Verdigris

Verdigris opens with an almost aggressive brightness—a triumvirate of citrus oils (lemon, orange, lime) threaded through bergamot's characteristic tea-like bitterness. It's immediately aquatic, the calone blooming within moments to add that ozonic, slightly salty marine quality that undercuts what could otherwise feel like a straightforward citrus cologne. But Christian Carbonnel hasn't crafted something so predictable. The freesia arrives with a peppery sharpness, working against the calone's smoothness, whilst reseda—that subtly green, slightly herbaceous floral—prevents the composition from ever feeling clean or soapy. There's an intellectual quality here, almost austere, as if you're smelling the chemical composition of oxidised copper rather than something merely pleasant.

The heart reveals unexpected sophistication: coriander's spiced warmth mingles with cyclamen's peppery greenness and nutmeg's dry heat, whilst rose and violet add a classical floral spine without ever dominating. The jasmine from the top notes persists too, but it's been transmuted into something more austere, less creamy. This is a fragrance for those fatigued by contemporary florals—those seeking geometry rather than softness. It possesses a distinctly cerebral quality, the kind of scent worn by architects, chemists, or those who simply appreciate complexity without sentimentality. Best deployed during spring or summer, when its aquatic-citrus framework feels most contextually apt, though its green-floral heart suggests autumn wouldn't be remiss either.