I am emotional about fragrance. We scent a pathway through our lives, remember to pause, inhale & imprint. Inhale & desire.

Saturday, 16 May 2015

Aspects of Structured Verdancy: ‘Panorama’ by Olfactive Studio





The glorious Sheats-Goldstein residence juts out of tropical LA fauna into the sun with unashamed glittering brilliance and angular arrogance. It is a modern cave, a spiky fuck-off-statement of exquisite harmony and brooding privacy. An alien abode containing no 90º angles or painted objects, it built from concrete, glass, stone and leather. I have loved it for decades and always wanted to visit it. Depending on how it is viewed, it seemed to hover and float next to the trees and flora, from other perspectives it seems to be reaching out like one of Ray Bradbury’s haunted Martian architectural maws into the glittering air.


It is photographer Miguel Sandinha’s emerald-suffused image of the Sheats-Goldstein residence that has inspired Panorama, the latest release from Céline Verleure’s artistic and über-chic niche house Olfactive Studio. I have only just treated myself to the solemn, shadowed stickiness of Ombre Indigo created by Mylène Arlan a young Roberet parfumeuse who studied under Jacques Flori and Michel Almairac. The image for Ombre Indigo by Gustavo Pellizzon is a haunting one, a shadow creature walking water or perhaps waiting at the edge for passage across a darkening lake. The figure seems composed of dark matter and motionless, brooding, clothed in saffron orange, lending it a symbolic religiosity. Only in the top left of the image does light appear, again ambiguously, it could be flooding in or fleeing. A lick of orange fire on the water correlates with the figure’s raiment.

'Ombre Indigo': Gustavo Pellizzon
I will be honest; I have struggled a little in the past with Olfactive Studio’s concept of marrying a photographic image to a perfume. In theory I love it, two artforms I have huge passion for, both of them essentially mirrors of emotion, canvases of development and desire. Trying to feed one into the other was always going to be tricky and despite the intrigue and spark of the initial results, I wasn’t entirely sold.

Céline Verleure

Olfactive Studio is the brainchild of the lovely Céline Verleure, a woman of multifarious talents, driven by a passion for excellence and innovation. Her background is in marketing but she has long harboured a secret dream of architecture and building her own special world. She worked chez Kenzo and collaborated with Dominique Ropion and Jean-Louis Sieuzac on the plummy sandalwood wonder that is Jungle, a scent I still forage about for on Duty Free shelves. It has the power of a nuclear bomb with sky-high heliotrope and CGI rendering of rainforest green dusted with reckless doses of cumin, cardamom and clove. I used to go through bottles of it. Now I’m not so sure I even like it but I have to have it my collection or else I kinda panic. There will always be a moment when I need to wear it, sucking all the oxygen out of the room. A second scent L’Eau de Kenzo was co-signed with Olivier Cresp and was one of the few 90’s aquatics I liked, with an ice-cold mint note threaded through the waterfall ozonic rush. Stints of marketing at L’Oréal, wine importing and the founding of the influential Ozmoz.com website followed. Then came the spark..an innovative crowdsourcing project Le Blog Du Parfum Qui N’Existe Pas (Encore)!, a vibrant community of scent lovers who suggested names, design ideas and thematics. The FB page has over 5000 likes now. As a result, Olfactive Studio was born in 2011, debuting with three fragrances, Auto Portrait by Nathalie Lorson, Still Life by Dora Arnaud and Chambre Noire by Dorothée Piot. I wasn’t sold on these to be honest, although I am happy to admit of course scent is all about personal tastes and were not quite to mine. Lumière Blanche by Sidonie Lancesseur in 2012 had its moments, especially in a milky, snowy heart that for a moment persuaded you the skin was closed and draped white for winter. But I found its anise note scraped away at my migraineur senses with a brutal insistency.


Flash Back in 2013 was the Olfactive Studio scent that persuaded me to revisit and perhaps re-evaluate my thoughts of Céline’s aromatic labours of love. It was created by Master Perfumer Olivier Cresp and reunited him with Céline, a kind of symbolic flashback to their time working together on the 1996 Kenzo L’Eau de Kenzo. Cresp is an astonishingly prolific perfumer, aromatic with gregarious charm and movie star looks. He has some mega mainstream hits under his belt including Angel for Mugler (with Yves de Chiris), Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue, Lancôme Magnifique (with Jacques Cavallier), Givenchy Ange ou Démon and Paco Rabanne Black XS. It always seemed like he wasn’t particularly interested in the insular world of niche scent. Then he worked with British cult brand Penhaligon’s on Juniper Sling, a hugely successful gin-inspired fragrance, ice-cold, anisic with angelica and flooded with a HUGE dose of Cresp’s beloved Ambroxan. It seemed to release his desire to flex his more experimental side.

'Flash Back': L.Segretier

Flash Back is very interesting, again very cold, hanging on two vibrant notes of rhubarb and a quite specific Granny Smith apple recreation. It is a memory scent of childhood, of harvest, summer and baking filtered through a twisted modern idiom of aromachemical manipulation. What seems real is in fact effect. A rhubarb tart so real, it is holographic in its steady humming intensity. The scent is matched by a what at first glance looks like a highly pixelated capture from CCTV footage, someone searching for the face of a loved one amid a crowd. The image is by Laurent Segretier, a French artist who uses the vagaries and random effects of digital film to create work that flickers and tugs at our notions of identity. The smeared visage could raise memories or questions or simply slide away into time. All good scent is a question of raising ghosts and Flash Back’s rhubarb and apple combo smells deliciously like home baked tart gone cold… the heat just off into the summer air. I have come to love its minimal albino quality as if the fruit were leached of colour and placed carefully in the centre of a bright gallery space.



So Olfactive Studio and it’s image/art combo had reeled me in enough to visit Bloom’s new store in Covent Garden and buy Ombre Indigo. I love its fumy tuberose and tactile resins. The plum and saffron smell singed and rubbered as it settles, sticky with the grapey violence of Methyl-anthranilite and nightclub Safraleine. The heart is paper and leather, all texture, glimpsed in darkness, by the light of a single bare bulb swinging back and forth in a windowless room. One of my friends said it smells like burnt VCR tape, which is a fabulous description of its dirty kick-off.



The definition of panorama is the point looking out over a view when everything before you drops away from mere perspective, coalescing sharply into magnificence. Vista becomes unbroken awe. Miguel Sandinha’s sci-fi tinted image of the Sheats-Goldstein house catches this fabulous moment of wow with lush green power. The glass and concrete corner of the seating area juts provocatively out into the airy void, floating over the seemingly tropical morass below.




The house was designed by architect John Lautner and built between 1961-1963 for Paul and Helen Sheats, an expert in child education and his wife who was an artist. They lived in the finished house for a number of years with their five children; Helen cleverly had windows installed in the pool so she could watch the children playing while she worked in her studio/study. Subsequent owners did not care for the house in the quite the same way and when the rather mesmerising and James F Goldstein acquired the property in 1972, it was in a state of sacrilegious neglect. He set about a long intensive programme of structural remodelling with Lautner and later, after Lautner’s death, with Duncan Nicolson who worked in Lautner’s office. A lot of work was done internally to enhance the existing features, modernising the original structure without compromising the visionary concept. Goldstein requested Lautner to design all the fitting as well, carpets, furniture, lighting etc so there was no visible seam in the aesthetics. Goldstein commissioned landscape designer Eric Nagelmann to create a unique microclimate to cocoon the house, inspired by the tropical flora of Tahiti or Bali. This has worked beautifully with Lautner’s edges and planes, producing a series of shadowed enclaves and quiet concrete-clad walkways. The contemporary beauty of this jungle meets urban cave concept owes much to James F Goldstein’s unwavering belief in a pure, driven aesthetic vision.   



Panorama (image by Miguel Sandinha)

Translating an image of this iconic house into wearable and understandable scent is a big ask and the task falls to Clément Gavarry of IFF, whose father Max co-created the original and fabulous Z-14 for Halston. Clément has the recent Diana Vreeland scents under his belt and co-signed (the now sadly discontinued) Black Violet for Tom Ford with Pascal Guarin. He is a graduate of the Versailles based ISIPCA school and now based in New York.
The house is a beautifully controlled marriage of organic form and shadowed plane. Light is manipulated through angled glass, skylights, filters; green becomes intimate personality and form. It is this intense shock of tropical surround that informs the structure of Panorama; it has one of the most arresting openings of any scent I have sampled in years. Much of this is due to the glorious blast of a beautifully rendered wasabi accord in the top of the notes. This is the piquant difference that has every tone talking about Panorama, and so it should, it is fabulously bright and attention grabbing. Wasabi is such an odd thing; knobbly, rooty and marshy in flavour with a fresh clean herbaceous fire taste on the tongue. 


Drawing of wasabi plant. 1830. 
By Iwasaki Kanen

The phrase Japanese Horseradish is bandied about a lot, but wasabi is in fact a brassica, although a lot of so-called wasabi flavoured products use combinations of horseradish, mustard and green colourants to achieve their effects. I used to buy real wasabi from a farmers’ market; it came wrapped in damp muslin, smelling of sharp mulch and bitter leaf. I had a special ceramic grater for it, textured like sharkskin. The vibrant green colour and cleansing heat is like nothing else.



Wasbai grater

Clément Gavarry has allied the eccentric stalkiness of his wasabi accord with the zingy tang of lemon and bergamot bursting out of the bottle with magnificent force. Wrapped around them are the more elusive tones of bamboo and fig leaves serving as pale drifting canopy effects, carrying the shock of green into clear blue air. Galbanum I think is having a little bit of an emerald-tinted renaissance, it’s not the easiest of notes, never the knock-out beauty at the ball, more the fascinating wallflower, whose dark tricks and secrets are thrown into dangerous and seductive relief as the light go down. In Panorama the mulchy smiling creep of galbanum is quite noticeable in the heart of the scent but this is submerged in a powerful slash of violet leaf. This smells like someone has thrown coloured ink across a window, it’s that arresting. In facet the more I wear Panorama, the more I realise how important this violet leaf note is, it works off the ‘wasabi’ note, galbanum and lemon in the top like the equivalent of reflections on glass. The dazzle is verdant fire. Fresh cut grass is listed as a heart note, could be a high dose of cis-3-hexanol that has the most beautiful uplifting effect on surrounding notes. Whatever it is, it sings a metallic song under the spicy, ozonic expanse of the opening emerald salvo.


Panorama (image by Miguel Sandinha)

The opening of Panorama is undoubtedly one of the most impressive I have sampled in ages, it has vista and vibrancy, an ability to make you stop and focus for moment on the exact nature of olfactory assembly. It’s all about the green, the surround, and the sudden impact of the initial environment. The Sheats-Goldstein house is a building that has evolved organically to possess, blend into and soar over its carefully controlled tropical microclimate. Everything is designed to have a purpose from the skylights and electronically controlled shutters to rugs and precisely arranged leather suites and transparent sinks. The base notes of Panorama, while necessary, are in many ways like the foundations of this extraordinary house, important but in this case, overshadowed by the shock and sexy awe of the architectural notes and effects above.



The fir balsam and myrrh do burn and fume in the base, rolling upwards to cast delicate shadows that tinge the drydown rather beautifully with a soft resinous whisper. Vanilla, tonka and musks are fleeting guests, barely registering on my skin, just laying down enough sweetness and amandine dust to take the edge of all the vegetal urgency and whiff of cold evening lawn. 

It really is all about the top and heart with Panorama and this is no bad thing, topping up and re-applying is a task of joy. Just as Lautner’s visionary house seems to float out in the shimmering LA air, dazzling with its juxtaposed planes of glass, concrete and steel set against a private jungle, Panorama’s complex and masterful use of an edgy vibrant green palette of unexpected notes and high quality materials has produced a perfume of unexpected allure and emerald aesthetics. What could have been anther dull venture into flat green generic herbaceous boredom is in fact one of the most intriguing and moreish launches in recent years. 


It has made me a little more tolerant of Olfactive Studio’s photograph=scent approach. I’m still not entirely sold on it, but it think both Panorama and Ombre Indigo are major shifts in style and depth for Céline Verleure’s©TheSilverFox 2015
(Disclosure - Bottle of Panorama kindly received from Olfactive Studio. Ombre Indigo and samples my own)



For more information on Olfactive Studio, please follow the link below:




Wednesday, 29 April 2015

Vagabond Polaroids: ‘Scent Stories Vol I’ by MiN New York



MiN New York Apothecary & Atelier is a scent repository and haven for bruised and bothered senses at 117 Crosby Street in New York owned and orchestrated by Founder and CEO Chad Murawczyk and Vice President and Curator Mindy Yang in 1999.


The place itself is a meld of Euro sensibility; American boho beat style and gentleman’s smoking den, stocked with a curated collection of scent, skincare and shaving lines from around the world. The emphasis at MiN has always been on personal experience, presenting items from fine fabrics, leather, glass, the inhale of rare niche scents and the smoky fumes of exquisite chandlery to fit the client, making it feel right for them.

Chad & Mindy - Airport Study in Black
(taken from MiN New York Intstagram)
tweaked & titled by TSF

Chad and Mindy are darkly beautiful, predominantly garbed in shades of noir and strategic in their use of social media. Mindy in particular is a perceptive and elegant tweeter, highlighting trends, causes and magpie philosophies. It’s a damn chic brand, just on the cusp of being painfully so, but pulled back by a genuine passion and obsession with scent and quality and providing a consistently unique environs where their clients can inhale and experience extraordinary olfaction, chandlery, skincare and grooming.

Tuesday, 7 April 2015

ExquisiteWaterGarden#5 – ‘Le Jardin De Monsieur Li’ by Hermès




You ask me why I dwell in the green mountain;
I smile and make no reply for my heart is free of care.
As the peach-blossom flows down stream and is gone into the unknown,
I have a world apart that is not among men.

Li Bai (705-762)

Mediterranean swoon, Nile reverie, monsoon rain, rooftop sanctuary and contemplative pools. These five riffs on aquatic jardinière obsession are arguably the masterworks of Jean-Claude Ellena, elicited during his genre-defining tenure at Hermès. His relentless pursuit of olfactive meaning in water, reflection, light, calm, verdancy and stillness has created a quintet of odiferous canvases that continue to seduce and dazzle.

According to the scented grapevine, Jean-Claude’s time as Hermès seems to be softly drawing to an enigmatic close with Christine Nagel waiting patiently in the minimal wings. Yet he shows no signs of taking his fingers off the mouillettes just yet. He has not made any concrete statement about retirement; much of the chatter about his departure is a fiction of the press and perfume blogs. I sense a certain wistfulness and longing in his work, but this is not enough to prove pending departure.

Tuesday, 31 March 2015

The Consolation of Dependence: ‘Junky’ by Jardins d’Ecrivains





I will gently confess to cravings, fixation and dependence. I have that kind of personality… black and white, filling voids, needing reassurance. There is dark and base servitude to addiction. I am not going to spill personal secrets but those that know the inner Fox have witnessed the flickering excesses of my backstory. I have always been obsessed by the mechanics and heady lure of addiction: booze, nicotine, coke, food & starvation, heroin, speed, a veritable Golgotha of pills – sleeping, relaxation, anxiety, uppers, mood enhancers, diet… all used to bury a multitude of selves.

In an alternative reality, we walk slurring alongside addiction, in the hope we pass unnoticed. But we are noticed and considered weaker somehow, fragile, unable to resist the challenges of existence. The truth is, many of us are trying in our own injured ways to exit worlds we consider unreal and punishing.


We all need a certain degree of dependence. Some of us just need more than others. The repetition and demands of obsession are both comforting and destructive, yet many of us would not change the way we are. I admit to finding glamour and subsidy in the relentless beck and call of addictions, my personality finds inherent truths in psychodrama and darkness. Writing as much as I do assuages the cold and shines a little light into neglected corners. But I miss my dolls, the plethora of pills, the narcotic dalliances that ran through boozy woozy club nights. Strangers with baggies, smoke and crashing beats. The why always seemed immaterial. I just felt alive.

Addiction as a theme for scent seems odd and somewhat frivolous. But bear in mind that many of us are quite obsessed by scent in an alarming way; collecting, hoarding and living in a strange hyper-sensory world that we expect only other scent lovers to truly understand. Reading blogs, the language of addiction is seeded through reams of text. We are addicted, hooked, obsessed. We suffer withdrawal from our favourites; scents are narcotic, druggy, swooning, and hypnotic. We sniff, inhale, crave and lose ourselves in a dizzying array of olfactory hits.

Scent becomes addiction, an all-consuming passion; we are consumed by the revelations of effect. As wearer-addicts we are searching for the euphoria of elusive beauty. Some search for rarity, exclusives, vintage collateral and the golden fleece of original formulations. Others seek the perfection of materials, the purity of perfectly realised notes and clarity of form. Then there are those darker children seeking experience, innovation, oddity; something that will fill a waxing/waning void. You only have to scan blog threads and drop into fragrance forums to notice how besotted some people are, how they are driven by a need to scent their skin and personal air with glorious profound elixirs.

Anais Biguine, perfumer and artistic director of Les Jardins d'Ecrivains

I must admit that of all the niche houses to really confront a concept of addiction head on, I was not expecting it to be Anaïs Biguine’s Jardins d’Ecrivains, a beautiful, romantic brand with two major obsessions: classic literature and gardens. But I have blogged on Anaïs before (I wrote on her libertine night cologne La Dame aux Camélias) and should have known better. Beneath the sensual revelling in fin de siècle literature and belles lettres, she has never shied away from the darker, more ambiguous side of her beloved classics. Wilde, Orlando and George are all offbeat and challenging fragrances with very ambiguous personalities. Wilde in particular has the most incredible upfront musty grape note that really startles the senses.


Junky is I think her finest work, a darker chapter for perfume addicts, examining the revelation of effects on jangled craving senses. The scent seems to mimic the stages of addiction; the initial hit, needles tearing holes then the slow burn of euphoria followed by the descent into the cold light of comedown, waking on unknown floors. An unnerving finality for a strange and hypnotic scent.

The dramatic opening of Junky is fumed through with a piquant cannabis accord. Mixed with the peaty foliate fold of galbanum and a plush rosewood note, cannabis sativa billows off the skin with an inky intensity. I smell hops and turned compost as it develops and a peculiar rusted greenhouse whiff of neglected plants and plant food. Underpinning this is a tang of sweat; sugared cumin, although this is not a listed note.

It takes a while for this shadowed hazy top to settle, it is pretty pungent, swirling around the senses and probing the memory. Then suddenly the floral notes flare open like candles lit in darkness. An anguished violet, iris and an odd creamy gardenia all coalesce into a languid interlude with just enough druggy vapours around the edges to remind you that this is still a scent called Junky. It is this intensive and distinctive floral stage that places the perfume firmly in the Jardins d’Ecrivains state of mind. The thing I adored so much in La Dame aux Camélias was the bold soapiness of the white flowers laid down over the underlying boudoir suggestion of sexual transactions. Anais is not afraid to use this floral flirting in her perfumery. Gigi reeks of it and the medicinal complexities of George need the floral tones to counterbalance the weird bandage and tobacco facets.

The sensation of white flowers in Junky is a little disconcerting, especially after the genuine druggy hit of the top. But Junky requires patience and attention to detail. Like any hit flexing its grip, the whiteness of euphoria fades, peeling back to expose darker steps downward. The mollifying of night is needed to ease the comedown, cushioning the murkier notes loitering in the corners of Junky’s unexpected design. Like roses growing through barbed wire and abandoned concrete seas, the bouquet of iris, gardenia and rose serves to illuminate any difficult and uneasy moments in the scent’s narcotic procedures. Lets call them love, light.. hope.

There is no disputing the disconcerting nature of this erudite and clouded scent. The cannabis accord is potent stuff and amplifies on skin. This is no dirty hash, skunky interpretation though, Anais presents us with a romanticised, bookish variant; the wayward glamour of drugs seen through the eyes of writers like Burroughs, Bowles, Baudelaire, De Quincey and Keats. Unflinching at times but an intrinsic part of their lives and arguably what infused their work with greatness. The doomed romance and inevitability of decline inherent in literary narcotic literature is a potentially morbid theme for a fragrance. And drugs kill. Over and over. The industry from growers to pushers, whacked-out students and the stress-riddled business classes are all just tiny sweating facets of a grim and mortal industry that kills millions every year in overdoses, turf wars, street trading, smuggling and domestic worn down exhaustive violence.  

We are however still oddly drawn to the danger and charisma of the druggy, woozy world in film, on TV, in our soaps, poetry, literature and memoirs. There but for the grace of God go I…? Sometimes I wonder. There have been a few scattershot attempts at marijuana scents. Demeter’s Cannabis Flower is very simple and linear, walking a thin grassy line with little projection or depth. Fresh’s Cannabis Santal and Cannabis Rose both use the danker, mulchier aspect of weed to lift and augment the sweet woods and reefer rose respectively. Lots of people claim Black Afgano by Nasamotto as the definitive spicy stink of cannabis resin; plenty more disagree. It’s a scent I really dislike, all I know is the few times I have tried it on my skin, I have become nauseous and possessed by the need to tear my scented arm off and throw into a loch. The problem with all of these interpretations for me is one of mystery and mood. The cannabis facet is an olfactive novelty, used to draw you in, suggesting a scent of opiate attractions. The truth is sadly a more mundane and generic grassiness embedded in woods and floral notes. Only Black Afgano attempts to push the boundaries by imagining a muddy, static haze of darkness and inertia however much I dislike it.

Junky is more a state of mind, an exploration of continued habit, an addictive consumption. I have been wearing it over and over, so intrigued by the bleak bite of the top before the notes bloom out like heroin in the blood stream, calming and flooding the synapses. It is one of the oddest fragrances I have bought for a while, but then I knew that Anaïs Biguine’s take on Burroughs would always be fascinating.


If you have never been addicted, you can have no clear idea what it means to need junk with the addict’s special need. You don’t decide to be an addict. One morning you wake up sick and you’re an addict’.

This quote from the prologue of William Burroughs’ Junky is as stark and uncompromising as the man was to be for most of his life. I read a lot of Burroughs when I younger, perhaps a little too young, but growing up conflicted and furious, books like Queer and Naked Lunch offered a powerful and warped alternative vision of life that make you realise that perhaps your brain is not quite so sick and twisted after all. Burroughs died in 1997, aged 83, outliving Neal Cassady, Ginsberg and Kerouac. 




Junky and Queer are conventional in build, yet still reek of the bodily, narcotic and hallucinogenic motifs that would characterise later works such The Ticket That Exploded, The Nova Trilogy and the hauntingly confrontational triptych of Cities of the Red Night, The Place of Dead Roads and The Western Lands. These were created in a conventional narrative form and then cut up and re-assembled into a much more demanding and complex series of scenarios, themes and happenstances. Burroughs’ work is undoubtedly an acquired taste; he makes you work hard for you commitment and often repels conventional understanding.


His difficult themes of sex, death, transformation, addiction, paranoia, greed, vice and dislocation are as relevant now as they were when he wrote his work. In 1951 he killed his then wife Joan Vollmer, accidently shooting her during a drunk-fuelled William Tell style game in Mexico City. She was balancing a glass of water on her head and Burroughs attempted to shoot it off with a handgun, missing and hitting Joan in the head. Her death haunted and pursued him for years. It proved shockingly cathartic. In the foreword to Queer, written in 1953 and only published 1985, he wrote:

"I am forced to the appalling conclusion that I would have never become a writer but for Joan’s death ... the death of Joan brought me into contact with the invader, the Ugly Spirit, and manoeuvered me into a lifelong struggle, in which I had no choice except to write my way out"

I celebrate Burroughs’ iconoclastic nature, his fearless shakedown of sexual and obsessive mores. Junky is a peerless book, relentlessly seedy and thrumming with the sparky vernacular of the everyday hustler, pusher and addict. But the characters are restless, searching always for something, a hit, a high, oblivion, excitement, a semblance of love snatched amid broken veins and blood-stained cottons.

Anaïs Biguine has tempered and assuaged the seedier, stained aspects of compulsion and need in her extraordinary composition. Junky is both homage and antidote to the ravaged excesses of Burrough’s damaged souls, the candymen, bed bugs and hop-heads. The more I wear this inky floral wraith of a composition, the more I realise how unconventional and skilful the scent is. The potency of the couture gardenia note dressed up in iris folds and violet dust belies the potency of the expansive cannabis resin note that gets richer and deeper as it settles on the skin. After an hour, the whole style of the scent has shifted again, with the woods, moss and myrtle in the base lifting anchor and drifting with worn practiced ease over the skin and rubbing up against mulch and blooms.

As the scent wears through the hours you find yourself catching fragments of root and petal, woods, smoke and crushed bitter berry. For a moment it seems somewhere else, on someone else, passing you by on a damp street corner, but no, it is your skin, cloaked in addiction and bruised alcohol.

In the pursuit, collection and wearing of exquisite perfume, many of us will recognise the language of addiction and craving. The rush of beautiful acquisition, that needle-sharp high of first application, the obsessional desires to own and covet rarity and oddness.

Junky is the shape-shifting odour of want. A sublime essay in dissolute elegance and dark floral need. After all, my skin craves scent like a vein craves silk, salt, noise, glass. Candyman…. bring me scents to die for and I promise I will stray no more. 


For more information on Junky and Les Jardins d'Ecrivains, please click on the link below:




©The Silver Fox

July 2014