Hiram Green
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Citrus oils spit and hiss against the birch tar's immediate assault, creating fleeting sparks of brightness before the smoke rolls in properly—dense, phenolic, and tinged with that slightly medicinal twang of genuine tar distillate. It's an opening that announces its intentions with zero subtlety: you're entering dark territory.
The sweet acacia blooms through the haze like mimosa caught in a structure fire, its honeyed, powdery floralcy creating an oddly compelling tension against the persistent smoke and emerging labdanum. The leather accord strengthens here, not supple or refined, but charred and feral, whilst oakmoss adds its mossy bitterness to the resinous depths.
Vanilla finally makes its presence properly felt, smoothing the composition into something almost—almost—comforting, though the smoke never fully relents. What remains is a resinous, amber-laced skin scent with ghostly wisps of birch tar, like standing downwind from last night's fire pit, wrapped in a cashmere jumper that's absorbed every molecule of smoke.
Hyde is Hiram Green's olfactory portrait of Jekyll's shadow self—all bonfire smoke, charred birch, and feral impulses barely contained. The opening flare of bergamot and lemon does little more than tear a bright wound through the tar-black haze before birch's phenolic smoke consumes everything in its path. This isn't polite leather; it's the acrid, creosote-thick scent of tyres burning in an abandoned lot, of wood pitched into industrial flames. Sweet acacia attempts diplomacy, its honey-powdered blossoms threading through the char, but it only amplifies the discord—beauty and destruction locked in an uneasy waltz. As labdanum's amber warmth pools beneath the smoke and oakmoss lends its bitter, forest-floor decay, vanilla arrives like an apology it doesn't really mean, softening the edges just enough to make the whole composition wearable rather than purely confrontational.
This is for those who've grown bored of sanitised leather fragrances and wan smoky accords. It demands a certain bloody-mindedness from its wearer—someone who appreciates that true animalic elegance often comes with singed edges and a whiff of moral ambiguity. Wear it when you're tired of being civilised, when the occasion calls for intensity over charm. It's nocturnal in spirit, gothic in execution, and entirely uninterested in making friends. Green's all-natural approach means the smoke feels genuinely pyrogenic rather than synthetically ersatz, the leather more hide-and-flame than polished calfskin.
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4.3/5 (16.3k)