Dia Man

Dia Man arrives like a procession through an ancient souk at dawn, where ecclesiastical frankincense smoke mingles with the sharp green bite of crushed cardamom pods. Duchaufour has orchestrated something rare here: a woody-spicy composition that refuses to be another oud-adjacent exercise in Middle Eastern tropes. Instead, the opening's resinous trinity—frankincense, labdanum, and bitter orange—creates a golden, ambered glow that feels both contemplative and surprisingly tactile. The heart disrupts expectations entirely, introducing plum blossom and peony into what could have been a predictable incense journey, their soft fruit-tinged floralcy acting like silk draped over weathered wood. This isn't the powder of iris playing its usual aloof role; here it melds with ylang ylang to create something simultaneously creamy and austere, a contradiction that somehow holds. The base unfurls into serious territory: vetiver's earthy, slightly bitter roots intertwining with rosewood's vanillic warmth, whilst leather and patchouli add shadow and depth beneath the pervasive amber. This is for those who want their florals grounded in something ancient and uncompromising, who find purely spiced scents too aggressive but white florals too vapid. It's worn by people who read in incense-scented libraries, who understand that spirituality and sensuality needn't be enemies. Neither overtly masculine nor feminine, it occupies that liminal space where ceremonial meets carnal, where devotion feels dangerously close to desire.