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OLFACTORY DIARY

BOIS DORMANT

AT 19, I USED TO STRIDE AROUND LONDON LOOKING FOR SECOND-HAND SKINNY SUITS FROM SAVILE ROW. IN THE END, I HAD TO RESOLVE MYSELF TO BECOMING BOTH A COUTURIER AND A TAILOR.
BY CREATING BOIS DORMANT, THE DAY TWIN OF BLACK TIE, I WANTED A PERFUME THAT EVOKES THE LUXURIOUS YET UNDERSTATED AND CLASSIC ARCHITECTURE OF MY ENGLISH DOUBLE-BREASTED BLAZERS. A DELICATE WOODY SCENT WITH THE BITTER AND BLEACHED ACCENTS OF A POWDERY COLOGNE.
I ALSO HAD THE IDEA OF AN AUDIOPHILE DIMENSION OF ACCORDS, OF SUAVE AND VELVETY TONALITIES. LIKE A FIRST-EDITION VINYL RECORD, BOIS DORMANT HAD TO HAVE A WARM AND ENVELOPING PATINA, AN “ACOUSTIC” KIND OF AUTHENTICITY.

BERGAMOTE, GENIÈVRE, BEURRE D’IRIS BLANC, CÈDRE, VÉTIVER.


PARADE

I WANTED TO CREATE A PERFUME AROUND THE NOTION OF LITURGY, ABOUT THE IMMUTABLE RITUAL OF APPEARANCES AND REPRESENTATION. IN PARTICULAR, I WAS THINKING ABOUT THE LIONS ROLLICKING ALONG THE GRANDS BOULEVARDS IN PARIS, ABOUT BAUDELAIRE, GAINSBOURG OR DUTRONC, BOWIE’S THIN WHITE DUKE OR ROXY MUSIC, OR THEN AGAIN WARHOL.
CLOSER TO HOME, THE NONCHALANT AND GLITTERING BALLET OF MY MALE AND FEMALE MODELS PARADING UNDER THE GOLDEN LIGHTS.
PARADE HAS RESULTED FROM THE BEDAZZLING TRANSMISSION OF THE CODES OF REPRESENTATION GIVEN A NEW TWIST AND FROM THE QUEST FOR SOPHISTICATION AND ELEGANT ULTRA-DECADENCE.

BERGAMOT, NEROLI, VETIVER, MUSK, OAK MOSS.

SAINT-GERMAIN-DES-PRÉS

MY TWENTIES IN THE HEART OF SAINT-GERMAIN-DES-PRÉS.
THERE I AM, STROLLING ALONG THE RUE DE VERNEUIL AND THE RUE DE LILLE. FROM ONE CAFÉ TERRACE TO ANOTHER, I OBSERVE THE STUDENTS POURING OUT OF THE SORBONNE AND GRANDES ECOLES IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD.
ON THE BILL AT LE CHAMPO, A FILM BY ERIC ROHMER, CONTE DE PRINTEMPS. COMING OUT OF THE MOVIE HOUSE, ON THE CORNER OF THE RUE SOUFFLOT, I THINK ABOUT MARCEL CARNÉ’S FILM LES TRICHEURS.
THE ELEGANT, INSOLENT AND FRAGILE YOUTH OF SAINT-GERMAIN-DES-PRÉS IS ETERNAL.
THE JARDIN DU LUXEMBOURG SHOULD BE MADE INTO A PERFUME.

NEROLI, PETIT GRAIN, WHITE ORRIS BUTTER, HELIOTROPE, VANILLA.

COLOGNE FRANÇAISE

I USED TO HAVE THE HABIT OF PERFUMING THE BATH WITH EAU DE COLOGNE. I LOVED THAT TRADITION, AS WELL AS THE ONE OF PERFUMING THE LINEN. IT WAS REASSURING, IT PROTECTED ME AND ENVELOPED ME IN A VEIL OF INDESCRIBABLE PURITY.
I WISHED TO RECAPTURE THE SPIRIT AND POWDERY ELEGANCE OF A FRENCH COLOGNE, WITHOUT HAVING TO RESORT TO FOLLOWING AN UNOBTRUSIVE TRADITION OF FRESHNESS AND LIGHTNESS. I NEEDED TO INTRODUCE A MUTED DISSONANCE, AN OLFACTORY PARADOX, RESULTING IN AN ELEGANT AND SINGULAR PATINA.
I WANTED A STRONG AND ARISTOCRATIC CHARACTER TO OVERSHADOW THE SUBTLE, DELICATE FACET, A CHARACTER THAT TRANSPOSES A YOUNG FRENCH MAN OR WOMAN OF STRONG TEMPERAMENT.
I PURSUED THE IDEA OF A CLASSIC BEAUTY WHERE A FACIAL IMPERFECTION WOULD GIVE IT A UNIQUE CHARM AND DEPTH, WITHOUT WHICH ONLY THE BORING LOOK OF A SIMPLY PERFECT OVAL WOULD REMAIN.

NEROLI, FIG TREE, WHITE ORRIS BUTTER, TREE MOSS, MUSK.

DANS PARIS

WHEN I WAS 20, I USED TO MEET WITH MY FRIENDS ON THE HALF-EMPTY TOURIST RIVER BOATS. WE SAILED DOWN THE SEINE UNDER A RADIANT SUN WHILE LISTENING TO VELVET UNDERGROUND ON A SCRATCHY AMPLIFIER.
CINEMATIC IMPRESSIONS AND HALLUCINOGENIC TRACKING SHOTS ON THE MONUMENTS OF PARIS.
LYING ALONG THE BENCHES ON THE ‘BATEAUX MOUCHES,’ THE CITY VIEWED FROM UPSIDE DOWN WAS STARING BACK AT US.
WE WERE STRUCK INEVITABLY BY A PSYCHEDELIC STENDHAL SYNDROME, STUNNED BY THE IMPLACABLE LAYOUT AND RHYTHM OF THE FACADES, BY THE INSOLENT BRILLIANCE OF PARIS THAT BELONGED TO US.

BERGAMOT, CORIANDER SEED, LAUREL BLOSSOM ACCORD, MUSK, VANILLA.

LA PEAU NUE

AS A TEENAGER ON RAINY AFTERNOONS, I USED TO CAREFULLY CUT OUT FILM REVIEWS THAT I FOUND AT THE SECOND-HAND BOOKSELLERS ALONG THE QUAYS OF THE SEINE.
I CAN STILL SEE THE GOLDEN LOCKS AND DIAPHANOUS SKIN OF CATHERINE DENEUVE IN MANON 70, THE WILD AND ANDROGYNOUS BEAUTY OF JANE BIRKIN AND JO DALLESANDRO IN JE T'AIME MOI NON PLUS, THE GRACE AND SPOT-ON ELEGANCE OF FRANÇOISE HARDY IN MASCULIN FÉMININ.
I RELIGIOUSLY KEPT MY PAPER ICONS, EXPOSED AND DISTURBING PICTURES OF ADOLESCENCE, THE SKIN COVERED IN A POWDERED VEIL, THE IMPERIOUS FACE TURNED TOWARD THE CAMERA’S LENS.
A SILVER PRINT OF A PARISIENNE WHO ENDLESSLY OBSESSED ME.

BERGAMOT, ROSE ABSOLUTE, WHITE ORRIS BUTTER, RICE POWDER, VETIVER.

RIMBAUD

AT THE AGE OF 14, AFTER OUR LESSONS, MY FRIENDS AND I WOULD RECITE RIMBAUD’S LE DORMEUR DU VAL (THE SLEEPER OF THE VALLEY) LYING IN THE GRASS, BEFORE DIVING BODY AND SOUL INTO LES ILLUMINATIONS.
LIKE OTHERS BEFORE AND AFTER US, WE WERE FASCINATED BY THE FRAGILITY AND GRACE OF THE YOUNG POET AND FELT HIS TORMENTS AS IF THEY WERE OUR OWN.
I REMEMBER THAT PICTURE OF RIMBAUD WHICH I KEPT WITH ME RELIGIOUSLY. ALREADY, IT SEEMED TO ME TO BE THE IMAGE OF ETERNAL AND UNIVERSAL YOUTH.
I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED TO CREATE A PERFUME THAT EVOKES UTOPIA, THE VERY ESSENCE OF YOUTH, ILLUSTRATING THAT PICTURE OF RIMBAUD, OR THE PHOTOS OF THOUSANDS OF YOUNG MEN AND WOMEN I HAVE MADE OVER THE LAST 30 YEARS.
IN AN OLFACTORY MANNER, I HAD TO DEFINE THE GRACE, THE SOUL-SEARCHING AND THE SPLEEN OF ADOLESCENTS, TO DISTILL THE QUINTESSENCE OF YOUTH.
I OPTED FOR DELICATE AND INTROVERTED ACCORDS, A KIND OF OLFACTORY FRAGILITY, SUSPENDED, OUTSIDE OF TIME, SKIMMING LIGHTLY OVER THE SKIN.

LAVENDER, NEROLI, ORRIS BUTTER, WHEAT ACCORD, MUSK AND VANILLA NOTES.

EAU DE CALIFORNIE

THE HOUSE IN BEVERLY HILLS WHERE I LIVED FOR TEN YEARS IN THE SCENTS AND AROMAS OF PALO SANTO. THE SAN CLEMENTE AND SAN ONOFRE SURF BEACHES WHERE I SPENT MY SUMMERS, THE SMELL OF CONNOLLY LEATHER IN MY ROLLS ROYCE CORNICHE HEADING OUT ON THE PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY.
AT CARY GRANT’S, GUS VAN SANT MAKES HIS ACOUSTIC GUITAR GENTLY WEEP IN THE DROWSY HEAT OF PALM SPRINGS.
TIME SEEMS TO HAVE COME TO HALT, WHILE THE SINUOUS AND SPRAWLING PALM TREES STAB THE ACRYLIC SKY.
I HAVE CREATED AN ACOUSTIC, SOLAR PERFUME, A PSYCHEDELIC UTOPIA IN TRIBUTE TO CALIFORNIA.

BERGAMOT, WHITE ORRIS BUTTER, PALO SANTO ACCORD, TREE MOSS, PATCHOULI.

REPTILE

THE LUSTROUS GLIMMER OF JET-BLACK SEQUINS, OF MUSKY SCENT AND REPTILIAN LEATHER.
A SCENIC AND MUSICAL PERFUME WITH ELECTRIC ACCENTS. SIMILAR OLFACTORY ACCORDS IN CHIAROSCURO.
MY PHOTOS AND PORTRAITS OF ROCK STARS IN BLACK AND WHITE GIVE BIRTH TO A MASCULINE-FEMININE PERFUME.
IT IS DEDICATED TO THE MUSICIANS I HAVE ENCOUNTERED ALONG THE WAY.

CEDAR, PEPPER, TREE MOSS, LEATHER ACCORD, MUSK.

BLACK TIE

FOR MYSELF, I WANTED A NIGHTTIME PERFUME, A RITUAL WITH A LITURGICAL FEEL. THIS IS A PURELY EGOTISTIC GESTURE.
THE SHARP LINE OF MY TUXEDOS, THE BLACK JACKET THAT OBSESSIVELY I HAVE NEVER CEASED TO REDESIGN, THE INTENSE AND CRISP BLACK OF GRAIN DE POUDRE AND LACQUERED SATIN, THE IMMACULATE RIGOR OF A WHITE PIQUÉ SHIRT FRONT. THE ANDROGYNOUS TRAIL OF VANILLA IN THE HEART OF THE NIGHT.
THE ALLURE OF A GIRL AND A BOY MERGING INTO A POWDERY CLOUD.

WHITE ORRIS BUTTER, CEDAR, TREE MOSS, VANILLA, MUSK.

NIGHTCLUBBING

THE MEMORY OF MY PARISIAN NIGHTS SPENT IN THE BAINS DOUCHES AND THE PALACE EVERY EVENING OF MY LIFE.
THE SMELLS OF SUEDE AND NICOTINE CREATING A DECADENTE AND AMBERED PATINA, FRAGRANT HAIR ON THE NAPE OF A NECK EXUDING A VANILLA AROMA. CRIMSON VELVET ON A SEAT, ENGULFING A BOY AND A GIRL, THEIR IMAGE REFLECTED TO INFINITY.
WANDERING AROUND THE STREETS OF PARIS UNTIL DAWN.

GALBANUM, WHITE ORRIS BUTTER, PATCHOULI, TREE MOSS, VANILLA, MUSK.