Stéphane Humbert Lucas
Stéphane Humbert Lucas
342 votes
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Blackcurrant cordial meets mentholated chest rub in a collision that shouldn't work but absolutely does, the yuzu providing a tart, almost soapy effervescence that lifts what could have been cloying into something electric. The mint isn't gentle—it's the sharp inhale of Vicks, medicinal and cooling, cutting through the fruit's purple density with surgical precision.
The Cambodian oud emerges like a bassline dropped into the mix, funky and slightly barnyardy, its natural sourness playing beautifully against that persistent blackcurrant undertone. Spices begin their slow simmer—peppery heat rather than sweet cinnamon cosiness—whilst the fruit gradually darkens from fresh cordial to something more fermented and complex.
Balsamic resins and precious woods create a warm, slightly honeyed base that's been thoroughly stained by everything above it—still faintly fruity, still quietly spiced, with the oud now behaving itself as smooth, polished woodiness. It's plush without being soft, the kind of skin-scent that makes people lean closer.
Generation Man announces itself with the kind of brash, unapologetic swagger that only Stéphane Humbert Lucas could orchestrate—a blackcurrant so sharp and jammy it borders on feral, slashed through with mint that reads more medicinal than fresh, whilst yuzu zest adds a citric acid bite that prevents the opening from collapsing into syrup. This isn't the polite, boardroom-friendly oud that Western houses peddle; the Cambodian heartwood here carries genuine funk, animalic and slightly sour, tempered by that persistent blackcurrant stain that refuses to dissipate. The spices in the base aren't named because they don't need to be—they manifest as a hot, peppery rasp that keeps the balsamic elements from becoming too plush, whilst precious woods (likely sandalwood and cedarwood, though Lucas keeps his cards close) provide the architectural bones. It's a fragrance that wears like expensive leather upholstery in a car you can't quite afford, driven by someone who absolutely can. The fruit-oud axis here is brilliantly unstable, veering between gourmand excess and austere woodiness, never quite settling into either camp. This is for those who find Tom Ford's oud offerings too polite, who want their fruit notes to have teeth, who understand that 'unisex' doesn't mean 'safe'. Wear it when you need armour, when you want to be remembered, when you're willing to polarise.
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3.6/5 (122)