L’Autre (Diptyque, 1973)

Mr Atrocity has ranted most excellently below about the affront to sensuality that is Tom Ford For Men. In the course of trying to create a sexxayhott smell, Mr Ford inexplicably forgot to include any ingredients reminiscent of the human body. There is an obvious reason for this, which can easily be deduced from a glance at the advert: Mr Ford does not understand the difference between sex and pornography. Poor thing. This is a bit like not understanding the difference between eating a fabulous, imaginative and perfectly-cooked four-course meal, and looking at a photograph of a tub of supermarket margarine.

For those who like their pleasures first-hand and real, L’Autre is much more the thing; perhaps the sort of thing, in fact, that Mr Ford would have created were he not scared of his own penis. Because L’Autre is actually sexy, in a real, earthy, unashamed, all-consuming way. It smells of two things: man-spice and man-sweat. It is devastatingly uncomplicated. Spray it on, and it’s cumin. (Sorry.) Heavy, heavy garam masala, cumin-centric, with hints of coriander, ginger and black pepper. And then, after about five to ten seconds, comes the first hammer-blow of pure armpit. WHOMP! Oh God. It’s wonderful. You wait and sniff again. WHOMP! Grrr. WHOMP! Again!

L’Autre is the smell of the wolfman, if the wolfman lives in Peshawar and rarely washes. It is the smell of an Afghan spice market after a long summer day, while rugged tribesmen stand guard, using their Kalashnikovs to pick their teeth. It is like dancing all night with an awesomely muscled and shirtless Bollywood superstar, and burying your nose in his furry chest hair. It is sex. Sex and curry. And sex.

The fact that such a balls-out scent is made by Diptyque, more famed for producing ludicrously overpriced though unfortunately irresistible scented candles, comes as some surprise. Still, it was 1973 when they made it, and people were still prepared to smell like people then, rather than scrubbing feverishly at their denuded pubes with chemically-synthesised watermelon.

Naturally, the Basenotes page on L’Autre is full of people writing “ZOMG WTF it smells like vindaloo and hell and a crotch!!!11 yuk man pass the Clinique Happy!!!” Most people won’t like L’Autre, but then again most people don’t like subtitled films, opera and having their steak served blue. We can safely conclude that most people are idiots. For those few who actually enjoy life’s pleasures, it is a truly luscious discovery. If you’re one of them, you may also relish a deep sniff of Serge Lutens' Santal de Mysore, which is either a rip-off or an even more perfected version of L’Autre, depending on how you feel about Christopher Sheldrake.