Drakon

Drakon announces itself as a fragrance for those who've grown weary of comfort—a deliberately austere composition that marries peppery aggression with creeping shadow. Jordi Fernández has constructed something genuinely unsettling within its woody-spicy architecture: the Madagascan pepper and betel leaf opening doesn't seduce so much as provoke, a sharp, almost medicinal assault that immediately signals this isn't a fragrance concerned with immediate likability. Yet beneath that bracing top sits genuine sophistication. The akigalawood in the heart provides a cool, slightly bitter woody frame—imagine pencil shavings and wet bark—whilst the nagarmotha (a rhizomatous root with inherent dampness) creates an earthy, almost musty undertone that prevents the composition from becoming merely peppery and linear. The African orange blossom attempts sweetness here, but it arrives neutered, almost savoury, as though filtered through smoke.

What emerges is a study in restraint wrapped in leather. That leather note isn't the warm suede of classical fragrances; it's dry, slightly astringent, almost mineral—the kind you'd find in vintage saddles or museum cases. The Canadian fir balsam and Australian sandalwood provide a creeping resinous warmth, but they never dominate; instead, they create an almost olfactory chiaroscuro, deepening shadows rather than illuminating. This is a fragrance for deliberate moments—evening reads in winter studies, solitary walks through bare forests, individuals who dress in charcoal and burnt sienna. Drakon rewards patience and cynicism in equal measure.