Quasar Jesus del Pozo

Quasar arrives as a peculiar artefact of early-'90s fragrance philosophy—a scent that seems caught between competing ambitions, never quite committing to either. Christopher Sheldrake constructs an opening where banana leaf's tropical herbaceousness clashes intriguingly with fruity synthetics, creating something neither quite green nor quite gourmand, but rather caught in an unsettling middle ground. The heart attempts rescue through a lavender-geranium-rosemary triad that suggests classical aromatic sensibility, yet these herbal notes feel oddly compressed, as though the fruity opening has wrestled them into submission rather than gracefully yielding to them. There's an aquatic shimmer throughout—that synthetic, almost metallic freshen that defined '90s niche fragrances—which prevents the composition from ever settling into genuine warmth. Cedar and sandalwood in the base ought to anchor proceedings, but by then the fragrance has largely evaporated from skin, leaving only whispered traces of oakmoss and patchouli that promise more substance than they deliver. This is a scent for someone intrigued by experimental fragrance chemistry, who doesn't require longevity or sillage, and who appreciates oddness over comfort. It's fleeting, peculiar, and somehow more interesting than its mediocre ratings suggest—a curio from an era when perfumers were genuinely uncertain how synthetic accords should interact with natural materials.