Diptyque
Diptyque
10.7k votes
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The latex-white sap of fig erupts immediately, all bitter-green milk and bruised leaves. There's a sharp, almost medicinal quality to the greenness—not garden-fresh but wild, resinous, touched with that peculiar dustiness you find on fig skin. Coconut whispers underneath, lending a creamy woodiness rather than anything recognisably tropical.
As the initial verdancy settles, the whole tree emerges: bark, wood, and persistent sap working together in a sun-bleached, Mediterranean haze. The sweetness grows more pronounced but never becomes fruity in a conventional sense—it's the sweet of warm wood and drying leaves rather than edible fig. The lactonic quality deepens, creating an almost hypnotic creaminess that hovers between botanical and animalic.
What remains is pale, abstract woodiness—cedar and fig wood rendered almost ghostly, like sunlight on whitewashed walls. The green notes have faded to a memory, leaving behind a soft, slightly powdery sweetness that sits close to the skin. It's intimate now, a whisper of milky bark and the faintest suggestion of coconut-adjacent creaminess, like the scent of your own skin after a day spent under fig trees.
Philosykos isn't interested in the jammy sweetness of ripe figs—it's after something more radical. Olivia Giacobetti has captured the entire tree in high summer: the milky latex that bleeds from snapped stems, the dusty bark warming under Mediterranean sun, and the green-bitter intensity of leaves crushed between your fingers. This is fig as landscape rather than dessert, built on that peculiar lactonic quality that makes the fruit smell simultaneously creamy and astringent. The coconut accord isn't tropical or suntan lotion; it's the white woodiness that fig sap shares with coconut flesh, a natural bridge that Giacobetti exploits brilliantly. Cedar and woody notes create a bleached, sun-drunk structure underneath all that verdant sap, like driftwood scattered beneath the tree. The overall effect is powerfully green but not sharp, sweet but not cloying—there's an almost narcotic milkiness to it, as if you've pressed your face directly into sun-warmed bark. This is for those who find most green fragrances too citric or grassy, who want something with more body and strangeness. Wear it when you want to smell expensive but unfussy, when you need something that reads as "I know exactly what I'm doing" without shouting about it. It suits linen shirts, bare feet on terracotta, long lunches that bleed into longer evenings. Uncompromisingly unisex, confidently unusual, utterly itself.
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