Andros by Parera
Men
Description
Andros by Parera is an aromatic aquatic fragrance for men. Andros was launched in the 1980s.
Show more ↓Quick summary
When to wear it (votes)
- Winter 21%
- Spring 36%
- Summer 3.6%
- Autumn 39%
- Day 58%
- Night 42%
Key notes
-
Notes
aquatic notes
Community
27 votes
- Positive 89%
- Negative 3.7%
- Neutral 7.4%
The olfactory pyramid
A guide to the opening, heart and lasting trail of the fragrance.
The community speaks
Compare the results and tap an answer to add your vote.
In the collection
Leading answer I owned it
89 votes
What do you think?
Leading answer Like it
27 votes
Season
Choose severalLeading answer Autumn
28 votes
Time of day
Choose severalLeading answer Day
12 votes
Each question has its own vote count. You can choose several seasons.
It may remind you of
Ranked by what the community voted.
More from Parera
How it wears
Compare the results and tap an answer to add your vote.
Longevity
Tied for the lead Moderate / Long-lasting
18 votes
Sillage
Leading answer Strong
17 votes
Character
Leading answer Traditionally masculine
10 votes
Value perception
Tied for the lead Fair price / Excellent value
10 votes
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Community reviews
11 reviews
Share what you noticed: opening, drydown, sillage and the moments when it works for you.
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.
A pure classic from the 80s; it smells clean and is a must for any collector. It’s a pity it’s hard to find nowadays, just like Varón Dandy or Royal Regiment Sun; undoubtedly, they are treasures that shouldn’t be missing from your shelf.
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.
For many Spaniards of the 80s, Andros by Parera was the perfect substitute for Chanel’s Antaeus, something many didn’t even know existed. Parera created incredible men’s fragrances, such as this one and Varón Dandy. Forget that aquatic description on the datasheets; here lies an oriental, woody, and spiced world. They say it launched in 1987, but I’d say it was earlier, around 1981 like Antaeus. It was created by an unknown perfumer with a rare honesty of craftsmanship that is hard to find today. The advertising showed a sirtaki on a yacht, very Ibizan and Mykonian, in the vein of 70s playboys. Anyone from Gunter Sachs to Patrick Gilles could have worn it; it was a powerhouse. Poor Brigitte, who has seen you and who sees you now. Andros was cosmopolitan, sophisticated, and masculine. The Spaniards who wore it didn’t suspect anything; they wore it because it was in the supermarkets, advertised heavily, and smelled good. It had that greasy blend of rose, jasmine, leather, and pepper. If you wore it, I’d say, ‘I know what you did last summer.’ It was a potent Chypre, distilled in Crete, where the rockrose, thyme, and juniper masculinise those velvety floral effluvia. It had one of the most mysterious patchoulis I remember, sweet, earthy, and sensual. It was a sexual fragrance, of cognac nights and golden tobacco, sweat on sunburnt skin, and open shirts on hairy torsos. 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.
Bufff… one of my all-time favourites. My father’s boss used to wear it when I was fourteen, and I bought it because I loved it, although perhaps it wasn’t for my age. I used several bottles; I bought the last one in a little neighbourhood shop after Parera closed, and until recently it sat in my mother’s house just so I could smell it. I remember that black bottle, cheap and wonderful, and the advert with the Greek music. I’d love to know if there is anything similar today; I would buy it without hesitation.
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 am from Lima, Peru, and reading the reviews (especially the one by user Bofifa, a jewel worthy of Cortázar, congratulations!) sparked my curiosity to buy it. Today, July 2018, I passed through a street in the centre full of perfume suppliers and they sell it in two 100 ml bottles for $10, which seemed such a good bargain it made me suspicious, but we shall see what I find and I hope to share my opinion with you.
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.
We entered an abandoned house on the last day of the year, lost in the countryside and forgotten for twenty years. It was cold and only the wind broke the silence. Rumours said the family had fled due to a cult. On the ground floor, the cold living room welcomed us; a ray of sunlight illuminated a rag doll in a hammock, while dust floated over everything, covering even the goat skin of the floor. There were old liquors, a huge TV, silver cutlery, and silent porcelain. We went upstairs into the darkness with torches: an office with papers, a safe, images of the Virgin Mary and rosaries on the floor, alongside books of architecture and economics. In a drawer, sepia photos and a box of bullets. Rooms with old clothes, jackets, and shoes; another with motorcycle posters and an open video game magazine, as if the boy expected to return. In the last one, boxes of clothes and toiletries were thrown about: combs, soaps, creams. My torch lit a dark box with elegant letters: ‘Andros by Parera’. I took it out; it was new. Although the unwritten rule says not to take anything, my addiction to perfumes made me steal it. It was the worst start to a year of my life: the five-year-old told me it was time to stop. Our relationship was as worn out as that polyurethane jacket in the wardrobe: just an empty shell. I felt amputated, in freefall, covering my ears to the painful inner echo. But I did not fall into self-destruction. A conviction arose: to rebuild myself, to move forward. Pure survival. For months, I used that 240 ml bottle. It was a period of pride in the effort against the collapse of my life. I worked harder than ever, took courses, looked for new people, and lived healthily. When my head spun with the past or grief held me, I reset and focused on what I liked. Andros was with me: dark and sturdy, with an opening like V&A Pour Homme, then discreet and calm. It had seriousness, responsibility, ‘let’s be adults’, and a romantic, assertive dry-down. It was a humble Antaeus, simplified but loved. The perfume of ‘let’s get to work, I’m not wasting time’. It accentuated my character and was great for me. Dry, brief, soothed, and substantial, I used it to perfume my soul. When I finished the bottle, with another life, I searched for another bottle that I use little. It reminds me that anyone can do anything and that constancy is vital. I have great affection for Andros. I like to think that that bottle thanked me for saving it from ruin and helped me add colour to the ruin I had become.
Andros ‘aquatic’… I think there was a mistake. I bought it today and I feel nothing aquatic. Perhaps from the Black Sea, haha. In my opinion, it is a typical 80s fragrance, soapy, with lavender, green notes, and resins. It combines elements from more notable perfumes like Van Cleef’s Pour Homme, Xeryus, or the sophisticated Chanel Antaeus. Although I expected little, I was surprised: I thought it would be worse and it turned out good. I think, being discontinued, it smells more natural than many reformulations of other famous ones. The downsides are at first glance: it is not very complex, less interesting, and seems to progress little. It is not very expensive. If you like the genre, it is a good purchase. I think it is an aromatic fougère.