Tom Ford
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The rosewood arrives first, slightly medicinal and bright, immediately softened by cardamom's green-sweet spice and a puff of Sichuan pepper that tingles at the edges. The oud is present from the start but restrained, its resinous character filtered through aromatic woods rather than presented raw. There's an almost soapy cleanliness here, expensive and precise, with tobacco leaf adding a dry, unlit quality to the composition.
As the fragrance settles, sandalwood's creamy richness moves to the fore, creating a woody cocoon around the oud that makes it feel approachable, almost familiar. The vanilla emerges more prominently now, not sweet-shop vanilla but the woody, slightly smoky character of cured pods, whilst patchouli adds earthy depth without any headshop associations. The spices recede into a warm haze, and you begin to notice the leather accord properly—soft, broken-in, expensive—threaded through with gaiac's subtle pencil-shaving dryness.
What remains is a skin-close veil of amber, tonka, and benzoin, resinous and gently sweet, with the oud now reading as little more than a woody-balsamic warmth. The vetiver provides a subtle, earthy backbone that prevents the composition from becoming too plush, whilst traces of birch tar add the faintest wisp of smoke. It's comforting without being cloying, the fragrance equivalent of running your hand over polished teak—smooth, warm, quietly opulent.
Tom Ford's Oud Wood is the fragrance that taught Western noses oud needn't be a feral, animalic beast. Richard Herpin's 2007 composition presents agarwood through a gauze of rosewood and cardamom, the peppery spice notes acting as interpreters between the resinous oud and wearable elegance. This isn't the medicinal, Band-Aid oud of traditional attars; instead, the Chinese and Thai ouds here read as smoky-sweet and almost incense-like, their darker proclivities tempered by sandalwood's creamy heft and a surprisingly prominent vanilla that hovers in the mid-ground like expensive pipe tobacco left to cool in a lacquered box.
The genius lies in the textural interplay: vetiver and gaiac wood provide a dry, almost pencil-shaving quality that prevents the composition from collapsing into syrupy sweetness, whilst tonka bean and benzoin add a skin-like warmth that makes the whole affair feel lived-in rather than showroom-pristine. There's leather here too, subtle and sueded rather than dominant, threaded through with whispers of birch tar smoke. The amber and labdanum create a resinous foundation that glows rather than shouts, whilst a breath of galbanum keeps things from becoming too soporific.
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