Pulp

Pulp is Byredo's unabashed love letter to the juice bar, a fragrance that captures the sticky-fingered pleasure of biting into overripe stone fruit with pulp running down your chin. Jérôme Epinette has crafted something decidedly maximalist here, opening with a brisk slap of blackcurrant and bergamot that quickly gives way to the main event: a triumvirate of fig, red apple, and peach that's so lush it borders on indecent. The cardamom in the opening adds a subtle spiced warmth that prevents this from tipping into pure confection, though only just—the praline base is always lurking, ready to coat everything in caramelised sweetness. What's clever is how the fig interacts with the peach blossom, creating a green-milky quality that feels simultaneously fresh and creamy, like almond milk mixed with fruit purée. The cedarwood provides minimal structural support; this is a fragrance that revels in its own plush, syrupy nature. It's unapologetically pretty, the kind of scent worn by someone who orders dessert first and sees no issue with wearing cashmere to a farmers' market. While the tiare flower suggests tropical indulgence, Pulp never feels heavy—there's an effervescent quality to the apple that keeps it bouncing along. It's gourmand without being cloying, fruity without being juvenile, though it certainly isn't trying to be serious. This is joy in a bottle, slightly ridiculous and entirely aware of it.