Continuing through my Rogue sampler, this opens more conventionally than any Rogue I’ve tried yet. For once we have a Rogue doesn’t come on like Charles Mingus writing for some olfactory orchestra (not that I ever mind that).

It’s very nice, for sure. First impression: basically it’s exactly what the name says, tobacco and creamy green freshness, although, as with the other Rogues I’ve tried, it’s extremely well blended, and if the name hadn’t told me what’s in it I might have a hard time picking it out. As it is, I like the scent of tobacco, and I especially like the scent of the tobacco note in this, it’s crisp but understated and very nice. I think maybe with this one Manuel Cross was going for his own (glorious, natch) take on a very conventional aftershave scent. If I walked out of the barber shop smelling like this, I’d probably say, “Boy, whatever that barber uses smells fantastic.” Is that what I want from an art fragrance? I don’t know. But it is very nice.

Just a few minutes in: oh, this thing is blooming on my skin. That Mingus-y orchestral thing is stirring below the surface. Yep, it’s a Rogue, after all. Is there a little ginger in there? There’s also a hint of that aroma I’ve occasionally referred to before as “daipery” (perhaps it’s the scent they use in Pampers? Or maybe it’s just indolic), but in this case it’s actually blended in so well it’s not as unpleasant as I usually find it.

I had a friend, Chris Hume, a gifted musical prodigy. When I was taking first year counterpoint, after the rest of the class had come up to the board and shown how they tackled the homework problems, Hume was the kid who Prof. Hagen always called on to show everyone how it’s really done. I have a feeling Manuel Cross was that kid in the perfumery class, or however it is that they learn these things. He’s gotta be some sort of savant.

I feel like I’m floating on a celestial cloud of Barbasol and Clubman. This is so old-school yet so well-executed, I bet today’s ironic hipsters could rock it. (Are kids still ironic? Or has that whole thing passed?)

A half hour later: I smell wood. Cedar?

Another half hour: This is the cologne Paco Rabanne Pour Homme wants to be. And I like PRPH. Also, there’s no mistaking it, there’s definitely a note of cedar in there now.

My uncle Morty left me a vintage Harris Tweed overcoat. I could wear this with that. Besides that? Very nice, but, probably not for me, but only because I myself wouldn’t pay niche fragrance prices for even the world’s best barbershop scent. It’s kind of like the idea of paying boutique prices for a top-quality, artisan-made plain white t-shirt. I’m not going to do that. I don’t judge it, but I’m never doing it.

A couple of short hours later, I noticed it was gone without a trace, completely disappeared, as if it never had been. Maybe it was all a dream.