Emper
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The first spray is an olfactory slap: galbanum's bitter greenness colliding with basil's anisic sharpness whilst lemon juice cuts through like a blade. Beneath this verdant assault, asphalt lurks—mineral, petrichor-like, lending an urban grit that makes the citrus feel less Mediterranean terrace and more rainswept brutalist plaza. The wild grass accord smells genuinely feral, more lawn trimmings than pastoral idyll.
As the citrus recedes, tomato leaf takes centre stage with its strange, almost savoury greenness—metallic and sun-warmed, like brushing past plants in a greenhouse. Geranium adds a rosy sharpness whilst jasmine and lily of the valley provide fleeting moments of conventional florality, though they're constantly overshadowed by that curious plum note that reads as jammy and slightly off-kilter. The whole heart phase hovers between garden and urban wasteland, never quite settling into comfort.
The base reveals proper chypre bones: oakmoss and vetiver create an earthy, slightly musty foundation that smells of damp bark and root cellars. Patchouli adds its characteristic darkness whilst musk provides subtle animalic warmth, though the green character never fully dissipates. What remains is skin-close and contemplative, the memory of crushed stems clinging to fabric long after you've come indoors.
Degrees is a brazen urban pastoral that pairs the astringent snap of galbanum and basil with the mineral reek of rain-soaked pavement. Jean-Claude Ellena, decades before his minimalist phase at Hermès, crafted something gloriously unruly here—a fragrance that smells like crushing tomato vines underfoot whilst walking through a petrol-stained car park at dawn. The citrus opening of lemon and bergamot is almost violent in its acidity, sharpened further by wild grass notes that smell more of chlorophyll and sap than meadow sweetness. There's an unsettling quality to the way geranium and jasmine emerge from beneath that aggressively green canopy, as if someone left a bouquet on a motorway verge. The plum note adds an unexpected bruised-fruit sweetness that borders on fermented, whilst tomato leaf contributes that peculiar metallic, vegetal tang that divides fragrance lovers cleanly down the middle.
This isn't a scent for the timid. It's for those who find conventional 'fresh' fragrances insipid, who want their greenness to have teeth. The chypre structure becomes apparent as oakmoss and vetiver anchor the composition with proper earthiness—not the sanitised 'clean' interpretations we see today, but something that smells of actual soil and roots. The asphalt note is genius, lending a tarry, industrial edge that makes the whole construction feel like nature reclaiming concrete. Wear this when you want to smell like you've been gardening in Doc Martens, or cycling through morning mist with basil cuttings in your rucksack. It's peculiar, purposeful, and utterly uncompromising.
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3.6/5 (276)