Mr Drakkar is my fragrant personification of Drakkar Noir: an iconic aromatic fougere from 1982 rich in pine, moss, fir and all things masculine. A tough guy fragrance from a time when tough guy characters were all the rage. Something of a parody in the modern age but still with a cult following.
It’s 1982. Location: California. Conan the Barbarian is showing in cinemas and a cocky American by the name of Mr Drakkar is singing its praises to his training partner in the gym. “You know Arnie followed my workout plan for that movie, right?” says Mr Drakkar. “How do you think he got those biceps?”
At 28 and 6”2, Mr Drakkar has all the hallmarks of a young Arnold Schwarzenegger: bulging arms, a V-shaped torso, a brash attitude, a reputation for getting shit done. A man’s man in an era of Rocky, Rambo and Raging Bull. Like many in his class, Mr Drakkar is a man who means business and let’s you know about it. A brazen city boy who drinks, gambles, clubs, pumps iron, and fucks like a racehorse.
When he works out, Mr Drakkar goes for it. Vest on, fists clenched. A chalky talcum powder grip. Rock music pumping. Beads of sweat dripping down his hulky shoulders and hairy chest. Remnants of a lavender scented shower gel morphing and become spicy as the hot-headed Drakkar powers through his heavy sets. A boiling pot of earthy warmth.
After gym time, it’s shower time. Blokey soaks in communal waters, where talk moves from workout goals to business deals – and who’s bringing in the most dosh. Mr Drakkar’s bragging right is his 1982 black Ferrari Boxer. A beast of a motor. Inside of which hangs a screechy Forest Fresh Magic Tree – loud as its owner. A fragrant nod to the many hours Mr Drakkar spends outdoors, bow hunting and wing shooting in the forest. A piny scent trail clinging to his leather jacket as he drives off into the night. Such is the Drakkar Noir experience with Mr Drakkar.
Kommentare