original version is absolutely nothing like the version whose notes are listed above. They are two completely different fragrances - despite sharing the same name. Why isn't there a separate listing for the original version like there is for Versace's The Dreamer and other radical reformulations? Bad Fragrantica!

“Of all the five senses, without a doubt, smell is the one that best conveys the feeling of immortality.” — Salvador Dalí The fragrance is, by its very nature, deeply intriguing. Once you try it, you begin to understand where many directions in men’s perfumery originate from. And that’s no surprise — it was created by Thierry Wasser, who, as far as I know, is the first and only person in the house of Guerlain not belonging to the family to reach such a high position That alone says a lot: for decades, his work has been shaping the direction of high-end luxury and even niche perfumery. As for the fragrance itself, the story is similar. At its core, it feels entirely niche — just take a look at the original formula or even the note breakdown. And yet, this is not quite about that Dalí — not the young man who, in an attempt to impress Gala, covered himself in a mixture of mud, excrement, and fish guts, appearing before her as a symbol of primal, wild, almost shocking sincerity. This is also about the older Dalí, already suffering from Parkinson’s, who despite his weakness still commanded awe, making people tremble before his legend and grandeur. And it is also the Dalí who, while publicly cultivating the image of an eccentric and reclusive genius, would travel to Gala’s castle in Púbol — the very one he bought and rebuilt for her — a place he himself could only visit by her written invitation. This fragrance is a contradiction. Utterly unique for its time. An excessively green, deliberately intense opening, followed by a cohesive early base that feels almost modern in structure, and finally a dark, balsamic, almost gothic drydown. The animalic aspect is not overt — it is woven into both the overwhelming opening and the base. The closest comparison would be Zino by Davidoff — but there’s a catch: it only resembles the opening of this fragrance. A special mention must be made of its “pharmaceutical” facet — something truly unique. Following my earlier analogy, the medicinal notes evolve from something modern and polished to something resembling early alchemy — formaldehydic and alcoholic in character. Peppermint oil. Ethanol infused with phenobarbital. It makes sense to search for a vintage version. The modern release, while preserving the essence and heart of the fragrance, feels flatter and lacks longevity. That said, credit must be given to the Emirates for acquiring the brand — without them, this fragrance might not exist today at all, especially at such an accessible price. The bottle is a separate topic altogether — I won’t even begin. I’ll just say this: this fragrance is absolutely essential for anyone who appreciates and studies the history of perfumery.