Sisley
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The citrus accord hits sharp and resinous, the mastic immediately asserting itself amongst the bergamot and bitter orange, creating an almost medicinal quality that carrot seed's earthy greenness only emphasises. This isn't fruit juice freshness—it's the scent of splitting open a citrus branch and inhaling the aromatic oils from both rind and wood.
The iris emerges cool and rooty, whilst the mastic absolute deepens the resinous character established in the opening. Pekoe tea adds a subtle astringency that keeps everything taut and refined, preventing the jasmine from turning the composition in any remotely floral direction—it's merely a whisper of indolic intrigue.
Cistus lends a leathery, labdanum-adjacent warmth that melds with sandalwood's creamy dryness, whilst vetiver provides an earthy, slightly smoky foundation. What remains is a skin-close veil of woody resins, the greenness now a memory rather than a statement, intimate and unexpectedly lasting.
Eau d'Ikar is a study in Mediterranean herbaceousness rendered through an almost astringent lens. The mastic—appearing both in the opening and as a concentrated absolute in the heart—provides a piney, resinous backbone that transforms what could have been another safe citrus cologne into something far more challenging. This is the scent of crushed herbs and sun-warmed tree sap rather than generic freshness. The carrot seed brings an earthy, slightly metallic edge to the citrus quartet, whilst the pekoe tea weaves a subtle tannic quality through the composition's middle section, amplifying rather than softening the green character. The iris here isn't powdery or cosmetic; it reads as root rather than petal, adding a cool, almost mineral facet that plays beautifully against the warm cistus-sandalwood base. This is for those who find conventional fresh fragrances insipid, who want their greenery with a bit of grit under its fingernails. It suits linen shirts worn with sleeves carelessly rolled, morning meetings that bleed into long lunches, the sort of person who drinks their coffee black and knows the difference between varietals. Eau d'Ikar doesn't seduce; it intrigues, presenting a polished but decidedly unconventional take on citrus aromatics that refuses to play by commercial rules. Vincent Ricord has crafted something that manages to feel both refined and faintly wild, like a formal garden slowly being reclaimed by the garrigue.
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