7 reseñas

Mostrando las más recientes primero.

• Danielle_Gris

  January 25, 2023

  

  It’s a heavy classic that never convinced me of the idea that it’s ‘mossy,’ because I don’t smell moss at all. If I had a color, it would be old gold: not bright, but rested and antique. It begins with a dense, almost oily osmanthus, and then on my skin, the mimosa dominates, but not the fresh and clear kind, rather dark and decadent, like a bouquet a few days old. In the end, it becomes powdery, but it’s not a light talc; it’s elegant, not for any coffee afternoon. It reminded me a lot of Estée Lauder’s Knowing, although here the laurel is very noticeable and makes it heavier. Of the three I’ve tried in this scheme (Paloma Picasso, Knowing, and 1000), the Jean Patou was my favorite; probably because of the osmanthus, which is a note I adore. However, it’s not a perfume for me. Longevity 8+ hours, moderate-to-high sillage.

• Danielle_Gris

  January 9, 2023

  

  It’s a powerful classic from another era. I never bought into the ‘mossy’ description because I don’t actually smell moss. If I had to assign a color, it would be old gold: not bright, but rested and antique. It opens with a dense, almost oily osmanthus, then on my skin, the mimosa is prominent but not fresh—it’s dark and decadent, like a bouquet a few days old. In the dry down, it becomes powdery, but not with a light baby powder; it’s elegant, not for a casual coffee afternoon. It reminded me a lot of Estée Lauder’s Knowing, except here the laurel is very noticeable and makes it heavier. Of the three I tried in this family (Paloma Picasso, Knowing, and 1000), the Jean Patou was my favorite, probably because of that osmanthus I love so much. However, it’s just not for me. Longevity 8+ hours, moderate-to-high sillage.

• jerry drake

  November 28, 2022

  

  Perfumes like this have the magic of bringing back distant memories, fragments of a time that should have dissolved but is sometimes more alive than ever, physically present and demanding attention. I see flashes of our nights out, girls in makeup and elegance, friends lost on the road. Fragments of the past, yes, but sometimes I want to touch them, hold them in my hands, and put them back together to create something perfect. Jean Patou 1000 is a work of art. The liquid in my vintage bottle (mid-90s) has turned dense, almost oily, and invites application on skin. I smell a fruitiness that, fortunately, doesn’t give a specific fruity connotation but makes it round and fleshy. Then comes a perfect floral harmony that makes the composition important, very feminine and opulent. After a start with sweet bergamot, osmanthus, and apricot, it moves to a lavish display of sensual, powdery flowers over wood with a prominent patchouli. The flowers are complemented by lily of the valley and geranium; the latter prevents it from being too sweet. Powerful, almost carnal, leaving a sublime trail. It remains very chic on my skin and poetic. A floral chypre that doesn’t reveal all its power at once, but grows and traps you as it melds with your skin. A very full aroma, ideal for a cold night when you want to be noticed without hesitation. I now understand why the power of a vintage is unreachable… Excellent.

• Coquita

  March 11, 2022

  

  Last summer I bought some Patou minis to see what all the fuss was about regarding the closure of their perfumery division. Regarding the brand, I say that, although none seemed pleasant to me, it’s clear they are made with care and belong to an era where more attention was paid to the product. They all have excellent longevity and sillage, and none have harsh musks or loose note combinations that go overboard with ambroxan or iso E super. Focusing on 1000, it opens with a bright smell of osmanthus and apricot, and after an hour, it transforms into a musk bomb. Despite its good execution, unfortunately, it’s not my favorite flower as it turns rancid on my skin. For those who get along well with musk, I suppose it could work as a daytime, feminine, and springy scent for informal or semi-formal occasions. Pleasant: 5/10 Interesting: 4/10 Versatile: 6/10 Original: 7/10

• monsieurleather

  December 15, 2020

  

  A name that encloses a legend. A legend turned into perfume. A jewel. Whether the story of the thousand attempts to achieve the definitive one is true or not, what it certainly gives us is a clue about the quality, the care, the love, and the demand put into its creation. Also about the poetry and the history surrounding it. It belongs to another era, not by the scent, but by that way of understanding life. In the midst of a century change, Patou, faithful to its principles, released a nearly artisanal perfume made to last. With the acquisition of Jean Patou by LVMH, that legend grows: it’s something unique that will never be repeated, an immediate classic. Unlike Joy, 1000, being a classic, is more wearable today. It’s a floral symphony where violet, rose, lily, geranium, and jasmine are escorted by osmanthus and lilac (imagine an apricot less sweet). Then, the flowers enter the ballroom with oak-paneled walls and velvet curtains, dancing slowly and sweetly with sandalwood and patchouli. By noon, the flowers retire, and the sandalwood and patchouli mix rhythmically. Everything has a soft sweetness that caresses. It’s been on my skin for 7 days, and I still smell it clearly. 1000 times thanks, Jean Patou. Au revoir!

• Espartaco

  December 24, 2019

  

  I don’t know the original, but I’m obsessed with this 2000 update, and hey, what a wonder. 1000, by the legend of the thousand attempts, has many notes going in the same direction: a mass where everyone speaks the same language, half civilized salon, half wild instinct. Although it’s an update, it retains traces of dry dirt, wood, and plant from classic chypres. First, a lavender-tinged, waxy rose, but in the dry down, it smells like leather or floral suede, moldy. I’m fascinated by that impression of wet floral leather, even though the notes don’t list leather or milk. I looked for birch for the smoky leather scent and it’s not there. Maybe it’s the castoreum, although it’s not listed and I usually like it less. Perhaps that illusion comes from the rose/oak combination (a very muddy wood) with unlisted deep, earthy notes. I thought of lily, in its dark, wet, and squashed root. I think I smelled angelica, vetiver, and bergamot, cold mud notes that fascinate me. The rose, which I can’t stand alone, here forgets to be a flower to gift you drunken chords of fungal notes. The minimum sweetness comes from the violet, with a somber taste of a closed box that I love. 1000 is an ode to the ditch and poolside chypre. The flowers don’t smell like flowers, but like medicinal plaster with wet earth. A stunning androgynous, severe, and cold scent. At the end, a patchouli multiplied by a thousand stands out: not the mossy one from Eau du Soir nor the neon chiclet one from Stacy Malibu. It smells of earth and peat with animals, wet, with the composure of dense purple lavender, dirty and matte, like mushrooms with dirt. It’s a potion without sweet notes or light. It oozes the itch of fruit trees and expectorants (osmanthus and patchouli). If someone sees it as difficult, visualize the creamy, floral violet that, muddied in the dirt, makes it civilized. It deserves more noise. Patou, along with Joy, has fragrances in encyclopedias that no one mentions but maintain quality after reformulations, unlike other lobotomized classics. They charge the same high prices, as if the logo bag were hand-woven by elves from Rivendel. Essential for lovers of the wild, earthy, wet flowers, and leathers. Only for those who love perfumes with memories of caves and leaden flowers. To say I liked it is little; I was fascinated. It smells of artisan trades, earth, something impossible to improve. It’s the opposite of a trend. It smells of intelligence and sensuality. PD: Patou is owned by LVMH. First, they stole the name Joy for the last Dior. Surely they will resurrect the brand with Cardi B and strip 1000 of its name for a 2010s perfume called ‘1000 Neon Nights’. PD II: Try it, it’s unisex, cheap, and smells expensive. PD III: It could be a perfect blend of Villoresi’s patchouli with Lutens’ De Profundis, with memories of Lancôme’s Cuir.

• Espartaco

  December 8, 2019

  

  I don’t know the original 1000, but this 2000 version that still stands is madness. Named by legend because a thousand attempts failed, it smells like a thousand things united in a mass where everyone speaks the same language: half civilized salon, half wild. Although it’s an update, it keeps those traces of dry dirt, wood, and plant from classic chypres. First comes a lavender and waxy rose, but in the dry down, you notice a leather or floral suede, like Alia. I love that moldy floral leather; I checked the notes and there’s no leather or milk. I looked for birch for the smoky leather and it’s not there. Castoreum isn’t there either, although I like it less for being petroleum-based. Maybe that illusion comes from the rose with oak, a very muddy wood, plus unlisted deep and earthy notes. I thought of lily, in its dark, wet, and squashed root. I think I smelled angelica, vetiver, and bergamot, cold mud notes that fascinate me. The rose, which I hate alone and adore when it stops being a rose to sound like a drunk crayon, is intoxicated with fungal chords. The minimum sweetness comes from the violet, with a somber taste of a closed box that kills me. 1000 is an ode to the ditch and poolside chypre. The flowers don’t smell like flowers, but like medicinal plaster with wet earth. A stunning androgynous, severe, and cold scent that will drive chypre lovers crazy. At the end, a patchouli multiplied by a thousand stands out. It’s not the mossy one from Eau du Soir nor the neon chiclet one from Stacy Malibu. It smells of earth and peat with animals, wet, with the composure of dense purple lavender, dirty and matte, like mushrooms with dirt. It’s a potion without sweetness or light. It oozes the itch of fruit trees and expectorants (osmanthus and patchouli) until the end. If someone says it’s hard to wear, visualize the violet: creamy, floral, zero metallic, that muddied in the earthy dirt makes it civilized and human. It deserves more noise; once you try it, you know it’s of another breed. Patou, great in the past, has along with Joy two fragrances in encyclopedias that no one touches. Their reformulations maintain quality, something that doesn’t happen with other herbaceous and chypre classics, numbers 19 and Miss Dior, which are lobotomized zombies. And they charge the same high prices because the painted bag with the logo seems hand-woven by elves. Essential for lovers of the wild, earthy, wet flowers, leathers, worms, wet stones, and woods with petrichor. Only loved if you are fascinated by perfumes with memories of caves, ditches with lichens, and powdery flowers. To say I liked it is little; I was fascinated. It smells of artisan trades, manual work, earth smell, something so well-made it can’t be improved, hands washed in saddlery, carpentry, and gardening, and perfect garments without adornments. They are the opposite of a trend. It smells of intelligence and sensuality. PD. Patou is owned by LVMH. First, they stole the name Joy and put it on the last Dior, that pink juice of amandarin jasmine. Surely they will resurrect Patou with Cardi B and strip 1000 of its name for a new musk, rose, lavender, pear, and jasmine perfume, called 1000 Neon Nights or 1000 I’m The Owner Of My Destiny, from the worst era of perfumery, the 2010s. PD II. Don’t let it escape, it’s unisex, great price, and smells expensive. PD III. It could be a perfect blend of Villoresi’s patchouli with Lutens’ De Profundis, with memories of Lancôme’s Cuir.