Kouros
Yves Saint Laurent (1981)

I was very fortunate to have come across two vintage bottles of Kouros for a steal many months ago, a 50mL splash from roughly 1986 to 1990 and a 50mL spray from roughly 1981 (the year Kouros was launched) to 1985. You won't have to twist my arm at all for me to lay some cash down for Kouros, particularly early formulations at the bargain price I got them for. Today I decided I need to do the real test on skin, after already testing them on blotters after I purchased them to verify they were in good shape. I will expound a bit about how these compare to the newer formulations from c. 2010 on (under the constant eyes, prying fingers, marketing wonks and spreadsheets of L'Oreal), but also how time and age have treated the same perfume produced at nearly the same time but in two different application formats.

On my left arm is the splash, and on my right arm is the spray. What I immediately notice is that the spray releases the top notes of coriander, sage, and artemisia in louder volumes. It is a pretty noticeable difference, but hardly a big difference. This does make the spray come across as a little bit more bitter, spicy, and sweaty than the splash, which, because these notes are a bit subdued in the splash by comparison, gives more room for the lavender note in the splash. This sort of animalic, herbal and very bitter, and sweaty accord, which calls to mind a dry ambrette seed accord, is toned down quite a bit with newer formulations. The new favor the easier note of herbal lavender. The artemisia and herbal bitterness is so loud and sharp in both the splash and the spray that I'm pretty sure I've gone somewhat - or even mostly - anosmic to it by the time both approach the first stage of dry down. In the splash the opening accord lasts longer, probably because the perfume went on my arm more thickly. After about two hours I'm still smelling it with the splash while the spray on my right arm has almost fully transitioned into the heart notes of florals and spice - geranium, and a lot of equal parts carnation and clove. The splash catches up soon to display these notes as well, but seems to favor the clove more; the splash feels a bit fuller, more warm and well-rounded somehow. It is definitely obvious by this point, putting the two vintage bottles into the same group to compare with recent formulations, the newer formulations are a bit harsher, less warm, less well-rounded. Sure, this is due to a tweaking of the formula and the use of different materials to express those top and heart notes over 30-40yrs, but there is another big reason for the difference that we shall get to in a second.

By the time both the splash and the spray reach their final dry down to the base notes, the same notes are being expressed and that slight difference of the splash being smoother and well-rounded still continues. In both of these formats - as if you weren't challenged yet allured by Kouros already - the base notes take the perfume into the next gear, where the critical components of base materials you have been smelling all along are revealed like Pandora's Box slowly opening. In both the spray and the splash the base composition - consisting of a massive dose of civet, a rich honey note, resinous incense, and salty and swampy vetiver - will be found as either divine or appalling. To me, obviously, it's the former. Kouros is an animal, it wants to be an animal, it wants to smell like an animal, and it pushes these notes to Spinal Tap volumes of 11. These notes have been with us all along, supporting those top and heart notes and flanking them ever so perfectly as to pull some of their more unique facets into the forefront. Finally, it must be said, in the vintage splash and spray there is oakmoss. Real oakmoss (hallelujah!). This note is the glue holding all of this animalic, sweaty body odor, indolic craziness together, and it is glorious. Earthy, damp, green, and woody, it prevents Kouros from descending into complete and total unflushed-urinal territory, making sure the whole is greater than the sum of the individual parts. Recent formulations obviously do not have oakmoss since the heavy hand of our overlords decided we cannot be trusted to manage our own allergies. As of yet no synthetic substitute smells like the real thing; some get relatively close, but none get close enough. In effort to make modern formulations of Kouros easier to handle and more polite for 21st century noses the civet, honey, incense, and vetiver are dialed back from Spinal Tap 11 to a more modest 6 or 7 - and now, because they are now most assuredly some type of synthetic material, they are also less attention grabbing. The absence of real oakmoss and the inclusion of "tree moss," a synthetic, is apparent and that glue doesn't hold as well.

Here is the long and short of it: I don't know if the splash vintage or the spray vintage are a bit different from each other because of the application format, because YSL's program of Franco-style quality control might have lapsed a bit between batches in the 1980s (shocking supposition, I know), or because of how each bottle was stored for the past 30+ years. The answer is going to be all-of-the-above to varying degrees. Of the vintage splash and spray, and the recent formulation spray I have also worn, I like the vintage splash the best. But who cares. You shouldn't. A vintage bottle of Kouros in good condition is going to be a perfume to treasure no matter what the format. And as for the new formulations - despite the meddling of L'Oreal and the extraordinary challenges of materials and costs restrictions - I have to give YSL kudos. Perhaps they are afraid to change it too much because they know their corporate office would be attacked in droves by the faithful foaming at the mouth - but at least the droves would smell great. Some bores are going to be asking about performance. Fine. For an EdT, particularly by today's standards the longevity is very impressive, and it fills the room and releases a sillage like a carpet bomb (or a pet bombing your carpet). I performed this test before going into the office, a bold move - and maybe a bit rude, yes, I know. Why would I want to subject my coworkers to this perfume that many find appalling. Well, I don't find it appalling, and it actually got me a great compliment today. If you don't wear Kouros with confidence, it is going to wear you - and that won't be pleasant for anyone. I love this perfume. A true classic.

This early 80's warhorse still gives a kick in the pants!
I remember seeing/smelling a squaddie in uniform
standing by the door on a train an age and a half ago.

He must have had a bath in Kouros given the enormity of his
aura. It was almost suffocating but simultaneously intoxicating.

It has more than a little to do with Pierre Bourdon's fusion
of both super-clean (powdery) and dirty (very!) notes
that gives this seductive invention it's extravagant allure.

Back in the day I'm sure I was just as guilty of over-application....

I loved it then and love it still. A resilient masterpiece.

If you’ve never yet smelled Kourous (especially those early OG temples), take every last metaphor, simile, hyperbole, and anecdote you’ve ever read on Basenotes, Fragrantica, and any remote somewhere-else and… when you savor that first smell, you’ll paradoxically confess that it was not at all what you had imagined, yet absolutely everything that had been described.

Pleasurably confounding. You owe yourself a happily unsolvable puzzle. Don’t cheapen the mystery. Splurge.

OG Charles of the Ritz/YSL Parfums Corp are worth your dare.

Dirty. Skanky. Lewd. And absolutely fantastic.

I get why this is polarizing. It's a lot. But this is my favorite flavor of perfume: beautiful, floral top notes with funky, animal, pissy base notes. Think Jicky (my all time favorite). Or Bal a Versailles.

Don't wear this to the office. It's sex in a bottle. (Or I don't know. Maybe wear it to the office?)

Musk! I feel like feeling myself today. This juice was made for that purpose: it highlights the musky, animalic, sweaty scent of a male body in motion, freshening it up without occluding it. It feels dirty and clean at the same time.

The opening is a blast of bitter artemisia and bergamot absolute and coriander and clary sage and civet, lifted off the skin by some sparkling aldehydes. Then comes a floral mid that is redolent with jasmine, orris root, geranium and a soapy lavender that smooth out the journey before we get to the most interesting territory: the base. Here, patchouli, amber, musk, leather, and the characteristic honey note all come together to give it a heady “Oriental” vibe, while the vetiver, coumarin, and a biting oakmoss vie to keep it civilized… but just barely.

Pierre Bourdon did something truly original here that has never been repeated. It is a consummately abstract creation, yet it’s compellingly suggestive of sweat and showers and unmade beds and musky bodies in heat. Kouros continues to ignite our senses and our imagination after four decades. The fact that it’s still a bestseller (at least in Europe), attests to this fact.

It is a work of genius, even in its current, neutered form, and I love it.

Like walking in grassy fields on a lovely day in Spring... while carrying a dirty urinal bowl. Love it or loathe it kind of smell. A must-sniff for all fragheads nevertheless. The juice in this late 90s bottle by Parfums Corp/Sanofi projects like an absolute beast and lasts 8+ hours. I once applied 6 sprays before going for a walk, thinking I wouldn't meet anyone I know, and bumped into a couple of friends - pretty sure *they* needed a shower afterwards.

The modern formulation tones the pissiness way down; it's more wearable, but still one of the most animalic designer fragrances still in production. If you want something stronger than the current version, I suggest the vintage aftershave which by today's standards is very strong, and still sells for low prices.

Masculinity Level: Conan the Barbarian.