Commodity
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Eucalyptus and bergamot crack open like fresh pages, snappy and green-bright, whilst Virginia cedar lends a dry, pencil-like tang. The rosewood emerges immediately beneath, softening the initial herbaceous sting into something warmer and vaguely woody.
Nootka cypress takes the helm with its smoky, almost resinous character, whilst amyris adds a subtle balsamic richness and amber creeps in with unexpected creaminess—suddenly the fragrance feels less austere, more inviting, like settling into a well-worn leather armchair with a hot drink. The spicy undertones become more pronounced here, lending a gentle warmth that wasn't entirely apparent at first spray.
Sandalwood and velvet musk create an intimate, skin-like base that's both creamy and woody, hovering in that ambiguous territory between powder and wood smoke. The fragrance becomes quieter, more personal, fading into a subtle second skin that smells distinctly like the inside of something old and treasured.
Commodity's Book is a fragrance that reads like a leather-bound journal left open on a wooden desk—austere, contemplative, and possessed of a certain intellectual rigour. Ketrin Leka has constructed something deliberately unadorned, a scent that refuses the usual feminine softness or masculine bombast in favour of something altogether more restrained.
The opening thrust comes from eucalyptus and bergamot, crisp and almost medicinal, but these are immediately tempered by rosewood's warm, almost papery dryness and Virginia cedar's pencil-shaving astringency. This isn't fresh in the aquatic sense; it's the freshness of an old library, of air moving through tall windows.
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3.8/5 (141)