What piqued my interest in A*Men was its supposed resemblance to my beloved Borneo 1834, in that it had notes of patchouli and chocolate. Would this be a more price-reasonable alternative to my rare-as-hen's-teeth paramour? Alas, no. A*Men smells exactly like that species of male that goes clubbing, blinds your eyes with a permatanned oily sheen, is hirsute, has chains a-clanking, and has a ridiculously groomed goatee. The kind that likes to see desperate straight girls kiss for attention in between body shots and Brazilian waxes. This is a laughable little nubbins, a goofy adolescent horndog with a permanent hard-on. A very, very small one.
A*Men Pure Coffee is wan, a malformed foam heart on a too-weak latte made by an incompetent, 17-year-old barista in training.
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