Clay Face
Honolulu, Hawaii
Grafton Shaving Cream (Truefitt & Hill) ★★★ lavender, herbs, coumarin
Lavender and tarragon nestled in fields of fresh hay. Grafton is an ideal early summer scent. Call it a fougère, call it a barbershop, it just smells clean and responsible. (It also smells a lot like the 70s, tamer than Brut by far, but a long way from the crispness of Sartorial.) My tub of Grafton cream is nearly six months old, and most of the citrus notes have long flown. Even the incense, which makes the cologne interesting as it dries down, seems to have sunk to the bottom of my jar. What's left of the fragrance is still very pleasant, though, in a mild and soothing way.
From time to time it's fun to set the modern artisans aside and sample classic scents. They smell impressive and professional. If only the current creams from the grand old British houses performed with more panache. Grafton lathered easily, but after only one pass I was feeling sore, and an hour later my skin was tight enough to drum on. Have I been mollycoddled by the butters and botanicals that make artisanal soaps such a pleasure, or have the refashioned classics lost their ability to take on an edge?
Lavender and tarragon nestled in fields of fresh hay. Grafton is an ideal early summer scent. Call it a fougère, call it a barbershop, it just smells clean and responsible. (It also smells a lot like the 70s, tamer than Brut by far, but a long way from the crispness of Sartorial.) My tub of Grafton cream is nearly six months old, and most of the citrus notes have long flown. Even the incense, which makes the cologne interesting as it dries down, seems to have sunk to the bottom of my jar. What's left of the fragrance is still very pleasant, though, in a mild and soothing way.
From time to time it's fun to set the modern artisans aside and sample classic scents. They smell impressive and professional. If only the current creams from the grand old British houses performed with more panache. Grafton lathered easily, but after only one pass I was feeling sore, and an hour later my skin was tight enough to drum on. Have I been mollycoddled by the butters and botanicals that make artisanal soaps such a pleasure, or have the refashioned classics lost their ability to take on an edge?
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