Byrehoe

Where lavish, drunken vanilla rendezvous with rich, musky leather. It’s syrupy, it’s smoky, it’s undeniably sexy. It’s bottle service and crème brûlée. Some saffrons take on a sort of “mechanical” lean to my nose – think rubber, metal, motor oil – and it’s at its best in Babycat. Very vroom vroom. Feels like it could be the cousin to Byredo Black Saffron, if you substituted the raspberry for vanilla, and the more masc, more luxurious answer to Black Opium. Surprised she was born in 2022, because there’s something so Hedi Slimane (‘12-16) about her. An indie sleaze heiress. This is for the girls that reblogged Lana gifs on Tumblr and had a Prada Marfa sign in their NYC loft. I can’t be the only one pining for Polyvore. Probably opaque enough to keep its sweetness the whole night out, but can confirm it lasted a weekend-long Netflix bedrot on my pyjamas.

Mental Snapshot: Half Bond Girl, half Cheetah Girl. Leopard-print mini, over-the-knee suede, stolen leather jacket. A trophy wife on a motorbike. A cat burglar in couture.

tl;dr: smokey-eyed vanilla

A voluptuous vanilla-almond confection, with a side of rice. Top accord for me is this snow-white, waxy vanilla candle. It hovers above a thick layer of amaretto, which might be borrowed from Of True Minds. However, this is far more warm and treacly. Think Byredo Bibliotheque, but gone gourmand. I am such a hype girl for the new rice wave sweeping perfumery, and the starch plays beautifully here, gentling the potency of the almond. It’s a cozy scent, but not quiet about it. Found it also shares OTM’s longevity, lasting a full workday on skin and well over a weekend on my clothes.

Mental Snapshots: Being hugged by Mariah Carey in a fluffy bathrobe. The holiday aisle of a Home Goods, but in the most luxurious way. You’re the hottest little elf at the North Pole cocktail party.

tl;dr: holiday hug

Sticky-sour candy plastic. Viscid fruit punch, starring a California-sober rhubarb. One of those rare dirty-clean fragrances. It’s a scent that takes a bit of breaking in; the olfactory equivalent of a pair of jelly sandals. I did not enjoy the opening – an acrid citron that hit too Pine Sol for my liking – but once it marinated into tangy, fruity goo I was all heart-eyes. I’m eating a bag of Haribo Twin Snakes as I type this and my fingers smell almost exactly like my pulse points. Longevity does not joke, either. Another addition to the edible gummy family of fragrances (see Gumamina’s Odette, Universal Flowering’s Burst!, and the slightly skunkier, slightly more serious Diptyque Lazulio). A fun time, for sure. But I don’t think I want to Delulu on the daily.

Mental Snapshot: Rummaging through a toy chest of freshly-sanitized unicorns and dinosaurs with Jolly Rancher-tacky fingers. But you’re the daycare owner now. “You smell like weed,” Says Kevin R. “No Kevin R.,” You quickly hush. “I smell like Bulgarian rose and osmanthus.”

tl;dr: candy for grown-ups

Warm, powdery, nurturing. Maternal, in a way that will heal your mommy issues. Makes me nostalgic for a place I’ve never been, somewhere where fresh carpet meets art studio. The clay is true to life and the carrot seed is the best performing I’ve met – a rare treat considering how fleeting my nose finds it in most others. And the rice! (Starch lovers rejoice!). Feels like the sepia-toned version of Dries van Noten’s Neon Garden, which also does a beautiful orris meets carrot. Behaves like a skin scent, but if it were any louder I think that would actually detract from the effect.

I’m really into these “new home” scents – you know, the smell of a model home or a celebrity’s Arch Digest loft. Would put Byredo's Desert Dawn, Fugazzi's Angel Dust, and Phlur's Somebody Wood in the same family, with Naked Dance being the most lived-in and grounded of them all. Also matriarch of the “pencil shavings” niche – think Room 1015's Sonic Flower, Glossier's You, or Universal Flowering's Burst!.

Mental Snapshot: Being taken under the wing of your AP art teacher. She’s teaching you how to use a potter’s wheel for the first time and doesn’t care if you get clay on the suede of her Birkenstocks. Every smudge tells a story and what you call a mistake she calls a discovery. It’s figure drawing class and all bodies are beautiful.

tl;dr: suburban bohemian

Petrified forest vanilla. Strikes me as a tree resin sort of vanilla, like something you’d get from melting down Paleocine amber. Dry, peppery, honeyed, smoky. It still lays down malty and smooth, like a true vanilla extract. Queen bee of the “evergreen amber” family of vanillas. Perfect choice if you found Glizzy Water too flighty and cupcakey, or if you wanted more fire and spice from Architects Club. Does something parallel to Liis’s Bo but with pine and pepper instead of mallow and cedar. Or perhaps Babycat, evolved into a graceful cougar. Yes mother.

Mental Snapshot: The kind of woman who would carry an impressively scuffed-up Birkin, the way nature intended. She’s an art historian, an elusive Pulitzer winner. Think hot archaeologist, like Rachel Weisz in The Mummy.

tl;dr: elder amber