Penhaligon's
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Mandarin floods the senses with immediate citrus brightness, a burst of candied peel and zest that feels almost carbonated. But within minutes, petitgrain's green, slightly bitter edge arrives like a knowing smirk, tempering the sweetness with herbaceous restraint.
The composition settles into a verdant sweetness as the citrus mellows and petitgrain becomes the dominant force—fresh, slightly spicy, with that peculiar green-tea quality that prevents any descent into fruity cliché. The patchouli begins surfacing here, adding an earthy undertone that grounds the brightness without smothering it.
Patchouli emerges fully, bringing a soft, woody-earthiness that transforms the fragrance into something almost contemplative. The citrus has largely evaporated, leaving behind a green-tinged, slightly peppery dryness that's closer to dry herbs than sweetness—intimate and quietly stubborn against the skin.
The Impudent Cousin Matthew arrives as a deliberate contradiction—a fragrance that marries the zesty irreverence of citrus with the earthy gravitas of patchouli, held together by the green, herbaceous bridge of petitgrain. Alberto Morillas has crafted something that refuses easy categorisation: it's neither a cheerful citrus cologne nor a solemn chypré, but rather a restless thing that seems perpetually caught between moods.
The mandarin orange top note is the opening gambit—bright and almost effervescent, with that particular juiciness that suggests afternoon light rather than morning freshness. But this isn't a simple fruity sweetness; the petitgrain immediately begins its work, introducing a sharp, almost bitter-green quality that deflates any cloying tendencies. There's a bracing herbal cleanliness here, reminiscent of crushed leaves and citrus pith, that keeps everything tethered to reality.
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3.4/5 (82)