Rain

Rain isn't about petrichor or wet pavement—it's about that luminous half-hour after a summer storm when everything glistens and the air smells impossibly green. Le Guernec builds this through an audacious marriage of cut grass and clementine in the opening, creating a brightness that feels both citrus-sharp and chlorophyll-green, whilst cypress adds a resinous bite that keeps things from veering into lawn-care territory. The so-called rain accord in the heart operates more like a transparent veil than a literal interpretation, letting that peculiar pairing of orchid and passion fruit shimmer through with an almost metallic sweetness—it's the floral equivalent of licking a spoon, a sugary tang that shouldn't work but does because of the sunflower's nutty, slightly oily texture threading beneath.

The woodland strawberry brings an earthy, almost fermented fruit quality rather than anything jammily sweet, and this carries into a base where tree moss and teakwood create a damp, foresty foundation that finally makes the 'rain' conceit cohere. It's resolutely synthetic in construction—you can hear the lab equipment humming—but that's precisely its charm. This wears like expensive sportswear feels: technical, considered, optimistically modern in that mid-2000s way before everyone decided niche meant animalic amber bombs. Best on those who treat fragrance as atmospheric rather than architectural, who want to smell like they've been somewhere interesting rather than announce their presence. Brilliant for humid summer evenings when traditional florals wilt, or for anyone who finds themselves nostalgic for the era when Marc Jacobs' output felt genuinely experimental.