The Merchant Of Venice
The Merchant Of Venice
398 votes
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Rum-soaked amber hits like a velvet hammer, thick and resinous with an almost alcoholic warmth. The acacia floats above it all, a whisper of powder that softens the boozy intensity without neutering it. There's immediate sweetness, but it's dark—burnt sugar rather than spun.
Labdanum and cistus take centre stage, building a resinous, almost leathery base that smells of Mediterranean hillsides and heated skin. The smoke weaves through everything now, not overwhelming but persistent, like incense clinging to fabric. Clary sage introduces an herbal, slightly camphorous edge that keeps the balsamic richness from becoming cloying.
Vanilla emerges, but it's a savoury vanilla—creamy yet restrained, still shadowed by labdanum's leather-toffee duality. The sage lingers surprisingly long, adding an aromatic bitterness that balances the residual sweetness. What remains is skin-close and warm, like the memory of smoke in expensive fabric.
Andalusian Soul is a fragrance of molten contrasts—simultaneously plush and austere, like spiced honey poured over charred wood. The opening explodes with an almost boozy amber accord, the rum note reading less like spirit and more like the sticky darkness of rum-soaked raisins, whilst acacia lends an unexpected wisp of powdery floralcy that keeps things from tipping into treacly excess. This is where things get interesting: labdanum and cistus form the molten heart, that distinctive Mediterranean resinousness—part leather, part toffee, part sun-baked rockrose. The smokiness isn't campfire; it's incense ash settling on skin, balsamic and slightly medicinal, with clary sage adding an herbal bitterness that cuts through the sweetness like a blade through caramel.
The vanilla base refuses to play nice, staying savoury rather than confectionery, its creaminess tempered by that persistent sage and the leathery facets of labdanum. This is a gourmand for people who find most gourmands insufferable—there's genuine complexity here, a proper push-pull between indulgent and austere. It wears like crushed velvet in a monastery, or perhaps cognac by candlelight in a room lined with crumbling leather tomes. Best suited to those who appreciate their sweetness with an edge, who want to smell simultaneously comforting and slightly dangerous. This is evening wear for the contemplative hedonist, the person who orders dessert but takes it with black coffee.
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3.5/5 (144)