Hermès
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The iris arrives immediately with its characteristic metallic coolness, accompanied by a sharp, green snap of coriander that smells almost like crushed stems and seeds rather than the soapy sweetness some associate with the spice. There's a fleeting carnation bite—peppery, slightly spiced—that gives the opening an unexpected edge before it settles into something quieter.
The composition grows warmer and closer to skin as a subtle rose-neroli blend creates a diffuse, almost watercolour-like floral backdrop that never quite crystallises into distinct blooms. The iris remains central but softer now, its earthy-powdery facets emerging more clearly as the green sharpness recedes. A suggestion of honey begins to appear, lending just enough viscosity to prevent the scent from evaporating entirely.
What remains is an intimate veil of pale woods, vanillic softness, and that persistent iris root—now fully powdery but still retaining its cool, mineral quality rather than turning into full cosmetic territory. The cedar provides structure without drama, whilst the amber-honey accord creates a barely-there warmth that hovers just above the skin. It's the olfactory equivalent of clean linen, natural light, and bare walls.
Hiris is Olivia Giacobetti's meditation on iris root in its most stripped-back, translucent form—a study in restraint that prioritises the raw, earthy-metallic quality of orris over decorative florals. The coriander seed works surprisingly hard here, lending a skin-like warmth that prevents the iris from floating away into abstraction, whilst the carnation adds a peppery, almost silvery sharpness that underscores the root's naturally cool demeanour. This isn't iris dressed up in lipstick and powder compacts; it's iris with dirt still clinging to its rhizomes, tempered by the faintest suggestion of honeyed amber that keeps the composition from becoming too austere. The rose and neroli barely register as distinct flowers—they're more like atmospheric suggestion, a soft-focus halo that gently rounds the edges without sweetening the central idea. What's remarkable is how Giacobetti resists the urge to amplify: the vanilla and cedar in the base are whispered rather than shouted, creating a skin-scent effect that feels like wearing a cashmere cardigan over bare skin. This is for those who find most iris fragrances too heavily powdered or prettified, who want to smell the cool stone and metallic earth before the cosmetic associations kick in. Hiris belongs to art gallery mornings, empty museums, the quiet concentration of someone sketching light through windows. It's resolutely unshowy, almost ascetic in its refusal to perform, which is precisely its appeal.
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3.7/5 (79)