Leylak

Leylak is Pierre Bourdon's meditation on the liminal space between fruit bowl and flower vase, circa 1984—before aquatic fragrances became the ubiquitous cliché they are now. This is aquatic in the truest sense: waterlogged, almost swampy green notes that smell of lotus stems snapped at the root and water lily pads warming under late summer sun. The melon here isn't the shrieking honeydew of later aquatics, but something quieter, greener, still attached to the vine. Blackcurrant and quince bring a tart, slightly furry texture that keeps the sweetness honest, whilst bergamot sketches citrus in watercolour rather than permanent marker.

What's fascinating is how Bourdon layers his florals—lily of the valley and hawthorn create an almond-laced creaminess that hovers above rather than drowns in the aquatic base, whilst May rose adds just enough indole to remind you this isn't some sanitised spa fantasy. The honey note feels diluted, as though stirred into cool water rather than warmed. In the base, iris and violet root provide a face-powder softness that clashes intriguingly with vetiver's earthy rasp, whilst peach and raspberry add bruised-fruit sweetness to musk and amber. It's the sort of fragrance worn by someone who gardens in silk pyjamas, who doesn't mind mud under their fingernails but insists on good skincare. Leylak belongs to overcast mornings, conservatory lunches, moments when you can't quite tell if it's spring arriving or summer departing.