Slumberhouse
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Black pepper erupts with raw, granular bite whilst mandarin tries to sweeten the approach—this is immediately *peppery*, almost kitchen-hot, with that listed "spoilage" adding an unsettling funkiness beneath the citrus that prevents the opening from ever feeling fresh or cheerful. The elemi resin joins in, woody and slightly medicinal, as if the fragrance is already bristling against your skin.
Nutmeg and tonka bean emerge into something surprisingly elegant, the tonka's vanilla warmth finally offering purchase against all that spice and resin, but frankincense arrives as a stern corrective—austere, incense-like, pushing sweetness back into shadow. The woody-resinous accord (88% and 76% respectively) dominates here, creating a dry, almost architectural middle phase where amber begins its slow unfurling beneath everything.
Oud, cistus, and musk create a whisper-quiet base of smudged amber and barely-there skin-scent, the resinous edge finally softening into something contemplative and intimate. What remains feels almost like fragrance-memory rather than live performance—a warm, spiced amber that clings close without projection, fundamentally altered from the opening's strident statement.
Eki arrives as something deliberately discordant—a fragrance that doesn't court immediate affection but rather demands your attention through sheer architectural boldness. Alexandra Kosinski has constructed a composition where elemi resin and black pepper create a bristling top that feels almost confrontational, immediately complicated by mandarin's citric sweetness threatening to soften what's essentially a spice-forward declaration. There's an intriguing note listed as "spoilage" in the opening, which suggests either an intentional funkiness or a compositional accident left deliberately unresolved—either way, it prevents this from ever settling into comfort.
What makes Eki compelling is how the heart refuses conventional harmony. Nutmeg and tonka bean would typically create an easy gourmand warmth, but frankincense—that austere, temple-incense dryness—arrives as a counterargument, creating friction rather than fusion. The interplay between the spiced sweetness (100% spicy accord with 64% sweetness) and the resinous dryness (76%) produces something almost confrontational on the skin, like leather-bound pages dusted with cinnamon.
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4.0/5 (77)