La Perla
La Perla
221 votes
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The pine arrives sharp and resinous, immediately contaminated by something metallic and strange—bergamot attempts brightness but reads instead as tarnished citrus. Cardamom threads through with its eucalyptus-like facets whilst that unsettling note creates an almost ferrous tang, like licking a copper coin in a frozen forest.
Clove dominates with its anaesthetic bite, nutmeg adding dusty warmth as the white ambergris introduces an unexpected marine coolness that makes everything feel damp and mineral. The white florals emerge indolic and thick—champaca's orange blossom richness, jasmine sambac's almost grape-like sweetness, ylang ylang's banana-cream volatility—all conspiring to create something between temple incense and expensive decay.
Labdanum's amber-leather takes control, darkened by oakmoss's bitter earthiness and opoponax's sweet myrrh thickness. Nagarmotha adds its woody-smoky vetiver-adjacent character whilst orris and violet leaf provide a powdery, almost dusty refinement—the final effect is of antique resins in a mahogany box lined with faded silk.
Eclix is a study in contrasts—austere resinous spice colliding with narcotic white florals, all anchored by a darkly ambered base that feels simultaneously ancient and unsettling. That curious note of "contamination" in the opening isn't mere marketing speak; there's something genuinely feral here, a metallic, almost blood-like quality that makes the Russian pine read less like a walk through Nordic forests and more like stumbling upon something ritualistic and half-forgotten. The cardamom and bergamot attempt civility, but they're quickly overwhelmed by a heart that layers clove and nutmeg against Irish white ambergris—that particular variety lending a cool, oceanic salinity that keeps the spice from tipping into mulled wine territory.
The real revelation is how those heavy-hitting white florals (champaca, sambac jasmine, ylang ylang) don't soften the composition but rather intensify its strangeness. They emerge through the spice like pale blooms pushing through volcanic soil, indolic and slightly overripe, their sweetness cut by the medicinal snap of clove. This is unisex in the truest sense—not a safe middle ground, but a scent that refuses to court either masculine or feminine codes. The base is pure 1970s opulence: labdanum's leathery amber, oakmoss providing its bitter-green backbone, and orris root lending a cold, powdery elegance that feels like expensive neglect. It's for those who want their fragrance to be a conversation piece rather than a compliment generator—worn at dusk, in velvet, with intention.
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4.2/5 (112)