Zoologist
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The first fifteen minutes are an all-out spice assault—cumin and black pepper dominate with an almost culinary fierceness, whilst clove and cinnamon add a medicinal sharpness that borders on astringent. Saffron's metallic tang cuts through like a cold blade, and there's a lemonic brightness trying valiantly to lift the density, succeeding only in making the whole affair smell more complex rather than lighter.
As the spice storm subsides, something genuinely peculiar emerges: heliotrope and iris create this dusty, powdered texture that feels like brushing against moth wings in darkness, whilst mimosa adds an unexpectedly honeyed softness. The florals never bloom fully—instead they hover in a semi-translucent state, jasmine and rose mere suggestions beneath the persistent spice and the first whispers of smoke beginning to curl upwards from the base.
What remains is a resinous, honeyed skin scent where oud smoke mingles with raw honey and the earthy bitterness of nagarmotha, all anchored by a beautifully dirty patchouli-vetiver-gaiac wood triad. The musk and ambergris create an animalic warmth that feels lived-in rather than pristine, whilst ghostly traces of cumin and saffron still prickle at the edges, refusing to fully surrender even hours later.
Moth is the olfactory equivalent of a nocturnal pilgrimage—drawn not towards light, but into the velvet darkness where spice and smoke intertwine with startling florals. Tomoo Inaba has orchestrated something genuinely unsettling here: the opening erupts with a thunderous wallop of cumin, black pepper, and clove that verges on the feral, almost sweaty in its intensity, before saffron threads its metallic sweetness through the chaos. This isn't polite spice; it's the smell of ancient trade routes and temple incense gone rogue. Yet just as you're bracing for full orientalist bombast, the heart reveals its moth-wing fragility—powdery iris and heliotrope dust across the composition like ash, whilst mimosa adds an oddly honeyed weightlessness. The jasmine here reads subliminal rather than indolic, a phantom bloom glimpsed in peripheral vision.
The base is where Moth truly earns its place in the Zoologist menagerie. Raw honey mingles with nagarmotha's earthy darkness and a smoky oud that smells more like charred wood than barnyard funk. There's genuine resinous depth from what must be labdanum or benzoin, creating this almost balsamic sweetness that plays beautifully against the persistent spice burn. The ambergris and musk provide a skin-close animalic quality without ever becoming crude. This is for those who find Tom Ford's spice blends too polished, who want their florals dusted with soot rather than sugar. Wear it when you're feeling contradictory—soft but fierce, ancient but alive.
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3.9/5 (122)