Wolfsbane is an unrepentant weapon of sweetness. Angelica root engineers a strange, eerie start to this fragrance, it’s vaporous glow softly outlining the curve of fig leaf. In this light, fig is a milky, almost nutty substance, and when combined with the sparkling, unctuous heat of cumin and ginger, it becomes strangely, although appetizingly, gourmand. Any burgeoning food associations are quickly quelled by the wet, searingly, stringent sweetness of absinthe and the dulcet, verdant smoke of patchouli. Cedarwood wrings any lingering damp from this scent, and ushers in a new dimension of Wolfsbane. Tuberose and tobacco are rich, brown and dense entities that edge this fragrance towards a sensuous animalism that is oddly bittersweet. Castoreum (leavened by benzoin’s sparkle) confirms the rise in temperatures, just as sandalwood, prunol, vetiver, deer tongue and black truffle imitate the cool, dank dark of the earth. As dark as being buried six feet under yet as luminous and green as the grass that grows over a grave, Wolfsbane is a quandary of a scent. Toxic love.
Perfumer: Philipe Paparella-Paris
The lolling weeds of Lether, green or wan,
Exhale their fatal languors on the light;
From out infernal grails of aconite
Poisons and dews are proffered to the dawn.