Is it better to say less? Hemlock encompasses many answers in its opacity. Simultaneously 2-dimensional and florid, this scent successfully inhabits the difficult space between a rock and a hard place. Rum Martinique is a sweet slip of a thing, a palate teaser that gets our jaws wagging. Pink peppercorn and Calabrian bergamot buzz just beneath rum’s honey-smooth surface, sharp pinpricks that hint at the heat incurred by standing in the (proverbial) kitchen. The heart of this fragrance is as idealistically beautiful as the concept of free speech; bitter crushed leaves offset opulent, glossy white florals, spiked with sensuous cinnamon and clove. Jasmine sambac beckons, a symbolic reward for honoring our hearts and minds by our tongues. Yet just as we feel we’ve grasped the heart of the matter, styrax sluices through this elegant conversation ushering in a whirl of dissonant darker notes (and consequences). Black vinyl’s stiff, tacky plasticity reeks dimly of failure; salt accord pockmarks the aqueous beauty of cyclamen; black magnolia is static and fermented. Familiar notes form the reliable base upon which Hemlock remains; life goes on, amidst anarchy. Hemlock expresses difficulty of beliefs in conflict, and the bittersweet reality of honesty. A wearable truth serum; spray accordingly.
“Socrates gave a lot of advice and he was given hemlock to drink.” -Rose Kennedy
Perfumer: Christelle Laprade