Layla

Layla is the sort of amber that wraps around you like crushed velvet—opulent, narcotic, and unapologetically maximalist. The opening assault of nutmeg and clove feels almost medicinal in its intensity, that sharp eugenol bite cutting through the sweetness before the whole composition softens into something more seductive. What makes this compelling is how the ylang-ylang bleeds into the spice accord, creating this slightly indolic, almost overripe floral quality that stops it from becoming another linear amber vanilla. The cedar provides just enough structure to prevent complete dissolution into the base, though make no mistake—this is about that molten amber-patchouli core, sweetened with vanilla but kept from cloying by the earthy, mushroomy depth of the patch.

This is for the person who finds Amouage's Gold too restrained, who thinks Serge Lutens could have pushed further. It's evening wear with weight, the olfactory equivalent of heavy silk brocade. The musk and amber combination creates that skin-but-better effect, though 'better' here means gilded and ceremonial rather than fresh. There's something deliberately anachronistic about Layla—it harks back to the '80s and '90s when fragrances were allowed to occupy space and announce themselves. Not for tentative wearers or minimalist wardrobes. This wants jewel tones, statement pieces, and the confidence to be the most memorable person in the room.