Luce

Luce arrives as a study in austere sophistication—a fragrance that treats woodsmoke and earth as primary colours rather than atmospheric afterthoughts. The cedar leaf and birch opening cuts through with the crispness of freshly split timber, but Giuseppe Imprezzabile immediately grounds this brightness with a leather accord that feels worn and supple, less polished shoe and more well-handled saddle. What makes Luce compelling is how it refuses to sweeten itself; the patchouli that emerges is decidedly animalic and fermented, sitting alongside a sandalwood that reads almost medicinal rather than creamy, creating a spiced, tobacco-inflected middle that evokes old leather-bound books and pipe smoke lingering in a library after hours.

This is a fragrance for those who appreciate restraint and contemplation. The vanilla and benzoin base provides only the gentlest sweetness—never saccharine, always tempered by ambergris that adds a salty, slightly briny undertone. The overall character is resolutely masculine-leaning unisex; it's the scent of someone comfortable in their own austerity, worn on autumn walks through deciduous forests or during long evenings spent reading by firelight. There's a melancholic intelligence here, a refusal to perform. Luce suits the introspective wearer who treats fragrance as a private conversation rather than a public declaration. It's best appreciated in cooler months when its woody, smoky disposition can breathe properly without seeming merely autumnal.