L'Artisan Parfumeur
L'Artisan Parfumeur
208 votes
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
A sharp, almost medicinal burst of lavender-meets-citrus that could trick you into thinking this is a simple herbal-green fragrance—until the blackberry's dark, jammy sweetness crashes through, creating genuine tension between the fruity and aromatic camps. The basil sharpens everything, lending an unexpected savoury edge.
The jasmine emerges cautiously, threading itself between the fading citrus and the now-dominant blackberry, which has softened into something more nuanced—less fresh jam, more stewed fruit left to concentrate. A subtle powdery haze settles over everything, giving the composition a diffuse, almost dreamlike quality that makes you question whether you're still smelling it or imagining it.
The base reveals itself as largely theatrical—musk and oakmoss provide a faint earthy warmth rather than genuine longevity or projection, and within hours, the fragrance dwindles to a skin scent at best. What remains is more memory than presence: a faint herbal-fruity ghost, powdery and vaguely sweet, clinging to fabric rather than air.
Mûre et Musc is a fragrance caught in a peculiar liminal space—too wispy to command a room, yet too deliberately constructed to dismiss as merely ephemeral. Jean Laporte's 1978 creation announces itself as a blackberry-forward composition, but the real story lies in how that dark fruit conversation unfolds against a backdrop of herbal brightness. The opening salvo of lavender and basil immediately establishes an aromatic, almost culinary sensibility, whilst the citrus (orange and lemon) refuses to play supporting role, instead wrestling with the berry's dark undertones for dominance. What emerges is neither floral nor purely fruity, but something more austere—a fragrance that smells like late summer foraged from a Provençal herb garden, where someone has carelessly crushed blackberries against dried lavender stems.
The jasmine in the heart arrives with a whisper rather than a proclamation, softening the herbal edges without ever fully surrendering the composition's structural austerity. There's a powdery character here that suggests vintage cosmetics—not quite aldehydic, but certainly from that mid-century lineage. The musk, oakmoss, and patchouli base promise earthiness, though in an Eau de Toilette concentration, they function more as philosophical gesture than olfactory anchor. This is fundamentally a fragrance for the restless, for those who find conventional florals cloying and clean musks boring. It demands application on skin that values subtlety as rebellion, worn by someone whose taste runs to obscure Krautrock and monochrome linen.
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3.6/5 (224)