Figment Man

Figment Man is Annick Ménardo operating in her most provocative register—a fragrance that lives up to its name by existing somewhere between memory and hallucination. The opening whispers of geranium and lemon barely announce themselves before the composition plunges into its true nature: animalic warmth that's far more pheromonal whisper than roar. This is the smell of skin that's been warmed by sun-bleached wood, where pink pepper provides just enough bite to keep things from sliding into complete indecency. The sandalwood and vetiver at the heart aren't polished or creamy; they're textured, almost gritty, as if Ménardo has stripped away all the expected refinement. Labdanum and gaiac wood create a resinous, almost tarry foundation that clings to the skin with quiet insistence.

This isn't Amouage's typical maximalist approach—Figment Man is deliberately restrained, asking you to lean in rather than announcing itself across a room. It's for those who find conventional "clean" masculines utterly tedious, who want something that smells like a person rather than a product. The earthy-animalic core makes it oddly versatile in an unconventional way: it works in the grey light of a winter afternoon as well as against summer-warmed skin, adapting its intensity to your body chemistry. This is fragrance as second skin, deliberately ambiguous in its gender presentation, quietly subversive in its refusal to perform.