Pour Un Homme
Caron (1934)

Bought this after reading books on fragrances and dismissing it on the basis of a dislike of sweet smelling fragrances. Purchased when on offer and I actually enjoy the sweet vanilla overtone.

I liked this one initially and thought this would be good in the heat but it actually gained a lactonic type smell and amped up the projection that made me kind of self conscious on a summer day. The green color does not exactly correspond to a freshness. I'm going to try it again with a different deodorant and outdoors, maybe a on a hike.

Pour un Homme is a very interesting aromatic barbershop scent, but to fully understand why requires knowledge of the history of modern perfumery and how it has responded to cultural trends over the decades. PuH was released in 1934, and at that time the 'cultural requirements' for a men's scent was vastly different from what is standard in today's men's scents (which are mainly woods and ambers, and poor synthetic ones at that). These early barbershop scents were meant for... well... to splash on a man after his visit to a barbershop! Barbershops used to do everything: you would bathe yourself there, get a shave, haircut, dental work, etc., and walk out a brand new and squeaky-clean man. The perfumes needed to reflect this intention. Lavender has always been a favorite of this family of perfumes because it is a multi-faceted accord capable of being pushed in many directions, but always, always, smells clean and redolent of the well-cared-for person. Lavender is the star of Pour un Homme. The opening notes set the stage: a very green, bitter, and mildly sour bergamot note is juxtaposed to a natural and sweet lavender, both of which fade very quickly. The starring lavender accord is then brought forward by a genius blend of herbs, rose, and wood notes. It smells like lavender - I thought it was lavender for several minutes - but very close study reveals that, no, it isn't actually lavender. Ernest Daltroff undoubtedly struggled to make the natural lavender material used in the opening last throughout the life of the fragrance, so he constructed lavender using other materials instead. This sounds like a no-brainer, and certainly something every modern perfumer does, but in 1934 this execution of lavender was incredible - and even by today's standards (or especially by today's standards for the pessimist), the execution is still exemplary. Daltroff did not stop there, and to steer the lavender accord in a direction that we, today's perfume enthusiasts, are not used to, he adds a sweet vanilla. The sweetness is not a thick, syrupy, fake, cloying type sweetness, but rather a sugar-like sweetness. Thick of the smell of fresh brown sugar, which smells so much better than, say, cocktail syrup, and that's what this is like. The vanilla mixed in with this sugar is velvety smooth, supple, and airy, like you're smelling the best vanilla extract on the professional baker's market. More magic awaits when you reapply Pour un Homme, which you can do; despite the excellent longevity for an EdT, Pour un Homme doesn't have massive projection or sillage, so you can reapply it if you want without destroying yours or anyone else's noses. When you do, which I did, and overlay those top notes of natural lavender and bergamot over the already living and breathing heart and base notes... holy cow. It's mesmerizing. It's as if you are suddenly able to smell lavender in 4D for the first time. Not 3D! - 3D is too simple of a way to describe this, little alone 2D. You feel like you've just taken a mild hallucinogen. You will never think of lavender the same way again, nor will you want to. This perfume won't be for everyone: you have to love lavender, you have to like vanilla, and you have to like sugar (or at least be good with it), it is powdery and gentle, and certainly doesn't yell with the masculine energy some wearers will want out of their masculine perfume (eye roll). But if these notes and characteristics are of the type that speaks to you and works for you, you need to try this legend of a perfume.

What a hypnotic scent, for a perfume that has only two notes!

Two! But don't get it wrong, there's more ingredients in here than there are notes. If you would mix together essential oils of lavender and vanilla, you wouldn't get the same result. Hardly.

Let's start with the vanilla note, which is exquisitely composed. This is very close to how vanilla smells like when a real vanilla pod is used to bake a quatre quart cake, a smell which i haven't experienced in any other perfume composition before (or yet?).

In the opening the vanilla is rather sugary - not syrupy - or perhaps i should say DRY sugary, so i guess that's the vanilin doing it's work, which then further deepens to the more tobaco like nuances of vanilla. I guess that's done with maltol? Some reviewers also notice the pressence of musk, which i personally don't detect. Sure, there is a faint powdery aspect to the vanilla, so it might be present, but i couldn't describe it as a distinct musk note.

And then there's the lavender note which is also so divinely composed. It smells very natural, but it is way to strong and long lasting for it to be only a natural ingredient. This smells more like lavender stil growing in the field (have you ever smelled a lavender field in the Provence in France?) though it's more highly pitched, so i guess lavandin is added and perhaps even some pure linalool to give it that extra kick. What's also remarkable here are the herbaceous undertones of lavender, which can't be had from the essential oil alone. How that is done, i have no idea, but i can detect a bit of sage and maybe rosemary. The note pyramid mentions also rosewood, citrus and oakmoss,... but i really cannot detect those... but then again, those trustworthy pyramids! Or my untrained nose! :)

Now, what makes this scent so hypnotic is the contrast between the two notes, between the high pitch of the lavender note and the more mellow grounded-ness of the vanilla note, especially in the opening. The contrast remains in the drydown, but the two notes also partially merge, specifically those herbaceous nuances of lavender with the more burnt sugar aspects of vanilla. Is that maltol again?

And does this smell dated? Well... perhaps, but would you call a classical piece of music dated? And if you do so, would it be less marvelous? I can easily imagine people living a hundred years from now still wearing this. And if not, what a loss!

It really is a classic.

Lavender! Still the finest in town, in my estimation. My bottle is from the early 1990s (big, black plastic cap). In this version, the musky-vanillic base is amped up — an expression of the times. It’s a subtle emphasis, and you can only tell if you compare it side-by-side with older or newer versions. I happen to love it like this.

What a simple, brilliant idea by the great Ernest Daltroff, to compose a masculine that overlays fresh lavender up top with warm vanilla down below. I remember that initially it took me a few wears to “get” it… but once I did, it became one of my weekly staples and my go-to bedtime scent.

“Timeless” is a word that’s thrown around a lot. In the case of PUH, it’s appropriate.

I will sing the praises of Pour Un Homme for uncomplicated reasons:

It feels like an embrace from a teddy bear.
I love wearing it as an olfactory nightcap.
It works well with good sleep hygiene.
There is a refreshing, almost rustic simplicity to it.
So, I like the Play-Doh scent that occurs when lavender, vanillin, and heliotropin come together. What of it?

I hadn't even realized just how misunderstood it is until I started reading the reviews; the revulsion from some came as quite a surprise, when I had an immediate sentimental attachment to it. I do believe that some noses have a tough time with a natural, unadorned lavender, as many seem to grimace at its supposed screeching, sharp and "challenging" opening. Then there are the gripes that the vanilla is too sweet and pastry-like or not sweet enough or gourmand enough. There are those who regard it rather anachronistically as a scent for "dandies" (code for fey sissies, effeminate homosexuals). Then there is the complaint that it is too "simple," yet another critique worthy of unpacking, as if a pre-war creation, among the first to be specifically geared to the masculine gender, must be compared to more intensely assembled icons like Kouros (Dana Canoe says, "hold my beer."). Still others simply dismiss it as dated, but that's a bit more predictable in this age of Prada Luna Rossa Carbon.

Yet Tom Ford adores it, there's something to be said for that, right? Or have we repudiated him after he stepped away from his own brand? It's still one of the most worn by men in France—but you know, French people, it's 2024 and not so cool to hold them in high regard. Even those who respect it and learned to love it warn others that it takes much patience and can be easily dismissed if one comes to a conclusion with TikTok discernment. So, where does that leave those of us who loved it at first sniff and refuse to overthink it?

I guess we are the lucky ones.