Clive Christian
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The lime and bell pepper arrive with tarragon's liquorice-anise tang, creating a verdant, almost culinary brightness that's immediately complicated by the warming spice medley. Cardamom and nutmeg pulse through the citrus like blood through a vein, whilst caraway adds an unexpected savoury note—bread crust, almost, something yeasty and lived-in. The grapefruit oil lends a bitter, pithy edge that keeps the opening from feeling too polite.
Here's where convention collapses: lily of the valley's soapy-green aldehydic quality merges with iris butter's lipstick-carrot smoothness, whilst ylang ylang contributes its banana-custard narcosis. The jasmine and rose feel almost incidental, ghostly presences supporting the heliotrope, which blooms with its characteristic almond-marzipan powder. This phase is shamelessly pretty, disconcertingly soft, like finding love letters in your grandfather's smoking jacket.
The wood and musk finally assert themselves, with vetiver's earthy-bitter roots grounding the composition whilst cedar adds its dry, pencil-shaving texture. Tonka and vanilla create a sweetened, almost leathery base, but that powdery heliotrope refuses to disappear entirely, lingering like expensive talc on freshly shaven skin. The sandalwood ties it together with creamy persistence, whilst amber adds golden warmth without heaviness.
Clive Christian No. 1 for Men is a patrician provocation—a masculine fragrance that refuses to apologise for its opulent floral heart. Patricia Choux has crafted something deliberately perverse: a composition that opens with the green pepper snap of bell pepper and lime, spiked with the anisic edge of tarragon, before pivoting hard into a nearly narcotic bouquet of lily of the valley, iris, and ylang ylang. This isn't tokenism; the florals dominate with the same confidence a 1930s dandy wore rouge. The spice quartet of cardamom, nutmeg, caraway, and grapefruit oils creates an initial armour, but it's gossamer-thin, designed to shatter and reveal the powdery heliotrope and jasmine beneath.
This is scent as theatre, as statement—the olfactory equivalent of a velvet smoking jacket worn with nothing underneath. The base eventually rescues it from complete dissolution into powder, with vetiver and cedar providing bone structure whilst tonka and vanilla add a resinous sweetness that stops just short of gourmand territory. The sandalwood here feels like the real Mysore article, creamy and lactonic, wrapping everything in expensive cashmere. It's for men who appreciate Guerlain Après l'Ondée, who collect Art Deco objets, who understand that masculinity doesn't require constant reassurance. Wear this to gallery openings in Mayfair, to autumn dinners where the wine is older than the guests. It's uncompromising, unapologetically rococo, and utterly aware of its own extravagance.
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3.6/5 (83)