Sarah Baker Loudo is a fragrance that seems to exist in two separate realities on my skin. On one wrist, it's all about comfort and nostalgia - musty, creamy expired chocolate milk powder that somehow still manages to be utterly delicious. It's like stumbling upon a forgotten tin in the back of a childhood cupboard, the scent enveloping you with a sweetness that's both familiar and slightly off-kilter. (Probably because of the time-traveling aspect to procure it.) But turn to the other wrist, and suddenly the ground shifts wildly beneath your feet. Here, Loudo reveals its feral side - pungent and fermented, with an earthy leather primal weirdness and a smoky tang that catches in your throat. It's as if time itself has soured and shifted, transforming innocent memories into something into something visceral and unrestrained. The contrast is jarring, yet oddly compelling. I find myself sniffing compulsively, trying to reconcile these two facets of Loudo. Is it a sweet reminder of what I was, or a glimpse into the strange beast my past has become? Perhaps it's both, a scented reminder of how our memories ferment and mutate, leaving us with something barely recognizable yet undeniably part of us.
A vanilla bean moonbeam threads its way through a labyrinth of mirrors. Silken jasmine vines unravel from the moon's negligee, weaving themselves into a veil that drapes across sleeping cities. A silvered net catching soft, pale fragments of dreams - a half-remembered kiss, the touch of cool desert air, the rustle of invisible wings. A drop of liquid light falls through layers of reality, a holy garland of tears and stardust-dappled night blooms. The slow stretch of time across a lunar landscape, captured in a sleepy smoked amber glass.
In the depths of the thicket, juicy purple orbs split open, birthing a swarm of cooing, jellied creatures that multiply with alarming speed. Sticky berry nectar drips from gnarled branches, transforming these chirping morsels into mischievous imps that skitter through the underbrush, their numbers doubling with each twig they snap. Ancient trees groan under the weight of the burgeoning horde, their woody sighs mingling with the fruity frenzy. The forest floor pulses, a living carpet of vegetation that shivers and expands, sprouting more berry-scented fiends with each quiver. Every breath draws in air thick with frenetic, fragrant energy as these jammy juggernauts overrun the woodland, their sweet symphony rising to a fever pitch. The once-serene grove twists into an ever-expanding maze of berry-fueled bedlam, leaving visitors dizzy in a haze of multiplying aromas and rambunctious, fruit-filled pandemonium.
Beelzebub thunders into Bike Week, his presence a tempest of lime and leather. Ancient wings, creased like a well-worn jacket, flex as he grips chrome handlebars slick with condensation from his frosty margarita. The air crackles with a zesty electricity, mixing citrus sting with infernal heat in a heady cocktail. Beneath his wheels, the earth exhales a deep, earthy groan - a mix of smoke and unholy soil that speaks of vast, wicked subterranean realms. At the edge of town, he pulls into a ubiquitous coffee franchise, the aroma of seasonal vanilla latte cutting through the infernal haze. The barista, unfazed by the sulfurous fumes, squints at the order screen and asks with practiced cheer, "Is that for Beelz, or is it Bub?" The Lord of Flies accepts his steaming cup, his "thanks, babe" shrieking out in a voice that's part anglerfish daydreams, part chiropteran echolocation. With a final rev that sounds like the gates of hell grinding open, Beelzebub toodles off into the sunset, leaving behind a trail of vanilla-tinged brimstone and the faintest whiff of lime-kissed leather.
I've spent countless YouTube hours watching travelers wind their way through Japan's remote mountains in search of hidden onsen. Macaque conjures what I imagine in those moments before slipping into these natural hot springs: that sharp intake of breath as mountain air fills the lungs, a bracing brightness that stings like citrus without any trace of sweetness. Then comes the dry herbal/woody medicinal presence of cypress wood warming in the sun, and finally, the contemplative drift of incense carried on thermal currents. Its smoke is different here - softened and diffused by rising steam until it becomes almost tactile, like silk suspended in air. There's something sacred in this solitude of smoke and steam, something that recalls the aftermath of a hot shower but earthier, more ancient - less about soap than the quiet ritual of purification, with just a whisper of mineral-rich air. The lasting impression is of warmth remembered rather than felt, like late afternoon sun lingering after the day has begun to cool.
No. 23 from Fischersund is a densely tarry and leathery scent, charred wood and peppery smoke, that dries in your hair like green, aromatic moss and balsamic fir needles and pine. It also makes me think of salty licorice and hangikjöt —but not candy and actual smoked meat, really. More like a bitter, herbal chewiness, and scorched and smoldering birch and juniper and the ghost of blistered proteins? It’s stygian, enigmatic, and bleak, and maybe this is what my doppelgänger who just climbed out of the Katla ash storms and trekked through the Jordskott forest smells like. (I realize with those references I’m mixing together both Icelandic and Swedish creeping horror —catastrophic supernatural volcanoes and prophecies about evil forests—but whatever!)
Impressively dank for the Oud lovers. Has that multifaceted oud smell, and not a lot else to say, although I've no doubt the oil has been extended and complemented, because this still feels like a perfume rather than just oud oil. I didn't find it particularly animalic or stinky but the SA who sprayed it on a card for me, despite giving a pretty hard sell, was giving the game away with his body language, he was visibly repulsed by it. I think it's decent, just expensive but isn't everything now?
Bois d’Ascese is a scent constructed in typical Naomi Goodsir fashion, meaning it STINKS - but not in a bad way. This scent is profoundly powerful, it can fill rooms with ease and definitely won’t be for everyone; there is no mass appeal here. A brutally strong note of sticky, sappy labdanum coupled with an absurd amount of incense gives you this intensely smoky and dense aroma, if I’m being completely honest it almost smells like a burnt out barbecue. Pair this with spicy cinnamon, dry leafy tobacco and burning whisky and you’re left with more confidence than you can deal with. If you wear this you will smell like your clothes are burning all day, so take that as you will. As is often the case with this house, this fragrance is exceptionally well made and smells of fantastic quality, but it’s just not something I would wear. I don’t want to smell like I’m burning.
Cuir Velours is a scent I’ve heard a lot about, it seems to be one of the most popular from Naomi Goodsir. Is it nice? Yes it smells great, but I can’t say I’m wowed if I’m being honest. It’s a pleasantly smooth suede scent, so smooth it almost smells buttery and creamy - which is great. There’s a gentle note of immortelle hanging about in the background, which is what adds a significant dryness to the scent - almost dusty and papery. A smoky tobacco takes this further, whilst labdanum strengthens the leathery feel. Overall it smells great, but I feel like it’s lacking something. It’s so smooth, soft and inoffensive that I find myself getting bored. This is unlike a lot of other Naomi Goodsirs I’ve tried which seem to have a running theme of something stinky and strange. It’s pleasant, but doesn’t excite me.
Mossy Bridges is the recreation of the long discontinued Moss Breches by Tom Ford, a fragrance I’ve unfortunately not had the chance to smell and so I cannot make a comparison to how close this is. What I can say, is that this smells absolutely fantastic. Herbal heaven I would describe this as. It’s so much sharper than I was expecting, like a razor. The intense fresh herbaceous zing of rosemary, sage and tarragon is fantastically green and masculine, tempered by the rich woodiness of cedar and earthy patchouli. The beeswax isn’t as prominent as I thought it might be, offering just a subtle touch of sweetness which is barely noticeable. If you want to smell like herbs, this is the scent for you - which some may take as a positive or a negative. I see it as a positive, for this is like nothing else I’ve tried before. I’m not sure it’s a true love for me, but it’s seriously impressive perfumery and truly unique.
King Blue has been described as one of the stinkiest and most animalic ouds on the mass market, but I’m not sure I agree. It’s definitely got a pungent brutality about it, the likes of which is unusually bold for what is becoming a very mainstream house - I think it’s great. It’s refreshing in a market full of boring rose-ouds which all smell the same. The note of oud here, which I’m assuming is just an accord, smells amazing. It’s dry, earthy and smoky all in one, perpetuating darkness with added notes of leather and patchouli. Frankincense is what gives it that dry, smoky, almost scratchy quality which is tempered beautifully by the subtle juiciness of blackcurrant and mandarin. Whilst I think it’s great, I don’t absolutely love it, meaning it’s unlikely I’ll be getting myself a bottle. I enjoy the scent but it doesn’t feel like me, it doesn’t match up with my usual style. But in the world of fruity oud fragrances this is a stand out release.
This is an intoxicating scent. One that will remain the best JP DNA ever.
No amber that I can detect. Then again, I can't detect much after about an hour. Opening is very fresh and green but quickly fades to nothing.
1872 for Men is a gorgeously refined and sophisticated scent for the classic gentleman. It’s a beautifully smooth and gentle take on a classical aromatic fougere - oozing with class and elegance at every turn. It’s bright, citric and slightly herbal, but manages to perfectly balance any sharpness with just as much smoothness. Citrus is the name of the game here - lime, grapefruit, mandarin and bergamot in perfect harmony, with sweeter touches coming from pineapple in the background. From here, the aromatic herbal side begins to shine; petitgrain, lavender, rosemary and sage in all their glory. There’s a subtle note of fuzzy peach which again adds a fruity sweetness, but also smooths everything out with its creamy nature. This is basically the bulk of the scent profile, there are some woods and florals present but they aren’t hugely detectable. Overall I think this is wonderful - it’s not the most complex or impressive fougere I’ve ever smelled, but it’s simply so satisfying and enjoyable to wear.
Blonde Amber has always been one of the most popular releases from Clive Christian, but in the past year especially it has exploded into popularity - I blame TikTok. A lot of people have said this is the best cold weather fragrance on the market; it’s not, not by a long shot. It’s still enjoyable though; the overbearing sweetness of dried fruits and smooth tonka compliment the dry tobacco and smoky resins very well, with just a touch of booziness to keep it interesting. However, as is often the case with Clive Christian, it doesn’t smell nearly as expensive as it actually is. £500 for this is obscene, I wouldn’t pay over £150 for it and good luck finding it at that price. I enjoy this scent but there’s just a lingering smell of cheapness underneath everything that I like about it, once again I really don’t know why this has been hyped so much.
Amberwood is interesting, I’m having trouble deciding whether I like it or not. One things for sure though, Clive Christian are taking the piss with the price for a scent like this. It’s almost painfully boring, annoyingly simple and a little scratchy at that too. With a name like Amberwood, you’d be just as surprised as I was to smell no relevance to Amber whatsoever. It’s a sort of aromatic woody scent, with an overwhelming synthetic muskiness blanketing over everything. Sage sticks out to me, with its dry, slightly green qualities complimenting the array of synthetic musks and woods fairly well. To be honest it does smell pleasant, but it also smells cheap. I had a similar issue with Rock Rose, for a £500 fragrance you want to smell like royalty, where as this will have you smelling like Superdrug instead. Why would they market such a cheap and basic smelling scent as luxury? We may never know.
X Masculine is an iconic and undeniably fantastic scent profile in the world of niche men’s perfumery. There’s nothing else that smells quite like it, aside from the ones that have copied it. It sort of smells like fougere meets oriental, but mainly comes through as a warm spicy oriental scent. An enveloping warmth of smooth cardamom and spicy cinnamon takes centre stage, given a sort of fresh spiciness by ginger and bergamot. All of this rests on a rich, woody base of woods, florals and Vetiver. The journey of this scent is a battling dichotomy of zingy freshness, against warming spices - and it’s phenomenal. It’s very much in the same vein as Roja’s Reckless Pour Homme, or perhaps that should be vice versa, considering this came first. However, as Roja usually manages to do so, I find his iteration of this scent profile far superior as it feels smoother and more refined. However the Clive Christian has to be respected for the ingenuity of such a scent profile.
Surprisingly nice, very refreshing scent for summer. What's more surprising, is that I can smell it on my skin for longer than an hour.
Beautiful complex scent that develops and circles back over many hours.
Starts off with a rich and sweet creamy vanilla amber, with a good dose of warm furry musk.
Initially it reminded me of Grand Soir's dirtier cousin.
The beautiful vanilla and a stunning amber are dancing round florals and spice.
After many hours it turns into a beautiful amber musk.
Beautiful, vibrant, and warm with gorgeous animalic darkness.
On the FB list for sure.
On paper (figuratively) this is everything I usually hate in a perfume. Fruit, tiare, jarring notes, chocolate with fruit. The initial spray in store onto card gave me a HEEELL no reaction, but then it insinuated itself into my every thought for days on end. I got hold of a sample and wore it to go for a long walk in a huge park during summer, and it was incredíble. I used the sample up over the next couple of days. Now I have a full bottle, and after a couple of months I was hesitant, fearing I might hate it, but no, it's amazing. As everyone says, it's on the line between ripe and putrid, but that's exactly why it works. It's what saves it from being a teenage, frivolous cheapie. It's unlike anything else, and alongside M/Mink is the only thing worth bothering with from Byredo.
ART. Some of these reviews are pure poetry, so I don’t even feel worthy yet to add my thoughts. I found out about it from Joe Smells Good on YouTube. He sent me a sample. He is a legend. I’m gonna wear this on Halloween.
Got a sample from my buddy Joe Smells Good on YouTube. He warned me that it was a weird one. An Immediate scrubber. Sorry, I couldn’t hang. Agressively pissy, jasmine, poopy, baby wipe, assault on the nose. Sample this and use the sample to spray on your enemies.
I put a minuscule amount on my wrist and I keep coming back to it. It’s like a creamy cilantro stem and maybe some rose. I find it to be quite comforting and unique. I don’t know what all the fuss is about.
A cozy afternoon, a warm sweater, a walk in the forest.
