Crazy Me

7 reseñas

Mostrando las más recientes primero.

• Kiame

  December 22, 2019

  

  They tested it on blotter paper at a John Lewis, and instantly, an intense mimosa flooded me; it’s my favourite note. I loved it at first and saved it for spring, though I’d like to try it on skin to check its longevity and sillage (on paper it lasted quite a while and smelled good, without being excessive). The only thing that didn’t convince me was the futuristic bottle; it reminds me of those aluminium pouches with nozzles for fruit purees in playgrounds, just more rigid.

• Kiame

  January 1, 2020

  

  They tested it on blotter paper at a John Lewis, and as soon as they sprayed it, an intense mimosa scent flooded me; it’s one of my favourite notes. I’d like to try it on skin to check its longevity and sillage (on paper it lasted quite a while and was noticeable, but without being excessive), but I loved it at first and have already noted it for spring. The only thing that didn’t convince me was the futuristic bottle; to give you an idea, it looks like an aluminium pouch with a nozzle for children’s fruit purees, just more rigid.

• Espartaco

  June 21, 2021

  

  After trying the entire horrible Pacollection (Paquéseñorpaqué) family, I’ll summarise my impressions. There are hardly any reviews on Fragrantica, and I’m not surprised; Puig treated it with little enthusiasm. The bottles are pretty, modern, and distinct from the rest of the house, but the fragrances are poor and have an unpleasant edge. Only two have personality. The signature identity is a sticky, burnt tone, like batteries and electronic devices mixed with sugar, syrups, and mosquito repellent. The guide is a stinky, sticky, ultra-artificial texture. Crazy Me is disgusting; it smells of damp, gummy talc with a distressing hint of seventies basil and galbanum. I don’t smell the mimosa or sandalwood, only a dated green paste and raw herbs. The wasabi is recognisable but the tone is outdated. Only at the end does a tempered mimosa seem to resurface. I was gifted it and threw it away; surely someone else will like it for being so unconventional. I find Strong Me unbearable due to my hatred of loud vanillas, but perhaps it has its audience, like fans of Lush or Montale. It smells of artificially boiled woody vanilla with liquors, a brash, oriental, disco perfume. The metallic notes are baked and braided. Davana enters strongly, giving it a bitter, vegetal side that isn’t unpleasant. I found it annoying and harassing, but I suppose it works for some. Genius Me is a manual aromatic; it will appeal to men looking for soft sport waters from the nineties. Don’t be fooled by the futuristic bottle; aside from a horrible opening like Fanta, it’s a bookish aromatic with oakmoss and boiled rosemary, with memories of boiled egg or stagnant water. I don’t get the metallic accord. As it dries, the soft orange returns, reminiscent of Happy Clinique. I find it masculine and nothing to my taste because it’s soft, boiled, and morbid. At first, it smells of morning phlegm; literally, it reminds me of a cold. Genius Me is a masterpiece. The official sheet lists the molecule Cristalfizz. Dangerous Me is terrible; it’s a clichéd clone more seen than the tbo, a nasty, false twist on Dior Homme Intense and YSL L’Homme. It lacks personality; it’s a soft, blurred masculine oriental with hints of powdered food spices. The vanilla becomes headstrong and smells like used bandages from the Red Cross. It’s especially sinister, making you think of sordid things. If someone were to guess blindly, it would be like a cousin of Le Male Parfum, but more artificial. Erotic Me is the only original in the line alongside Crazy Me, but beware; it’s a repulsive mess. I love that it exists because, among so many clones, finding something so challenging is refreshing. I tested it and couldn’t identify that powdery accord that made me want to rip my nose off—a porous sweetness that turned my insides inside out. Suddenly, I realised: it smells like cornmeal porridge. The listed note is milk, and that’s what it smells like. Not cold or freshly boiled milk, but milk heated in a pan and cooling down, or the residue of a teacup. I need more to vomit. The opening is fruity, like children’s porridge, but the dry-down literally smells of milk slightly sweetened with two petals of spiced flowers—a bitter, tempered aftertaste impossible to enjoy. It’s a perfume of unusual photorealism. I don’t understand who wants to smell like a crazy goat has been watered on them, but tastes vary. The sample lists incense, which is non-existent. Fabulous Me is a horror. Like the rest of this schizophrenic family, it’s coated in a phosphorescent, halogen texture. The difference is that they’ve added pumpkin, a note that, if it must be used in perfumery, let God see it. Fabulous Me is a balsamic mole of cooked pumpkin; it doesn’t quite smell of angel hair, but that’s the direction. It has an annoying, cloying sweetness mixed with raw accords reminiscent of a garbage bag. I don’t smell the rhubarb, at most a very slight freshness. The sandalwood is more of the same. What truly shines is an unlisted vanilla that unifies the entire Paquéseñorpaqué line. PD: I appreciate that this saga destined to die soon steps away from one-millionth molecules to create something more artistic, although the result is often odious due to its dripping, greasy, and invasive nature. I suspect they will delist it soon. I only find two truly novel ones: Erotic Me and Crazy Me; the rest are twists on something smelled two hundred million times.

• Espartaco

  July 3, 2021

  

  I tested the entire Pacollection family (or Paquéseñorpaqué, as I call it) and summarise my thoughts here. There are hardly any reviews on Fragrantica, and I’m not surprised: Puig made it with little enthusiasm, and it’s not even seen in local perfumeries. The bottles and names did catch my attention; the design is suggestive and modern, very different from the rest of the house, which tends to be more vulgar and cheap. They have round metallic bottles, like helium balloons, an aesthetic closer to Rabanne than to kitsch items like the One Million bar. But the truth is the bottle is pretty and the perfume is bad, with an annoying touch. At least two have personality, but the line’s signature is that sticky, burnt tone, like batteries and electronics mixed with sugar, syrups, cloying vape smoke, and oily mosquito repellent. The guide for the six is a fetid, sticky, insidious, and ultra-artificial texture. Crazy Me is what’s on this sheet: disgusting. It’s amusing that it goes its own way and resembles nothing current, but you need very special tastes to like it. If it had parents, they would be those rare seasonal Comme des Garçons and some old, spicy floral-vegetable talc. It smells of damp, gummy talc with a distressing note like seventies basil with old latex, and a touch of amber with a galbanum aftertaste. I don’t like any family; I can’t bear those greasy accords that remind me of blood clots under fluorescent light, but finding them in a 2020 perfume is curious. I see the mimosa notes but only smell that at the dry-down; it’s a super-recognisable, honeyed yellow flower. I don’t smell the sandalwood, although the sample card lists it. What I smell is a dated green paste, a mashed mass of vetiver roots, lemon grass, galbanum, mint, or raw basil—a matte freshness. The wasabi is noticeable for its bitter, green spice, but if they don’t tell you, it could be periwinkle or immortelle, because the tone is outdated and rustic, like a weed. The spicy peaks between the sickly green remind me of carnations, so at some point I think I’m smelling a seventies feminine version of something like Jaipur pour homme. Only at the end does a strangely refreshing mimosa seem to resurface, those that smell of tempered chamomile. I was gifted it and threw it down a ravine, but surely someone might like it; it breaks every current mould. The official sheet also lists blackcurrant. I find Strong Me unbearable due to my natural hatred of these loud, braided vanillas, but I think it’s one of the few in the line that might find an audience, surely fans of brands focused on potency rather than perfume dimension, like Lush or Montale. Strong Me is synthetic and sticky, almost a monologue of artificially woody vanilla; it smells as if vanilla beans, dry wood, and alcoholic liquors were boiled in a copper cauldron. It’s a woody, burnt, and extremely potent vanilla that clogs your nose like a scent burner addict. The vibe is Viktor & Rolf, without naturalness; a brash, oriental, disco perfume, shameless and showy, unisex. The metallic notes, usually cold and sharp, are here seasoned, baked, and braided—pure rust. It’s interesting to see how Davana enters strongly in the heart, giving a beautiful bitter, herbaceous, and vegetal side to that single-layer formula of vanilla and fermented liquors under neon lights. I find it annoying, harassing, and impertinent; every time I smelled my hand, I nearly gagged, but I suppose it will have its audience. Not to my taste, it’s a moderately well-made perfume that works. Genius Me is a manual aromatic; it will appeal to men who like that stream of soft sport waters from the early nineties. Don’t be fooled by the futuristic and technological bottle; aside from a horrible opening like a cough syrup sachet flavoured with Fanta, it’s a bookish aromatic, with its oakmoss and, above all, rosemary, which instead of having that invigorating, crunchy tone of Badesse, acquires a boiled, puffy body with memories of boiled egg or stagnant water, which sometimes happens with grapefruit. In this phase, I’m not interested at all because it reminds me of things from the Tsar line or Miyake’s Agua Azul. I don’t get the metallic accord, and as it dries, the orange returns to the forefront, but softer and tempered, like Happy Clinique. I find it masculine and nothing to my taste because of its soft, boiled, hirsute, and morbid nature. It’s a first cousin of Terre Hermès Eau Fraîche, Happy pour Homme, and the horrible Hermès line of wonder waters. At first, it smells of the horrible phlegm that clogs mucus, of morning spit. Now that I think about it, this Genius Me reminds me of a cold literally: on one side, the cough syrup sachet aromatised with orange, and on the other, the fleshy, gummy memories of green phlegm. A masterpiece. The official sheet lists the molecule Cristalfizz, which is like an aldehyde. Dangerous Me is terrible; it’s born knowing it’s a clichéd clone more seen than the tbo, the typical twist on Dior Homme Intense and the YSL L’Homme range, just uglier and more fake. It’s something smelled two hundred million times in the male sector of the last decade, simply another twist no one asked for of toasted ginger and powdery woody vanillas. You wouldn’t recognise it among others because it lacks personality; it’s the typical civilised, blurred, soft masculine oriental, with hints of powdered food spices, until the vanilla becomes more headstrong and rusty, smelling exactly like one of those white tin boxes with a red cross on the lid where half of Spain kept used bandages. Moreover, it’s especially sinister, making you think of sordid things, like the Zulo house of Buffalo Bill in The Silence of the Lambs. If someone were to guess blindly, it would be like a cousin of Le Male Parfum, but more artificial. Erotic Me is the only original in the line alongside Crazy Me, but beware; it’s a repulsive mess. I love that it exists because, among the whole rabble of clone perfumes, finding something so challenging is refreshing. When I tested it, I was constantly trying to figure out what the hell that powdery texture accord was that made me want to rip my nose off, a porous, organic sweetness that turned my insides inside out, and suddenly something clicked: cornmeal porridge. I see the listed note is milk, and I testify that’s what it smells like. Not cold, refreshing, or freshly boiled and steaming milk. We’re not even talking directly about lactonic scales; it smells of milk that was heated in a pan and is cooling down, or the residue of a cup of milk with a tea sachet. Honestly, I need more to vomit. The opening is fruity and smells like children’s porridge that mixes milk, fruit, and cereals, but the dry-down, God help me, literally smells of milk slightly sweetened with two petals of spiced flowers—a bitter, tempered aftertaste, almost alive, impossible to enjoy. Without stopping, Erotic Me is a perfume of unusual photorealism. Of course, I don’t understand who wants to smell like a crazy goat has been watered on them, but tastes vary. The sample lists incense, which is non-existent when tasting. Fabulous Me is a horror. Like the rest of this schizophrenic family, it’s coated in a phosphorescent, halogen texture that would make you throw yourself down a ravine. The difference is that they get creative and add pumpkin, a note that, if it must be used in perfumery, let God see it. Fabulous Me is a balsamic mole of cooked pumpkin; it doesn’t quite smell of angel hair, literally, but that’s the direction. It has an annoying, cloying sweetness like its clan mates, but here it’s even more unpleasant as it mixes with raw accords reminiscent of a garbage bag or organic waste. I don’t smell the rhubarb, even if I try; at most a very slight freshness accord during the heart, but nothing perceptible. The sandalwood is more of the same. What truly shines, and moreover sings in La Traviata, is an unlisted vanilla that unifies the entire Paquéseñorpaqué line. PD: I appreciate that this saga destined to die soon steps away from one-millionth and invincible molecules to create something more artistic and creative, although the result either doesn’t matter to me or is directly odious due to its dripping, greasy, and invasive nature. I suspect they will delist it soon. PD II: I only find two truly novel ones: Erotic Me and Crazy Me; the rest are twists on something smelled two hundred million times.

• Silvi_del_agua

  October 16, 2021

  

  What little personality does this fragrance have? The name suits it not at all. The opening is promising, with a spicy, woody sweetness (the wasabi), but within minutes it transforms into an excessively powdery mimosa with a spicy base. It sounds better than it smells; it’s not wonderful and is only detectable up close. Longevity is also disappointing; after three hours, it’s gone. If you’re looking for something soft, you might like it, but what a fusty fragrance.

• ChocoChan

  April 3, 2023

  

  I think Silvi_del_agua’s comment is the fairest. We shouldn’t be so harsh and call it repulsive, because every nose is different, and that offends the creator. As she says, it smells of shy mimosa; the wasabi is hard for me to detect, although I know its scent well well. At the start it seems more promising, but after a few minutes it lingers only on the mimosa. On my skin, it’s one of the worst experiences: less than two hours and it was hard to smell it, even burying my nose in my wrist, and the sillage is nothing, not even to feel it yourself. I don’t think the whole line is bad or repulsive; there are some well-made and interesting ones, like Major Me, or simply this one doesn’t work for us but surely it will for someone. When it comes to perfumes, everything is subjective, but you should never insult the house or the perfume so much.

• ChocoChan

  April 21, 2023

  

  I agree with Silvi_del_agua: don’t be so harsh; every nose is different, and insulting the house doesn’t help. It’s a very shy mimosa; the wasabi is barely noticeable. It starts promising but then lingers only on the flower with terrible longevity—less than two hours, and there’s no sillage at all. I don’t think the whole line is bad; there are gems like Major Me, but this one just doesn’t work for me. In the end, it’s all subjective, but you should never call anything repulsive.