Amouage
Amouage
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A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Blackberry and davana create an immediately boozy, almost port wine-like sweetness that's cut through by orange peel's bright hesperidic oil and labdanum's animalic amber warmth. The effect is simultaneously fruited and resinous, sweet but not clean, like spilling dessert wine on a leather chesterfield.
Honey thickens into a balsamic glaze as cinnamon bark and clove bud release their eugenol punch, creating that dentist's office spice heat that's saved from banality by rose's jammy presence and bay leaf's aromatic, slightly medicinal edge. The composition becomes denser, stickier, radiating warmth like standing too close to a wood-burning stove.
Frankincense and myrrh take dominance, their smoky, resinous character bolstered by guaiac's tarry phenols and patchouli's earthy darkness, whilst the oud provides a smooth, woody backbone rather than fermented aggression. What remains is church incense and charred wood, tenacious and uncompromising, lingering for twelve hours or more with that classic Amouage stamina.
Jubilation XXV is Amouage's unapologetic monument to excess—a sticky, resinous oriental that wears like ecclesiastical incense filtered through a Persian spice market. Lucas Sieuzac layers labdanum's leathery amber against davana's dark fruit liqueur quality, whilst blackberry adds an almost fermented sweetness that recalls tamarind more than fresh berries. The honey-cinnamon-clove trinity in the heart creates that thick, balsamic warmth that made early Amouages so polarising, but here it's tempered by bay leaf's slightly medicinal eucalyptol sharpness, preventing the composition from collapsing into cloying territory. Rose appears as a supporting player, its floral facets nearly smothered beneath the weight of resins and spices.
What sets this apart from typical oud-amber hybrids is its conspicuous frankincense-myrrh pairing in the base—these aren't subtle liturgical whispers but bold, smoky church incense billows that dominate the drydown alongside guaiac's phenolic char. The oud itself reads more as a woody-resinous texture than barnyard funk, supporting rather than commanding attention. This is maximalist perfumery for those who find most masculines tepid: men who appreciate the heft of vintage Lauder Aramis but want something with greater complexity and superior materials. It demands cold weather and confidence in equal measure. The projection is considerable for hours, that 8.5 sillage rating entirely earned—you'll scent yourself constantly, and so will anyone within arm's reach. Not for boardrooms unless you're the one chairing them.
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