bdk Parfums
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Overripe plum and pear announce themselves with zero subtlety, a jammy fruit bowl spiked with something faintly alcoholic and fermenting. Within minutes, davana's rum-soaked apricot character emerges, adding a peculiar spiced warmth that prevents the opening from reading as purely gourmand. There's already a whisper of frankincense cutting through the sweetness like cold stone beneath sun-warmed fruit.
The jasmine duo takes command—sambac's creamy, almost coconut-like richness tangling with the more challenging, mothball-tinged Egyptian absolute in a push-pull of clean and dirty. Turkish rose absolute adds its own complex honeyed depth whilst the davana persists, its odd fruity-herbal quality bridging fruit and florals. Patchouli begins its slow emergence, dark chocolate earth creeping up through the petals, and suddenly the sweetness feels grounded, less airborne.
Frankincense and myrrh dominate now, their resinous smoke tempered by labdanum's ambery warmth and vanilla's gentle rounding. Nagarmotha adds a vetiver-adjacent woodiness that feels rooted and ancient, whilst residual patchouli maintains its earthy-sweet presence. What remains is a skin scent of incense-sweetened wood, like prayer beads made of sandalwood left in a dish of vanilla-touched resins—quietly devotional, persistently sweet, unmistakably grounded.
Wood Jasmin is Camille Leguay's meditation on contradiction—a fragrance that pits stone fruit succulence against the austere architecture of resins and woods. The opening announces itself with an almost candied plum and pear accord, syrupy and unabashed, as if someone's drizzled fruit compote over church incense. But beneath that unapologetic sweetness lies the perfume's real intrigue: a dual jasmine heart—sambac's buttery lactonic richness layered with Egyptian absolute's indolic, almost animalic edge—threaded through with davana's peculiar fruity-spiced darkness and Turkish rose's honeyed depth. This isn't polite jasmine; it's jasmine with its hair down, tinged with something fermented and alive.
The base transforms entirely, as Indonesian patchouli's earthy chocolate facets merge with Somalian frankincense and myrrh into something devotional and smoke-touched. Nagarmotha brings its distinctive woody-sweet rootiness, whilst Spanish labdanum weaves amber warmth through the composition and bourbon vanilla absolute smooths everything into cohesion without neutering the spice. The result feels deliberately unresolved—sweet yet austere, fruity yet resinous, floral yet grounded in earth and smoke.
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3.3/5 (248)