Spinsterlong

It took me a while to warm up to it, but now I'm completely transfixed. I can only imagine how older versions smelled, although I hear the current formulation is actually not bad. It's just the perfect balance of contradictory tendencies: the rawness of gasoline, the delicacy of florals, the diffusive greenness of violet leaf, the grounded reddish brown of leather. Its like one of those optical illusions where you can see two different things depending on wether you focus on the figure or the ground, both perfectly complementary and opposite, yet existing simultaneously. This feels like a rare stroke of brilliant perfumery genius combined with the stars aligning, considering all the parties involved in its creation, and it's a miracle that it's still available and in decent shape nearly 30 years later. This doesn't fit into any category, is really a work of art, and yet is still perfectly wearable and arguably even versatile. I only wish it had a bit more body in it's current form.

This is gorgeously weird and feels like futuristic luxury. The opening is mesmerizing and I wish it lingered for longer. It has this dark oiliness mixed in with the citrus that evokes something like motor oil but has a texture more akin to an iridescent oil spill, maybe thanks to the violet leaf. The association is similar to something like fahrenheit, but its less of a direct representation of the smell of petrol than a feeling of gaseousness. I also associate it a bit to the flinty orange of terre d'hermes. The saffron in the opening is a kind of foreshadowing of the suede-leathery aspects that eventually come through from the osmanthus. The immortelle is there in the heart but in a kind of fictional form: it's a kind of transparent, emptied out immortelle. I wish it had just a bit more presence in its natural spicy warmth before transitioning into that musky akigalawood base familiar to anyone who knows Quentin Bisch's work. That last phase can sometimes come across a bit thin and artificial, and lingers on for an eternity. Overall the blend of fruits, abstracted florals, suede and akigalawood feels more complex than bois imperial, but also less effortless and natural.

Yes, this is somewhat harsh in the opening, but it's well worth going through the first hour or so of sourness considering how good you'll smell for the next 16. It's like a perfectly modernized vetiver, with added peppery and fruity (peachy) facets, on a base of clean and abstract woods (georgywood and akigalawood) and amber. There is something so addictive about this, it evokes aromatherapy at a high end resort and plant life on a faraway planet, while smelling so familiar and effortless, like it was deeply buried in your subconscious all along, just waiting to be unearthed. It must be the mixture of familiarity and exoticism that makes this so compelling, as is often the case with great works of art.

A complex and multi-faceted incense that changes a lot depending on the season and weather. Opens lushly green from the galbanum, but it's short lived. The peppery, thorny rose then takes the stage, but its transparent, and not an obvious rose note. I can't honestly say I know how geosmin smells, but there is a kind of ethereal earthiness surrounding the rose, along with the subtle cassis note that makes it feel a bit dark. A few hours in is when this usually becomes really interesting, as the frankincense comes through surprisingly realistically. It is delicate and supported by patchouli and quite a strong base of ambroxan, but it's so well blended that it isn't intrusive. It's the interplay of all these elements that is endlessly stimulating, the greenness, incense, muskyness, and fruitiness, not always cohering in a classical way, but very evocative nonetheless. Somber without being heavy, like a dark water color. You might say the perfume itself is moody, delicately changing and highlighting different aspects depending on the conditions.

This is fascinating. Opens pungently green, black and gooey, like screeching natural rubber tires smoking and practically melting on the asphalt. Then piney, almost medicinal, but with the blackness of something like licorice. Surprisingly complex for the single note of labdanum. As with any realistic resin note, the intensity is rather short lived, but in this case that's a good thing. It settles into something both naturalistic and synthetic, ancient and modern, striking a wonderful balance between the stoicism of rocks and resins and the cuddliness of an animal's fur. It hovers between being woody, smoky, animalic, and leathery, without ever tipping too far in any direction. I suspect cashmeran is responsible for helping it hum along for quite some time, albeit at low volume.