Ceylon

The first spray delivers a disorienting blast of thick, almost fermented honey shot through with bergamot's citric brightness—think marmalade left too long in the sun. Within minutes, jasmine sambac muscles in with its full indolic glory, that unwashed skin and overblown flower intensity that makes delicate noses reach for the scrubbing brush.

As the composition settles, the oud reveals itself in earnest—medicinal, leathery, with that characteristic barnyard funk that quality Malayan wood provides—whilst Ceylon tea's astringent, tobacco-like bitterness creates fascinating tension against the persistent honey. Sandalwood weaves through like cream in strong Earl Grey, never quite taming the wildness but making it wearable, whilst the deer musk begins its slow infiltration, adding a warm, almost sweaty intimacy that clings to pulse points.

Hours later, Ceylon becomes pure skin scent in the most literal sense—amber and vanilla create a golden haze whilst the musk dominates completely, animalic and intimate, with ghostly traces of oud smoke and sandalwood cream. It's the smell of expensive sheets after a long night, sweet and musky and indefinably carnal, radiating warmth from the body rather than projecting outward.