Etat Libre d'Orange
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The cardamom immediately asserts dominance, its slightly mentholic green facets piercing through a warm gingerbread sweetness, whilst pepper crackles across the top like static electricity. Within seconds, you're not smelling fragrance—you're inhaling something that could legitimately belong on a spice shelf, though infinitely more refined than its culinary cousins.
As the peppery volatility settles, the Turkish rose emerges with an almost creeping sophistication, its slightly animalic character deepened by saffron's earthy, almost metallic warmth. Cinnamon weaves through the middle, binding everything into a cohesive spiced floral that feels simultaneously comforting and unsettling—like wearing a familiar scent that's been subtly altered.
The base transforms the composition into something more contemplative and resinous. Fir balsam creates an almost woody-aromatic clarity, whilst frankincense and patchouli deepen into a smoky, incense-like quality that persists as a whisper rather than a statement. What remains feels less like fragrance and more like the aromatic memory of having worn one.
Spice Must Flow announces itself as a deliberately provocative fragrance that treats the spice rack as a perfumer's palette rather than a kitchen necessity. Mathilde Bijaoui has constructed something that feels almost architectural in its layering—cardamom and pepper arrive with genuine bite in the opening, their sharp volatility cutting through what could otherwise become cloying, whilst the gingerbread adds an almost savoury sweetness that prevents the composition from tipping into gourmand territory.
The heart is where Bijaoui's vision truly crystallises. Turkish rose absolute refuses to play the softening feminine counterpoint one might expect; instead, it sits shoulder-to-shoulder with saffron and cinnamon, creating a deeply spiced floral that feels closer to Persian cuisine than a conventional perfume. The rose here tastes rather than smells—dusty, slightly green, almost peppery itself. This is no delicate bloom arrangement; it's a rose that's been through the spice markets of Istanbul.
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3.5/5 (109)