Stéphane Humbert Lucas
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The mango and lemon strike together like flint on steel, all bright juice and citrus oil, before ginger's bite and pink pepper's prickle add a fizzing, almost effervescent quality. It's surprisingly fresh, the fruit held in check by those spicy, sharp edges that prevent any hint of tropical cliché.
Jasmine unfurls through a golden haze of coumarin, its indolic richness softened and sweetened, whilst dry woods begin to assert themselves like weathered driftwood warming in afternoon sun. The interplay between floral opulence and austere timber creates a beautiful tension, neither side willing to fully yield.
Nagarmotha's earthy, slightly smoky character melds with oud that whispers rather than shouts, cushioned by skin-close musk and amber that feel like cashmere worn to perfect softness. What remains is woody, warm, faintly sweet—a glowing ember rather than a roaring flame.
God of Fire doesn't announce itself with the bruised, overripe mango of so many tropical perfumes—this is mango flesh pressed against lemon zest, a tart-sweet collision that the pink pepper and ginger immediately sharpen into something electrified and alive. Stéphane Humbert Lucas has a knack for making fruit behave unexpectedly, and here the mango acts less like dessert and more like a bright, juicy catalyst that sets the whole composition vibrating. The jasmine that emerges through the heart is no demure white floral; it's been steeped in coumarin's hay-like sweetness and pressed between slabs of dry, sun-bleached wood that smell faintly of pencil shavings and ancient temple beams. There's an incense-like quality threading through the middle that hints at the nagarmotha and oud waiting below, but they never turn oppressive or cathedral-dark.
This is a fragrance for someone who wants oud without the solemnity, who craves woody depth but refuses to sacrifice luminosity. The musk and amber in the base provide a second skin effect that keeps the composition from floating away into pure abstraction, anchoring those ethereal dry woods and coumarin tendrils to something warm and breathable. God of Fire wears like contradictions resolved: bright yet grounded, fruity yet woody, sweet yet thoroughly adult. It's the scent of someone who's travelled far enough to know that exotic doesn't have to mean heavy, that fire can illuminate as easily as it consumes. Wear this when you want presence without aggression, warmth without weight.
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3.8/5 (122)