XerJoff
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The apple hits like biting into a Granny Smith chilled straight from the fridge—astringent, green-fleshed, with bergamot's petitgrain facets adding a bitter-edged brightness. Lemon weaves through with its sherbet tang, the whole composition vibrating with high-pitched, almost aromatic freshness that borders on cologne territory.
Orange blossom emerges with its indolic warmth, but the pink pepper and cardamom conspiracy keeps it from going soapy or too traditionally floral. Jasmine adds body without weight, whilst that cardamom continues its eucalyptus-mint whisper, creating an intriguing push-pull between fruity sweetness and dry, almost medicinal aromatics that shouldn't work but absolutely does.
The musk-cedar-patchouli trio creates a skin-scent base that's more whisper than shout, with vanilla's green treatment ensuring sweetness reads as ripe fruit skin rather than dessert. What remains is soft, slightly woody, with just enough fruity memory lingering like the ghost of apple peels left on a cutting board.
Amabile reads like a love letter to the brighter side of the Xerjoff canon—a crystalline burst of green apple and citrus that refuses to descend into syrupy territory, thanks to Christian Carbonnel's deft hand with spice and aromatics. The opening is bracingly fresh, the kind of tart apple that snaps between your teeth rather than dissolves into compote, made even more vivid by the resinous brightness of Calabrian bergamot cutting through Amalfi lemon's softer glow. What prevents this from veering into fruit salad predictability is the heart's clever architecture: pink pepper adds a champagne-bubble fizz whilst Guatemalan cardamom brings eucalyptus-like coolness that tempers the jasmine and orange blossom into something more orchard than perfume counter.
The base reveals Carbonnel's skill at constructing wearable complexity. That "green vanilla" accord—likely a fig-leaf-like treatment of the note—keeps sweetness in check, whilst Indonesian patchouli lends earthiness without going full bohemian. Atlas cedar provides skeletal structure, and white musk ensures the whole composition hovers close to skin rather than announcing itself across rooms. This is fragrance for those who've tired of shouty florals and cloying fruity musks but aren't quite ready to commit to full austere minimalism. It's the scent of someone who eats their apples with the skin on, who prefers their jasmine picked at dawn rather than at full sun. A transitional fragrance, perhaps—spring edging into summer, or those tentative first warm days when winter's grip finally loosens.
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3.7/5 (83)