Pegasus

Pegasus is an exercise in controlled indulgence, a fragrance that wraps bitter almond and heliotrope in enough vanilla and amber to make it dangerously wearable. The opening is deceptive—that heliotrope brings a cherry-tinged marzipan quality that mingles with cumin's savoury warmth, creating an almond accord that's simultaneously gourmand and unsettling. It's not the polite almond of frangipane tarts; there's something more volatile here, a hint of extract and bitter skin. As jasmine weaves through the heart, it softens the edges without neutering them, whilst bitter orange cuts through the sweetness just enough to prevent the composition from collapsing into pure confection. The sandalwood base is buttery rather than austere, melding seamlessly with vanilla that's been tempered by amber's resinous depth, creating that powder-soft finish that hovers somewhere between a luxury shaving soap and an expensive patisserie. This is the scent of a man who's realised he can wear sweetness without apology, who understands that almond and vanilla don't have to signal weakness when they're bolted to a chassis of warm spice and wood. It's evening wear that could sneak into afternoon meetings, a fragrance with exceptional tenacity that announces itself without shouting. Those stellar longevity and sillage figures aren't marketing speak—Pegasus genuinely projects for hours before settling into that skin-close sweetness that makes people lean in.