Bloodbath
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Petitgrain strikes first with its bitter, leafy snap, amplified by the acidic brightness of bitter orange pith and zest. The moplonk weaves through like crushed greenery, almost herbal, creating an opening that's bracingly fresh yet strangely vegetal—less sunshine, more dappled forest light.
Neroli and orange blossom absolute unfurl with indolic richness, their heady, honeyed floralcy shot through with the spectral presence of charcoal. The smokiness doesn't dominate but hovers like a memory, tempering the white flowers' natural exuberance with something quieter, more introspective—petals falling on cold stone.
White musk and cedarwood merge into a pale, woody-clean embrace, whilst white amber adds a resinous glow that keeps the composition from turning too austere. What remains is ghostly—a skin scent that's more suggestion than statement, like the outline of something once vivid now gently fading.
Bloodbath's Aokigahara is a study in contrasts—a fragrance that pairs the bitter-bright clarity of citrus with an unexpected whisper of something charred and solemn. The opening salvo of petitgrain and bitter orange arrives with all the astringency of torn leaves and pith, stripped of sweetness, whilst the mysterious moplonk adds an almost vegetal, sap-like quality that keeps things resolutely green. This isn't your standard hesperidic cologne; there's an edge here, a deliberate austerity that refuses to charm. As neroli and orange blossom absolute bloom in the heart, they bring a narcotic floral density that sits uneasily—beautifully so—against the charcoal accord, which lends a subtle smokiness, like incense ash scattered on wet moss. It's this juxtaposition that defines Aokigahara: solar florals glimpsed through shadow, brightness tempered by something darker and more contemplative.
The base settles into a skin-close veil of white musk and cedarwood, both lending a pale, almost translucent quality, whilst white amber adds just enough warmth to prevent the composition from feeling entirely austere. This is a fragrance for those who appreciate the tension between light and dark, who find beauty in restraint rather than excess. It suits quiet confidence—the person who wears Aokigahara isn't announcing their arrival but rather leaving an impression that lingers, like morning mist in a silent forest. Thierry Wasser has crafted something that feels both ancient and avant-garde, a scent that demands contemplation rather than immediate gratification.
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3.5/5 (315)