El Charro
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
That first spray delivers an almost violent collision of bright citrus and peculiar industrial sharpness, as though someone's juicing oranges in a garage. The violet leaf's metallic greenness amplifies the synthetic quality, whilst basil adds an aromatic roughness that prevents any sweetness from becoming comfortable. It's aggressively synthetic-natural, deliberate in its refusal to smell expensive or refined.
As the pink pepper settles, the spices warm into something almost wearable before that barnyard note emerges fully, animalic and uncompromising. The manure accord sits heavily amongst the cinnamon and nutmeg, transforming what could have been a pleasant spiced-citrus into something provocatively earthy. It's the olfactory equivalent of designer denim genuinely soiled by farm work—an affectation that's become accidentally authentic.
The woods finally assert themselves, sandalwood's creaminess tempering the earlier chaos whilst vetiver provides dry, rooty depth. Yet that musky-animalic quality never fully dissipates, leaving a skin scent that's warm, slightly funky, and oddly compelling—like smelling your own shirt after a long day outdoors and finding it strangely appealing despite, or perhaps because of, its imperfection.
Biker Florida Woman is a brazen, utterly peculiar composition that seems to revel in its own contradictions. The opening salvo announces itself with a fluorescent burst of orange and bergamot that's been deliberately roughened up—there's an unmistakable metallic tang, that listed "acridity" manifesting as something between hot tarmac and petrol fumes. Violet leaf adds its cucumber-cool greenness whilst basil brings herbaceous bite, creating an opening that smells like a citrus grove planted next to a motorway service station.
Then comes the genuinely transgressive heart: pink pepper and cardamom shimmer above warm cinnamon and nutmeg, but lurking beneath this spice market veneer is manure. Actual, animalic, barnyard manure. It's not subtle. Domitille Michalon-Bertier has crafted something that oscillates wildly between roadside orange stand and stable yard, the fruity sweetness constantly undercut by that feral, earthy funk. The effect is disconcerting, occasionally brilliant, sometimes simply odd.
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4.2/5 (85)