Une Nuit Nomade
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The bergamot arrives first, a brief citric brightness that's quickly enveloped by frankincense—not church incense, but the raw resin, slightly lemonic and pine-like. There's an immediate sense of something sweet and smoky brewing underneath, but these first fifteen minutes keep you guessing, teasing at the richness to come.
Here's where Memory Motel reveals its true character: iris blooms with a soft, lipstick-like quality whilst the tobacco and vanilla start their seductive dance, sweetening and thickening the frankincense into something almost edible. The patchouli adds a chocolate-dark earthiness that anchors the composition, preventing the sweetness from turning cloying, whilst leather notes emerge as supple suede rather than harsh rawhide.
What remains is a close-to-skin haze of vanillic tobacco and moss, still laced with whispers of frankincense that refuse to entirely fade. The sweetness has mellowed into something ambery and skin-like, whilst the patchouli's earthy undertones keep everything grounded, leaving a trail that's part comfort, part mystery—like the scent memory of someone you met once and haven't quite forgotten.
Memory Motel conjures the velvet darkness of a desert roadhouse where incense smoke curls through leather banquettes and the ghost of bourbon-soaked tobacco lingers in the upholstery. Annick Ménardo has orchestrated something rather brilliant here: frankincense and iris—two notes that can turn austere in lesser hands—are lashed to a sweet, resinous base of patchouli and vanilla that stops them from floating off into temple solemnity. The result is a scent that reads simultaneously ecclesiastical and louche, as if someone spilled vanilla liqueur on a monk's robes and added a twist of bergamot to cut through the damage.
What makes this compelling is how the leather and tobacco refuse to play the typical smoky, animalic card. Instead, they're smoothed and sweetened by that vanilla base, creating something closer to pipe tobacco dusted with cocoa than the harsh bite of cured hides. The iris adds a subtle powderiness that keeps everything from becoming too sticky-sweet, whilst the moss provides an earthy counterpoint to all that spiced warmth. This is for those who want their gourmands grown-up and their orientals shadowy—worn by someone who reads by candlelight and appreciates the smell of old books, but isn't afraid of a bit of hedonism. Evening only, preferably when there's a chill in the air and you're heading somewhere dimly lit with excellent cocktails.
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3.8/5 (136)