L'Artisan Parfumeur
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Star anise dominates with an almost pharmaceutical intensity, its black liquorice sharpness cutting through wisps of bergamot and a ghostly orange blossom that never quite materialises. The lapsang souchong arrives already smouldering, bringing with it the acrid sweetness of burnt pine needles and a faint maritime saltiness that clings to the back of your throat.
The spice accord thickens considerably as cinnamon and ginger meld into a single, syrupy warmth, whilst the honey emerges sticky and caramelised, as though someone's let it crystallise in the jar. Tobacco leaf weaves through everything with a dry, slightly sweet character—more cured than fresh, more pipe tobacco than cigarette—and the guaiac wood begins its slow reveal, adding a medicinal, almost camphoraceous depth.
What remains is surprisingly linear: that same smoky tea, now cooled and faintly bitter, wrapped in a gauze of vanilla that's more woody than creamy. The anise persists as a ghost note, occasionally flaring up when you move, whilst the tobacco-honey combination settles into something skin-like and addictive, intimate without being soft.
Olivia Giacobetti's Tea for Two opens like stepping into a Chinatown apothecary where someone's just knocked over a jar of star anise into a pot of brewing lapsang souchong. The anise hit is immediate and medicinal, its liquorice-sharp edges softened only slightly by a whisper of bergamot, whilst the tea itself arrives already smoke-laden and slightly charred, reminiscent of tarry Russian Caravan rather than delicate Earl Grey. This isn't the tea of polite afternoon gatherings—it's the burnt, spiced chai drunk in drafty canal boats, sweetened with too much honey to mask the bitterness.
The ginger and cinnamon don't behave as separate spices but fuse into a single molten mass, their heat amplified by the tobacco leaf lurking beneath. What makes this fragrance particularly clever is how the orange blossom never fully blooms; instead, it hovers at the periphery like steam from a cup, providing just enough floral sweetness to prevent the composition from collapsing into pure smokehouse. The guaiac wood adds a medicinal, almost phenolic quality that recalls old wooden tea caddies lined with metal, whilst the vanilla remains austere, never tipping into dessert territory.
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4.2/5 (78)