Abel
Abel
364 votes
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The first spray delivers a boozy, almost overwhelming rush of rum and caramelised sugar, cut only partially by the zesty brightness of bergamot and orange. It's headshop-meets-patisserie, sweet to the point of audacity, with an almost syrupy density that clings to the air.
As the citrus fades, the florals begin their strange dance with spice—jasmine and rose winding through cinnamon and cocoa in a way that feels both sensual and slightly unsettling. The elderflower adds a peculiar fermented edge, whilst lily of the valley attempts (and largely fails) to inject freshness into what's become a decidedly heavy, intimate accord.
Hours later, the sweetness finally relents, replaced by the resinous warmth of labdanum, benzoin, and tonka—a classic amber trio grounded by earthy patchouli and moss. Bitter almond lingers like marzipan crumbs on velvet, whilst ambergris adds a subtle salinity that prevents the base from becoming too plush, too safe.
Grey Labdanum is a study in contrasts—a fragrance that hovers between the bakery and the boudoir, never quite settling in either. The opening salvo of rum-soaked caramel crashes against bright citrus oils, creating an almost discordant sweetness that's immediately arresting. This isn't polite gourmand territory; there's something intentionally heavy-handed about how the orange and bergamot struggle to cut through the molten sugar and dark spirits.
What makes this composition fascinating is the heart's unexpected floral intrusion. Jasmine and rose emerge through a veil of cocoa powder and cinnamon, their indolic qualities amplified rather than softened by the spice. The elderflower adds an odd, almost fermented quality—like flowers pressed between the pages of a cookbook. It's baroque, maximalist, teetering on the edge of too much.
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3.6/5 (1.1k)