Simply one of the most delicious masculine fragrances I've ever smelled. Magnificently smooth, sweet incense smoke laced with pungent but perfectly blended spices on a bed of leather and woody notes. It smells quite a lot like CDG 2 Man, but only the resinous amber drydown (the best part, imo), not the powdery-aldehydic opening notes.

When I was initially sampling it (from a dabber vial), I found Scorpio Rising even more velvety and refined than 2 Man. I was surprised, since you'd expect a perfume referencing Kenneth Anger’s infamous homoerotic occult biker film to smell a bit more dangerous, right?

Then I got a bigger spray sample and the difference is noticeable! From an atomizer, you get way more pungent, aromatic top notes (not just the warm-spicy ones) that feel a little skunky and swampy. Cannabis isn't a listed note, but the smoky-leathery-herbal facets combine to give a touch of bong water or body odour—which honestly makes me a little less enamoured with the fragrance but definitely evokes more of the occult-70s vibe that I had expected. Still an extremely sexy fragrance overall—pricey, but gorgeous.

To me, this is a “breakfast” perfume. It’s supposed to evoke a Japanese temple but I find its woody incense notes come across like a really nice shaving cream—masculine but not aggressive. Combined with the hint of coffee, the vibe is that you’re a guy who has a beautiful apartment in Kyoto (maybe your high rise has a view of the temple), tastefully furnished in Danish teak modernist furniture. Your stereo system is hi-fi. You have a subscription to Monocle. You’re waking up on a sunny day in a great mood because your creative projects are coming together just as you planned. You’re excited to get to work.

To me, this is a “breakfast” perfume. It’s supposed to evoke a Japanese temple but I find its woody incense notes come across like a really nice shaving cream—masculine but not aggressive. Combined with the hint of coffee, the vibe is that you’re a guy who has a beautiful apartment in Kyoto (maybe your high rise has a view of the temple), tastefully furnished in Danish teak modernist furniture. Your stereo system is hi-fi; you make your coffee in a Moccamaster; you have a subscription to Monocle. You’re waking up on a sunny day in a great mood because your creative projects are coming together just as you planned. You’re excited to get to work.

I was initially disappointed with 2 Man because it’s so different from CDG 2, which I adore—I felt like labelling this as a flanker is misleading since it’s almost a completely different scent. I also found this one to be less adventurous and original, its masculine flavour a bit too close to more commercial mens’ fragrances. After spending more time with it, though, I have to say it’s grown on me. I’ve come to appreciate how it does share some of the same DNA that I love in CDG 2: mainly the interplay of aldehydes, spices, and incense, though it subtracts 2’s complex cybernetic florals for a subtle iris and does away with the tea accord. Though it doesn’t include “ink” in the official description like 2 does, I find it still gives a hint of that “magazine-page” scent that I like so much in the sister fragrance. Plus, as the weather cooled into fall and winter, I really started to appreciate its leathery, slightly smoky spiced-amber drydown, which is satisfyingly warm and resinous—a lovely twist on the signature clean-incense base of so many CDG perfumes. I find it to be a sophisticated, somewhat bookish masculine fragrance that’s neither too loud nor too conservative. My only complaint is that the aldehydic top notes are both fresh and powdery in a way that reads a bit too much like deodorant (which is what initially put me off)—I prefer how it smells after an hour or two, but the longevity is actually not tremendous, so the drydown phase doesn’t last that long. I also eventually discovered Eris’ Scorpio Rising, which feels like it took the drydown phase of 2 Man and made it sweeter, richer, and more powerful—it’s three times the price, but (unfortunately!) I think it might be worth it.

Attaquer le Soleil creeps up on you. There’s something unsettling about it: an enigmatic, gothic atmosphere that’s both threatening and enticing, and it keeps me coming back for more. I saw someone else describe it as “liminal,” which feels accurate: imagine a disquieting dream in which you’re about to discover something secret and dangerous. The dark, coniferous woody opening transports me to an aristocratic alpine chalet enclosed by black trees. I wake alone at night. Called by some obscure premonition of pleasure, I venture out to explore the cold, candlelit hallway, walls panelled in polished ebony, until I come upon a dim study—a cabinet of curiosities stuffed with leatherbound books, strange insects encased in amber, and exotic devices of unknown purpose. Open on the desk is a massive antique volume with gilt edges, not meant for my eyes. Is it obscene pornography, an occult spell book, or a diary of monstrous crimes? My nose fills with the intoxicating fragrance of resinous incense as the fear mounts, undercut with a faint, powdery bitterness (camphor?). Do I hear footsteps in the hall? I try to peer closer at the forbidden book, catching a glimpse of illustrations of twisted bodies, but someone (or something) is drawing closer. I turn...and wake up. (All this is perhaps more seductive than it sounds.) Curiously, the only listed note for this fragrance is labdanum—supposedly it was a challenge that perfumer Quentin Bisch set for himself to make something focusing solely on a note/material that he dislikes. I don’t have a detailed sense of what labdanum is supposed to smell like, other than it’s a sweet, musky resin often used in incense—I associate it with CDG's trademark clean-incense base (as used in CDG Original, Blackpepper, and many others), which I sometimes find soapy or powdery. I’m sure there are a lot of things going on in Attaquer le Soleil other than pure cistus resin, but I really like how it seems to pull out so many different facets of the material: it’s a little smoky and woody, a little bit clean and powdery, a little bit musky and animalic (it smells very embodied, like skin), very resinous in a sweet, enveloping way, but cold and slightly bitter at the same time. It’s this interplay that keeps me sniffing myself over and over! Some people have written that this is too wearable for a Sadean perfume, but I find that there is something vaguely perverse about it, though it doesn't at all veer into smells that are overtly off-putting. It's a really excellent winter fragrance, especially for lovers of woody, leathery incense scents, or anyone who wants a non-churchy incense (it's definitely unholy). Incidentally, I first tried this right before trying Apoteker Tepe’s The Holy Mountain, and they have a lot of similarities: they’re both coniferously woody on first sniff before easing into an incense-heavy amber finish. The latter initially made a bigger impression—it’s showier, with a massive smoky opening and a glorious golden drydown—but Attaquer le Soleil has really grown on me. It's subtly dark and weird in a very addictive (but not overpowering) way that's led it to become one my most-worn cold-weather scents, quickly becoming an overall favourite. Moderate projection and good longevity, fwiw.

This one takes a little getting used to, since it's not quite what I expected: I thought it would be a mossy, earthy, leathery incense, but it's very predominantly a spicy rose scent with some dusty herbal touches of immortelle and myrrh and orris waxiness. Genteel and sweet with a rustic-yet-cozy animalic quality: Mr. Tumnus strolling home through a hedge maze with a bouquet of roses, but small animals have been relieving themselves in the undergrowth. The bouquet is accented with weeds and tied with a fancy ribbon. Quirky, but I could see it growing on me!

I don’t have any tattoos so I’m ill-equipped to assess whether this smells like a tattoo parlour (which is the idea), but it definitely smells like a salon: it has a rubbery, industrial vetiver-ink note that evokes black pleather salon chairs, and a slightly ozonic quality that makes me think of hair dryers. It’s also smoky, as if from cigarettes outside the shop door. I wouldn’t have identified the jasmine note (I wouldn’t call anything in here “floral”) but I think it might be manifesting as the fragrance of hair or skin treatments. There are also woody and musky facets going on that smooth and mellow it into a velvety texture that keeps the industrial touches from feeling harsh. Overall a very interesting and well-executed perfume, cool and a little edgy but not actually “weird,” nicely balanced. It’s not quite what I want from an “inky” fragrance, though, personally. I’d want it to reference books rather than tattoos, so, something more papery and natural, maybe with a more antique leather, incense, or some green touches. (Like Perfumer H’s Ink, in other words).

Early on in my fragrance journey, I thought of rose scents—along with most florals, really—as something outside my wheelhouse. Despite being theoretically opposed to the idea of gender in perfume, in practice I still tend to gravitate towards more unisex or masc-coded smells. However, I’ve become increasingly interested in the idea that wearing a rose fragrance could be a cool flex for me and I’ve been seeking out weirder” roses (whether green, earthy, peppery, salty, or otherwise) that read as “unisex” to me. Of the ones I’ve found, Jorum’s Rose Highland might be my favourite. It’s a cool, bracing scent that opens with a startlingly realistic ocean breeze, salty and mineralic, surrounding the impression of wild rosebushes with herbaceous notes that vividly transport you to a Scottish cliff carpeted with scrubby, flowering heather, overlooking the ocean. Basil imparts an aromatic green touch as sharp pink pepper and cloves spice up the rose’s supporting florals (geranium, rhododendron, and jasmine). This isn’t some pampered hothouse rose, it’s a rugged, thorny one, with just a handful of dark-red blooms. It has a forlorn, solitary flavour, bleak but romantic, perfect for gazing longingly out to sea while swathed in a shaggy Shetland sweater and tartan scarf, listening to plaintive Scottish indie pop. As it dries down, the oceanic notes recede and the rose blooms seem to dessicate into dried petals wrapped in a woody, grassy vetiver, still salty, maybe a little tear-stained. It’s a beautiful, evocative scent that I find very unisex, and it’s also an extrait with impressive stamina: like a cliffside shrub, it’s built to last and won’t be uprooted by inclement weather. Quite possibly my overall favourite Jorum creation (though their recent release Boswellia Scotia is also a top contender).🌹 🥀 🌹