Lonesome Rider

Lonesome Rider announces itself as a leather fragrance with genuinely spiced backbone—this isn't the soft, powdered leather of the mass-market variety, but rather the acrid, almost medicinal leather that emerges from cypriol's smoky density interacting with clove and pepper in the opening. Andy Tauer has constructed something deliberately austere here: the bergamot and grapefruit provide brightness, yes, but they're immediately commandeered by the clove's sharp bite and the leather's almost animalic presence courtesy of castoreum's dark musk. What follows in the heart is a deliberate contradiction—a rose note that refuses to soften proceedings, instead offering something closer to dried petals steeped in leather smoke, whilst orris root adds a powdered, slightly iris-like dust that prevents the composition from becoming too raw.

This is a fragrance for those who appreciate discomfort in their scents, who find beauty in restraint and weathered textures. The woody base—a deliberate cedar, sandalwood, and vetiver arrangement underpinned by ambergris—never sweetens the narrative. Instead, it deepens the leather's grip, suggesting saddle leather left to age in desert heat. Wear this when you're channelling introspection rather than seduction; when the mood demands something that smells of worn denim, distant smoke signals, and the kind of solitude that feels earned rather than lonely. It's unisex in the truest sense, indifferent to gender presentation, and utterly indifferent to flattery.