Enrico Coveri
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The aldehydes detonate like struck matches over herbaceous chaos—thyme and marjoram wrestling with basil's anise-tinged greenness whilst bergamot tries valiantly to lighten the load. Lavender and juniper add a barber-shop familiarity, but this opening is primarily about confrontation, not comfort. Within minutes, you're already catching the leather's smoky edge creeping through.
Carnation and cinnamon generate genuine heat, a spiced warmth that borders on overwhelming before honey drizzles through with its thick, slightly indolic sweetness. The iris brings an unexpected powdery refinement, whilst cedarwood and vetiver provide woody scaffolding for the leather accord, which now dominates completely. Rose appears as a dark, almost jammy whisper, barely audible beneath the clove-spice roar.
The leather softens into something supple and worn, reinforced by labdanum's amber-resinous depth and oakmoss's forest floor bitterness. Patchouli adds earthy shadows whilst musk and tonka create a skin-like warmth that finally feels approachable. The frankincense lingers as a breath of incense smoke, a subtle reminder of the cologne's baroque ambitions.
Coveri pour Homme arrives as an unapologetic time capsule from 1971, when men's fragrances didn't whisper—they announced. Béatrice Piquet constructed something magnificently confrontational here: aldehydes crackle over a Mediterranean herb garden, where thyme and basil bristle alongside juniper's resinous bite and lavender's fougère heritage. This isn't polite aromatic freshness; it's a sharp-elbowed opening that clears the room before settling into something far more complex. The heart reveals Piquet's real ambition—carnation's clove-like spice colliding with cinnamon creates an almost scalding warmth, whilst honey attempts to smooth the edges with limited success. Iris provides a dusty, lipstick-like refinement that seems oddly at home amongst the leather and cedarwood, creating a peculiar baroque elegance. That leather accord dominates the composition's soul: it's the cuir of driving gloves and tobacco shops, reinforced by labdanum's dark amber-leather sweetness and moss's bitter greenness. The animalic undertone—likely from the musk and honey interaction—adds a skin-close warmth that prevents this from becoming purely intellectual. Tonka and frankincense in the base try to sweeten and elevate, but the patchouli and moss keep things firmly rooted in earth and shadow. This is for the man who wears his vintage tweed with actual elbow patches earned through use, who doesn't mind that his cologne precedes him into the room. It's stubbornly analogue in a digital world, and that's precisely its charm.
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Givenchy
4.0/5 (493)