XerJoff
XerJoff
209 votes
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Lily of the valley crashes into resinous woods with surprising force—that green, almost aldehydic floralcy acting like a cold splash against gurjum balsam's warm, slightly pine-like turpentine character. The oud announces itself immediately but remains composed, medicinal rather than feral, with a metallic sharpness that the floral note amplifies rather than softens.
As the lily recedes, amyris steps forward with its soft, slightly peppery woodiness, creating a bridge between the opening's brightness and the gathering amber-labdanum warmth. The two ouds begin their slow waltz, Laotian bringing smoky depth whilst Cambodian adds that characteristic sour-sweet complexity, all cushioned by an amber accord that smells of dried resins and beeswax rather than synthetic vanilla.
What remains is a skin-close murmur of oud, labdanum, and musk—leathery, slightly animalic, with just enough tonka-vanilla sweetness to keep it from going entirely austere. The wood never fully disappears but becomes part of your skin's scent signature, that subtle medicinal quality of aged agarwood lingering like expensive wood polish on warm flesh.
Malesia is XerJoff's meditation on oud's duality—the way precious agarwood can simultaneously purr and growl. This isn't one of those skeletal oud showcases that mistakes austerity for elegance. Instead, it's lavishly upholstered, opening with an unexpected lily of the valley that acts less like a dewy spring flower and more like a metallic, almost soapy counterpoint to the resinous darkness gathering below. The Laotian and Cambodian ouds here aren't screaming barnyard funk; they're polished, woody, slightly medicinal, with that characteristic oud sourness threaded through gurjum balsam's turpentine-like brightness. Amyris adds a subtle sandalwood-adjacent creaminess without quite being sandalwood, whilst the amber accord builds a warm, honeyed glow that prevents the composition from tipping into austere territory.
What's fascinating is how the animalic accord (64%) manifests—it's not civet-soiled, but rather the subtle muskiness of skin, of labdanum's leathery-amber richness meeting actual musk in the base. The tonka and vanilla never go gourmand; they're barely-there sweeteners that simply round the oud's edges rather than drowning it in dessert. This is for the oud-curious who find pure oud oils too confrontational, or the oud-experienced seeking something more nuanced than another straight-ahead agarwood soliflore. It's a scent for cold evenings in well-appointed rooms, for those who appreciate when florals and woods engage in sophisticated conversation rather than polite small talk. Wear it when you want presence without aggression, complexity without chaos.
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3.3/5 (231)