Andros by Parera

An 80s classic with a clean scent. It’s a pity that in my country it’s now hard to find, just like the Dandy and Royal Regiment Sun for men. Undoubtedly, these are classics that no collector or fragrance enthusiast can afford to be without.

I consider that ANDROS by PARERA was the substitute for ANTAEUS by CHANEL for most Spaniards of the 80s, who could not buy Chanel or didn’t know what it was. And I vote for Bríos, a worthy substitute. PARERA made wonderful men’s perfumes, such as VARON DANDY and this ANDROS. Forget the datasheet that says ‘Aromatic Aquatic’ and look into the deep world of Orientals, Woody, and Spiced, because it has it all. They say it launched in 1987, but I’d say it was earlier, around 1981 like Antaeus. By an unknown author, like almost everything from Parera, Gal, and Myrurgia, it carried a baggage of honesty difficult to find today. Its advertising showed a sirtaki on a yacht, between Ibizan and Mykonian, very much in the line of those playboys who married Brigitte Bardot, an expert Rohmerian collectionneuse with a Gainsbourg touch. From Gunter Sachs to Patrick Gilles, anyone could have worn it, because it suited and it was a powerhouse. Poor Brigitte, who has seen you and who sees you now! Moving from the terrible Gainsbourg to the current Bernard d’Ormale. Alas to that blessed one who recorded ‘Je t’aime, moi non plus’ to the current xenophobic old woman! Sic transit gloria mundi! ANDROS was cosmopolitan, sophisticated, and masculine. The Spaniards of the 80s didn’t suspect anything; they simply wore it because it was in the supermarkets at a good price, advertised a lot, and smelled good. ANDROS had its Oriental part in a greasy blend of rose, jasmine, leather, and pepper. With those notes I melt. If you wore ANDROS, I could say, ‘I know what you did last summer.’ It was linked to hot beach summers and absolved sins, necessary conditions of the Summer Theorem. Or a race you don’t notice; it stays in your body. It was a potent Chypre based on Mediterranean durisilva, distilled in Crete, where the rockrose, thyme, juniper, and mastic masculinised those velvety oriental floral effluvia. And it had one of the most mysterious and deep patchoulis I remember. A sweet, earthy, humic, dense, sensual, and libidinous patchouli. ANDROS was a sexual fragrance, of cognac nights and golden tobacco, sweat on sunburnt skin, and open shirts on hairy torsos. It was the ideal companion for a woman in an OPIUM turban, silk suit, red lips, and endless lashes, in a primordial orgy where perfume and passion became one.

A wonderful 80s classic. I was lucky enough to buy a bottle and I have no regrets. Andros is clean, soapy, and potent, yet not overpowering, and it doesn’t smell aquatic at all as Fragrantica claims. It evokes memories of other classics of the era; I’d add Halston 1-12, and perhaps the dry-down reminds me of Ted Lapidus Pour Homme for that soapy base note. The performance was frankly good for a cheap perfume from back then. If you have the chance, you won’t regret it.

It is true that everyone has their taste, but those aromas move me; it is a wonder that reminds me of Cartier’s Santos. Bathing in Andros is smelling like a man without hesitation. Of the aquatic, there is little; after an hour, I notice gourmand sensations like chocolate or cocoa, mixed with amber and pepper, all in a natural form, with quality and care, far from current synthetics. One of the best Spanish proposals of old school, a jewel for those who have the courage to wear it, very different from what is used today. I thank Bofifa and Josesan for the opportunity to dream with eyes wide open by sending me the samples.

I tried it today without buying it. Imagine a bottle of well-shaken, opened Ginger Ale: an explosion of citrus, ginger, and fizz. That is Andros’ opening. I don’t want to sound arrogant criticising other forum members, but comparing this to Xeryus, Anteus, or VC&A Pour Homme is like saying a 1982 Lada Niva is equal to a Bugatti because both have four wheels. They say it smells like a swimming pool with lemon peels and birch leaves floating. When that initial cloud of chlorine, alcohol, and sharp lemon fades, the good part begins: good sillage of citronella, bergamot, a bit of lavender, perhaps neroli, and a plum-like touch that gives it personality. In the end, something resinous gives it stability. It lasts quite a while, I admit. Ideal for a summer morning freshly showered, without wanting to be saturated with complex aromas. I didn’t expect much for the price, but it has its own thing: an acceptable fougère for those who like it, although nowadays they are considered old-fashioned.