Néa

Black pepper ignites first, cutting through the sticky dates and pomegranate like a knife through fruit leather. That davana immediately announces itself as something unsettling—almost leathery, certainly not innocent—whilst palm leaf hisses in like humid air, creating an opening that feels more intriguing than immediately gratifying.

The transition is deceptively gentle; the rose and prune emerge as the supporting notes step back, creating a lush, almost wine-dark character where the florals feel edible rather than ornamental. Jasmine sambac creeps in with a creamy smoothness, and suddenly you're breathing in something that hovers between a dried-fruit compote and a perfumed skin, utterly candid about its gourmand intentions yet never quite surrendering to them.

The caramel and tonka bean fully assume control, but they're propped up by patchouli's earthy restraint and a quietly tenacious musk-ambroxan base that clings to skin like expensive cashmere. What remains is remarkably dry and almost powdery, with the vanilla and benzoin creating a warm amber embrace that's considerably more refined than the sweetness might suggest—a lingering afterthought rather than a loud farewell.