Etat Libre d'Orange
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The initial burst is almost violently savoury—warm popcorn kernels coated in sesame oil collide with aggressive black pepper that catches at the back of your throat. It's vaguely foodlike yet bracingly peppery, creating an immediate tension between comfort and confrontation that sets the entire piece's unsettled mood.
Dusty orris softens nothing, instead layering over the spice with a powdery, faintly cosmetic character that becomes increasingly prominent over the first hour. Cumin deepens the earthiness whilst freesia attempts a delicate bridge, though the floral note remains nervously polite, outnumbered by the spiced accord's unapologetic intensity.
Ambrette seed brings a subtle, slightly musty sweetness that mingles with that gunpowder note, creating an almost smoky, vaguely threatening finish. Sandalwood emerges as a pale, recessed anchor, whilst the composition settles into something increasingly powdery and spiced—less fragrance, more the lingering scent of spice dust and old fabric.
La Fin du Monde announces itself with the sort of culinary audacity that only Quentin Bisch could conjure—a fragrance that smells simultaneously like a carnival concession stand and a spice merchant's back room. The opening salvo of popcorn and roasted sesame creates an almost edible warmth, but this is no linear gourmand; black pepper crashes through with an aggressive snap that reminds you this isn't comfort, it's provocation. As it settles, orris absolute arrives like powder dispersed through humid air, lending a faintly cosmetic, almost feminine dryness that seems deliberately at odds with the cumin's earthy insistence. The freesia threading through feels almost apologetic, a whisper of green florality that refuses to soften the composition's harder edges.
This is a scent for those who find conventional beauty tiresome. It's unsettling in the best way—the ambrette seed base doesn't offer conventional warmth but instead a musty, almost medicinal undertone that recalls old spice collections and forgotten libraries. That gunpowder note (here deployed with restraint, thankfully) adds a metallic, almost threatening dimension, as though the fragrance might combust at any moment. The sandalwood provides necessary structure, preventing the composition from tipping into pure chaos, yet it remains strangely recessed.
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4.0/5 (197)