Maison Margiela
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The first fifteen minutes are a bracingly green assault: galbanum's latex-like snap meets boxwood's bitter herbal edge, whilst bitter orange absolute provides citrus oils without sweetness. It's the olfactory equivalent of stepping from a hot street into a shaded cloister, that sudden cool relief tinged with vegetal sharpness.
As the greenness recedes slightly, mastic emerges with its distinctive pine-resin character, creating an almost coniferous quality that sits oddly—compellingly—alongside jasmine's indolic whisper. The florals never bloom fully; instead, they're kept in check, like flowers pressed between pages rather than arranged in a vase.
Cedarwood and frankincense dominate the final hours, creating a dry, meditative woodiness with wisps of smoke drifting through. The musk softens the edges without adding warmth, leaving a skin-close veil that smells more like expensive stationery than traditional perfumery—papery, refined, quietly present.
Maison Margiela's (untitled) is an exercise in verdant restraint, a fragrance that feels like crushing boxwood stems between your fingers in a formal garden just after rain. The opening is a sharp, almost medicinal clash of galbanum and boxwood—two profoundly green notes that share a bitter, resinous quality—lifted by the zesty oil of bitter orange. This isn't the fresh greenery of a spring meadow; it's darker, more architectural, like topiary shadows cast across gravel paths. Daniela Andrier balances this astringent greenness with mastic, that peculiar Greek resin that smells of pine sap and Mediterranean scrubland, whilst a thread of jasmine provides just enough floral relief to prevent the composition from turning entirely austere. The base reveals cedarwood's dry pencil-shaving character amplified by frankincense, which adds a cathedral-like smokiness that hovers rather than dominates. The musk here is clean but never soapy, serving to bind the green and woody elements into something cohesive rather than declaring its own presence. This is for those who find most green fragrances too cheerful, too obviously spring-like. It's the scent of someone who appreciates modernist sculpture, who understands that beauty needn't announce itself. Wear it to a private view, to a meeting where you need to project quiet authority, or simply when you want something that feels considered rather than crowd-pleasing. It's unisex in the truest sense—neither masculine nor feminine, just resolutely itself.
Add fragrances to your collection and unlock your personalised scent DNA, note map, and shareable identity card.
3.8/5 (74)