Serge Lutens
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The blossoms announce themselves with faintly green tendrils—fresh at first, almost indolic—before the musk infrastructure becomes immediately apparent, warm and skin-like within seconds. You're struck by how quickly the sweetness materialises, creamier than the opener's brightness suggested it would be.
Jasmine and carnation settle into an almost tense conversation, the latter's peppery edges working against the former's soft opacity. The musk deepens, now clearly animalic rather than clean, anchoring everything with a powdery, vaguely dusty character that suggests skin left undisturbed.
What remains is predominantly musk with carnation's spice as a fading whisper—increasingly intimate and close-worn, the composition becoming progressively less defined at the edges, dissolving into warm powder and skin chemistry rather than maintaining distinct notes.
Sarrasins is a fragrance that refuses to whisper. Christopher Sheldrake has constructed something deliberately carnal within the Lutens framework—a floral that leans unapologetically into animalic territory, where the jasmine doesn't bloom pristine but rather emerges through a haze of warm musk and carnation's spiced, almost peppery intimacy. This is florality filtered through skin rather than gardens.
The genius lies in that 52% powdery accord threading through the composition, preventing what could have been cloying sweetness from becoming suffocating. Instead, you get a contradiction that somehow works: a dusty, vintage quality emanating from the base whilst the heart notes maintain an almost carnivorous quality. The carnation particularly doesn't play supporting act here—it contributes a clove-like spiciness that sabotages any demure interpretation.
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3.6/5 (428)