Puredistance Perfume‘s Black is a tricky one to write about; the lack of published notes list seems to push everyone into a guessing game. It’s leather! Incense! It’s oud! Black pepper, patchouli, rose!

Marketing games piss me off: whether the notes list of geographically-specific imaginary flowers or the too-secret-to-tell faux mysteries. So, I’m glad I smelled Black before knowing about this because the coyness would have made me grumpy and contrary. I’m no note detective, unravelling recipes, or tracing development moment by moment as a fragrance unfurls. It’s not how I experience scents: as texture, structure, atmosphere, and emotion. We all reach for parallels and contexts–from the cosmos of perfumery, the infinite library of other arts, or our vault of memories–but for me, Black is an anomaly. Usually, even the most threadbare fragrances set loose a cascade of metaphors and moments.

Don’t get me wrong; I have enjoyed every wearing of Antoine Lie’s Black, and I will wear it again and again, particularly on cold clear days.

It’s just curiously empty of resonance and memory-echoes.

I could break it apart a little, telling you there are passing hints of Portrait of a Lady’s furred roses, of the snuffed-out candles of CDG 2 Man, the peppery ritual of Unum LAVS, the leather of this, or the soft resins of that.

It’s a lovely thing in itself, an elegant performance of shadows, but there is no there there.

Thank you Patrick from @scented_niche for this very generous gift

originally posted 3 June 2019