XerJoff
XerJoff
608 votes
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Bulgarian rose hits first, full and dewy, but that Sicilian lemon immediately slices through any suggestion of pedestrian florals, adding a sherbet-like effervescence. Neroli and bergamot contribute their own citric bitterness whilst the first tendrils of frankincense smoke begin curling upwards, hinting at the incense cathedral to come.
The frankincense takes centre stage, transforming this from a rose soliflore into something ceremonial and complex. Cedar and coriander create an aromatic framework that's simultaneously dry and warming, with nutmeg adding subtle heat, whilst that rose persists—now softer, more diffused, like light through stained glass rather than a spotlight.
Sandalwood's cream merges with vanilla in a base that feels like expensive face powder and skin musk, still faintly traced with patchouli's earthy shadows. The rose has become a memory, the frankincense a whisper, leaving something intimate and powdery-soft that sits close to the skin like a secret.
Pikovaya Dama—named for Pushkin's Queen of Spades—plays a dangerous game between devotional opulence and baroque seduction. The opening salvo of Bulgarian rose meets Sicilian lemon in an alliance that shouldn't work but does: tart citrus oils cutting through rose's natural sweetness like a letter opener through wax. There's a liturgical quality emerging almost immediately as Omani frankincense begins its slow ascent, threading smoke through the floral brightness whilst neroli adds its bitter-orange refinement. This is church incense worn by someone who left Mass early to meet a lover.
The heart reveals XerJoff's skill in balancing contradictions. Atlas cedarwood provides a pencil-shaving dryness that prevents the rose from becoming a sodden, potpourri mess, whilst nutmeg and coriander sketch spiced warmth without veering into mulled wine territory. That frankincense never quite leaves—it's the fragrance's spine, lending gravitas to what could otherwise read as merely pretty. The powdery accord builds gradually, never announcing itself with an iris shriek but rather emerging as rose petals pressed between the pages of an old Bible.
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3.8/5 (185)