3
Helpful Review
The Blackberry with a Gun License
There are fragrances that want to please - they greet you with a friendly smile, clean, tidy, almost overly styled. And then there is Ambre Khandjar. It doesn’t come to please. It comes to test you!
Even the first breath is like opening a heavy wooden door in a nighttime bazaar. No glaring lights, no oriental Disneyland - but shadows, smoke, and the faint clinking of metal somewhere in the distance. And in the midst of this twilight: a blackberry. But not the one from your grandma's garden. No - this is the most dangerous blackberry that has ever left a perfumery. Black as pitch, sweet with the precision of a dagger's cut, enveloped in glowing resin.
Then a waxy note emerges - like the fleeting glow of a candle that warms the smoke for a moment. With it, the blackberry changes: it becomes rounder, nobler, sweeter, almost like expensive jam in a golden jar. This moment is enticing - even if the wax itself wasn’t really necessary for my taste. It slightly tames the wildness of the blackberry, making it more refined, more subdued.
Labdanum and benzoin then draw a dark, balsamic trail that brings everything back together. No comforting amber, no sugary glaze - rather the scent of burnt gold and resinous embers. You can smell the heat, but also the decay. Like the last remnants of a feast that smolders in the dawn - and somewhere between the flames lies this blackberry, unscathed and proud.
Ambre Khandjar is not a scent for everyday wear, not a perfume for brunch.
It is a nighttime ritual, a small, beautiful danger in bottle form.
And yes - I like it.
This smokiest, darkest blackberry in the world.
Even the first breath is like opening a heavy wooden door in a nighttime bazaar. No glaring lights, no oriental Disneyland - but shadows, smoke, and the faint clinking of metal somewhere in the distance. And in the midst of this twilight: a blackberry. But not the one from your grandma's garden. No - this is the most dangerous blackberry that has ever left a perfumery. Black as pitch, sweet with the precision of a dagger's cut, enveloped in glowing resin.
Then a waxy note emerges - like the fleeting glow of a candle that warms the smoke for a moment. With it, the blackberry changes: it becomes rounder, nobler, sweeter, almost like expensive jam in a golden jar. This moment is enticing - even if the wax itself wasn’t really necessary for my taste. It slightly tames the wildness of the blackberry, making it more refined, more subdued.
Labdanum and benzoin then draw a dark, balsamic trail that brings everything back together. No comforting amber, no sugary glaze - rather the scent of burnt gold and resinous embers. You can smell the heat, but also the decay. Like the last remnants of a feast that smolders in the dawn - and somewhere between the flames lies this blackberry, unscathed and proud.
Ambre Khandjar is not a scent for everyday wear, not a perfume for brunch.
It is a nighttime ritual, a small, beautiful danger in bottle form.
And yes - I like it.
This smokiest, darkest blackberry in the world.
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3 Comments
I highly recommend it!