Ex Nihilo
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Peach juice bursts with immediate tartness, almost green-tinged, whilst grapefruit's citrus undertow and pink pepper's prickling spice create an almost confrontational opening—it's bright but not fresh-fruity in the conventional sense. The composition feels almost savoury here, like biting into stone fruit dusted with crystallised pepper.
The florals gradually soften the initial assault without surrendering to it; peony blooms with a subtle almond undertone whilst Bulgarian rose and rose water create something between a perfume counter and a botanical garden. The creamy accord wraps around these florals like cashmere, and the citrus begins its retreat, replaced by a gentle sweetness that feels earned rather than applied. This is where Devil Tender reveals its true character—poised between femininity and abstraction.
Suede becomes the dominant voice now, its warm, slightly dusty quality pulling the remaining rose into something almost reminiscent of old velvet gloves. White cedar and sandalwood provide skeletal structure rather than body, creating a near-transparent second skin that lingers as scent-memory rather than projection. By four hours, you're left with barely-there warmth—technically a skin scent, but one that requires proximity to appreciate fully.
Devil Tender arrives as a calculated provocation wrapped in silk and stone fruit. Nadège Le Garlantezec has crafted something that refuses easy categorisation—it's floral, yes, but the florals are tempered by an unusual pairing of acidic citrus brightness and suede's dusty, almost tobacco-like warmth. The peach juice in the opening isn't jammy or gourmand; it's tart and slightly green, playing directly against pink grapefruit's bitter bite whilst pink pepper adds a prickling, almost metallic spice that keeps the composition from settling into prettiness.
The genius emerges in how the heart notes—particularly the peony and Bulgarian rose interplay—refuse to become downy or powdery. Instead, they're anchored by rose water, which grounds the florals into something more architectural than romantic. This is a rose that's been stripped and reassembled rather than simply presented. The creamy accord (64%) feels less like vanilla or almond milk, more like how silk catches light—a subtle luminosity rather than indulgence.
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3.6/5 (123)