Base notes on Eight & Bob's story

The fragrance survey thread inspired me to take a perfume journey this weekend. I sniffed myself dizzy and discovered a dozen candidate scents and one odd piece of website copy.

There is something almost admirable about the rank fiction that serves as Eight & Bob’s origin story.

The gentleman enthusiast who winces at the thought of profit tainting his art. A recipe lost for half a century, recovered. A source plant so reclusive it escapes scientific classification; so temperamental, yet so indispensable, that only seven percent of its already fitful, dithering harvest dictates the global supply of a perfume from which the producer apportions each nation’s allowance in a grand concession to the yearning noses of the world….

I am a little inured to the extrait de bull in branding, but this packed potpourri of horseshit projects like the drydown of a cabbage dinner. And it just keeps delivering. There’s JFK incognito! An ever-resourceful butler named Philippe! A car crash. Nazis.

The point, I think, is to congratulate the buyer discerning enough to look past brand stories. All such tales are a volley of gas for the connoisseur to ignore, they seem to be saying. It might have made for a fun comic book. As it is, Eight & Bob’s puffery is a little too on the nose.

My real-world impression: I would like my linen cabinet to smell like this—faintly, maybe. There is an initial citrus fizz over cream soda in a clean white shirt; a soft-palmed, dry handshake that keeps a steady grip longer than you would expect; and cool wood. I'm going back to try it again. This is a scent that convinces you, "You don't need to check my references." And maybe Mother Teresa can show up in the backstory sequel.