Moustache (1949)
by Rochas

Weird!Weird!Weird!This fragrance has a surreal air which is initially quite disturbingThe strangest of openings,as if someone had urinated into a bucket of fermenting fruit or maybe the scent of some extraterrestrial creature on heat.Just as all this is becoming too much, a comforting powdery floral middle takes over (renminiscent of Alexander Julien's Colours) and you breathe a sigh of relief thinking that you are now on much safer ground.Then all of a sudden aaaargh!-the citrus and bodily fluid combination kicks back in the drydown in a menacingly sexual way,leaving you disturbed but exhiliarated.
If Krizia Uomo had a psychotic uncle or if Hitchcock's "Psycho" was a fragrance,this would be it...

Moustache is so lovable. It is bright, loud, varied, rustic, and it has such a pleasant I-don’t-care attitude. Its notes contradict each other and still seem to be made for each other. It has a strong, sharp complex citrus / pine / lavender opening that is brashly and classically old fashioned. I think that the lavender is the key to the accord – there’s just a ghost of a lavender there but enough to put a question into the citrus / pine accord. The middle blossoms out to a full classic herbal middle – strong on a geranium (always seemed to me to be more green than floral) that makes it a bit obsolete – a bit grandma. The carnation spices up the accord and I could swear there some rose and jasmine way in the background: This middle has a real gender identity problem. The base doesn’t work for me because my skin gobbles up the notes without giving them half a chance. I get moss and a little undetermined sweet and not much else, and what little I do get is gone in a flash – the whole fragrance lasts 45 minutes. In all, this fragrance is, as the esteemed nead_ nitram says, “…effete, weird, decadent, distinguished…” It’s a charming oddity that, in a way, does smell like grandma did, bless her soul.

Moustache starts off peppery and aromatic, with what I’m rather certain is a touch of civet lurking in the background. This is a much drier opening than many contemporary men’s scents, and it leaves me wondering where Moustache will go next. It eventually goes down a vanillic, mossy, aromatic, path that leads to a fougere-like heart accord, but it explores a few clever side roads and detours along its way. Though subtle and extremely well blended, the animalic musks apparent at the start lend Moustache a half hidden sense of danger. This well-groomed gentleman still has hormones, still sweats, and still lusts beneath his proper suit and trench coat.

While Moustache exhibits far less animal abandon than say, Jicky, it is by no means neutered. Along with the quiet mammalian funk there is a hard-to-define tangy note. Perhaps it is the “rare fruit” in the scent pyramid, perhaps something else. Whatever it is, it persists through the drydown, coloring what might otherwise have been a conventional base with an oddly compelling sour tinge. What Roudnitska has done with this fragrance foreshadows the approach he used in Eau Sauvage: begin with a traditional formula, then add a subtle, yet unexpected little fillip to give his fragrance a distinct signature. In the case of Eau Sauvage it was an Eau de Cologne formula spiked with hedione. In Moustache it was a classic chypre seasoned with exotic fruit and vaguely lascivious glandular extractions. While neither scent seems novel in today’s fragrance market, both represent a kind of balanced, yet not bland composition that’s grown very rare among today’s designer offerings.

This classic really takes a bad rap on this review board, friends.

Imagine, if you will, Dior's Eau Sauvage with lime added to the lemon. Throw in some tangy fruits (an odd but workable addition, trust me) and then a very masculine dry-down of vetiver, tobacco (very slight) and moss.

Moustache is bracing and tasteful. Very good in the longevity department, but not a sillage beast. (At least not on my hide.)

This is a handsome and tailored French fragrance, appropriate for office and casual wear alike.

The eloquent Naed Nitram has just about said it all - even quoting me along the way! A 'sickly dandy' is a brilliant appellation. Moustache has the austerity of the true dandy - and the wit and above all the style. But do we appreciate him? I do, you know. And it does look like he is set to be around for a while yet.

The Baron de Charlus once told me: 'The odd thing is that I agree with nearly all estimates of Rochas' Moustache - which must tell us something about its strangeness. As the admirable Senor Cavs puts it, this "rotten" powdery lemon does indeed put you in mind of something that an eccentric, even slightly mad grandmother might wear. Yet, as other reviewers remark more positively, it does manage also to smell fresh, classic, very French, soft, gentle, long lasting.
The excellent Comrade Trotsky has discovered in it "a rather rustic aromatic scent that contains somewhat clashing notes of rare fruits and pine". The estimable Vicompte de K. has described it as his "number one weird fragrance" and I concur.
Like those very different scents by Rochas, Macassar and Globe, Moustache somehow manages to be offputting and fascinating at the same time. This paradox is something that the House of Rochas does rather well in its classic masculine fragrances - it is even true of the less eccentric but herby and distinctive Monsieur Rochas.
Moustache is an odd scent, oddly offensive and oddly addictive, but well worth investigating by fragrance aficionados. The scenario: an attic apartment in old Paris where curious loves, mysteries and scandals surround the degenerate scion of an ancient and noble line. It is effete, weird, decadent, distinguished - a somewhat sickly dandy, perhaps, but with attitude, edge and seductive menace nonetheless.'