Tauer Perfumes
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Cardamom cracks open with almost minty brightness, its eucalyptus facets amplified by bergamot and clementine oils that feel sharp rather than sweet. Wild rose appears almost immediately, but it's rose water splashed on weathered wood rather than cut stems in crystal—already there's smoke curling around its edges, the frankincense beginning its slow burn.
The incense fully takes hold here, frankincense resin billowing with that characteristic lemony-pine quality, whilst castoreum adds a burnished leather undertone that shouldn't work with rose but absolutely does. Orris root contributes its characteristic iris-butter texture, smoothing the rough edges where smoke meets petal, creating something almost suede-like in its tactility.
Myrrh's balsamic bitterness dominates, sweetened only slightly by lingering rose and supported by a triumvirate of earthy elements: vetiver's soil-dark rootiness, patchouli's chocolate-tinged depth, and that dry, almost austere Texas cedar. What remains is resinous skin—incense absorbed into flesh rather than floating above it.
Andy Tauer's Incense Rosé presents a thesis on juxtaposition: the gauzy, translucent quality of wild rose petals crushed against cathedral stone, still warm from frankincense smoke. This isn't the polite rose of French perfumery, nor is it purely liturgical incense—it's something altogether more feral and contemplative. The opening announces itself with cardamom's green-wood rasp cutting through citrus oils, a clarifying blast before the rose unfurls, simultaneously dewy and spiced. What makes this composition remarkable is how Tauer wields castoreum in the heart—not as an animalic growl, but as a subtle leather-smoke accord that binds the ecclesiastical frankincense to the floral elements. The myrrh in the base brings a bitter-honeyed resinousness that feels ancient, whilst Texas cedar contributes a pencil-shaving dryness rather than the creamy sweetness of Virginian or Atlas varieties. This is a fragrance for those who find conventional florals too pretty and pure incense too severe—individuals who wear Comme des Garçons but occasionally want something that acknowledges beauty without submitting to it. It reads as deeply unisex not through studied neutrality but through genuine complexity: feminine in its rose-orris softness, masculine in its resinous-woody architecture. Best suited to grey autumn afternoons and anyone who's ever felt moved by Byzantine frescoes or Rothko's late paintings.
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3.9/5 (710)