Paradis Perdu

Paradis Perdu arrives as a paradox—a fragrance that feels simultaneously herbaceous and luminous, green yet somehow nostalgic. Amélie Bourgeois has constructed something rather daring here: a scent that reads like a walk through a vegetable garden after rain, but one where the basil and spinach have been kissed by citrus and rendered almost ethereal. The opening assault of citron and grapefruit doesn't fade into sweetness as one might expect; instead, it collides headlong with galbanum and that curious paradisamide, creating a green-spicy tension that refuses to resolve into something conventionally beautiful. This is where Paradis Perdu distinguishes itself—it's genuinely unsettling in the best way, as if someone has bottled that peculiar moment when fresh herbs bruise between your fingers and release something vaguely indecent.

The elemi resin and ravansara add an almost medicinal sparkle, lending the composition a lived-in quality, whilst the subtle hay note grounds everything in something almost pastoral. This isn't a fragrance that whispers; it speaks plainly about its intentions. It's for the wearer unafraid of complexity, someone who gravitates towards unusual green fragrances over the safer florals. Wear this when you want to smell thoughtful and slightly odd—on quiet autumn mornings, perhaps, or when you're seeking something that disrupts rather than coddles. The woody base with its cedar and rosewood promises structure, though the fragrance's modest longevity means you're committing to a fleeting encounter rather than an all-day affair.