Thierry Mugler is an artist at the high-low fashion tightrope walk, because his Cologne is a real work of postmodern art. It starts by smelling like a better-made, more expensive version of 4711, all fresh and citrusy, and you're thinking, "Hey, ok, highend 4711, dude!". Then all of a sudden you're wearing highway reststop bathroom soap, "Whoa! WTF?" (yes, my inner voice sounds like Keanu), which evolves into the barest hint of Nag Champa incense and aftershave lotion, then something fresh-herby starts morphing into Un Jardin en Méditerranée, suddenly zigs away from that luxe smell, zagging back into the reststop bathroom. All this in under 5 min. Then it starts all over again; or, really never went away, just revealed more of itself over time.
Sound complicated? It's not, it's very straightforward and simple smelling. Mugler's scents tend to be rather direct and no-nonsense, hitting you upside the head with their obvious-yet-weird mashups of quotidian accords: Angel=chocolate-musk-vetiver-licorice, Alien=jasmine-wood-musk, and this? Citrus-pink public bathroom soap-incense-herbs. If fashion is the line between taste and trash, this is a work of genius.
