Civet

Shelley Waddington's Civet is an unapologetically feral indolic explosion that makes no concessions to modern sensibilities. This is the scent of white flowers gone rogue—tuberose and ylang-ylang drowning in their own sweetness whilst civet absolute prowls beneath, all musky warmth and unwashed intimacy. The opening citrus trinity of orange, lemon, and bergamot barely registers as clean; instead, it reads as acidic, slightly soured, like fruit left too long in a hothouse where frangipani petals rot on humid tiles. Black pepper and tarragon add a savoury, almost culinary edge that prevents the composition from becoming pure animalic theatre, whilst carnation's spicy clove facets amplify the scent's Victorian bordello character.

This is not a fragrance for the faint-hearted. Civet demands your complicity, asking you to embrace the uncomfortable truth that attraction and revulsion often occupy the same olfactory space. The resinous base—frankincense, labdanum, and balsams—provides a golden, amber-like glow that almost sanctifies the dirty animalics, whilst coffee and vanilla add bitter-sweet depth. Russian leather and oakmoss conjure up images of worn saddles and velvet curtains in rooms where secrets are kept. This is for those who understand that seduction isn't always polite, who recognise that the most compelling scents often flirt with the edge of too much. Wear it when you want to occupy space unequivocally, when you're feeling provocative, when you're tired of smelling like everyone else's idea of acceptable.