Series 2 Red: Sequoia
Fragrance notes
Character
It opens with a raw, resinous slap of mahogany and rum, the kind of sticky sweetness that feels less like a cocktail and more like a freshly splintered cask in a dusty cooperage. The sequoia note is not a green forest; it is the dry, sun-bleached heartwood of an ancient trunk, made almost metallic by the karo-korund. As it develops, the opoponax and agarwood curl in like smoke from a smoldering log, while the leather remains stiff, unsullied by any softening suede. The overall character is a lumberjack’s jacket left hanging in a barn for forty years: coarse, stained with tar and resin, but strangely reverent.
This is not a fragrance that whispers. Bertrand Duchaufour built a scent that feels artificial in the best way, a hyperreal woodiness that never pretends to be a living tree. It is heavy and dry, leaning into the warm spice of the oud without any sweet amber crutch. The longevity and sillage are modest, a three- or four-hour affair that stays closer to the skin than its brawny opening suggests. Can you call a scent that fades so quickly a power player? You can, but only in short bursts, and only if you reapply.
It suits someone who dresses in dark neutrals and doesn’t mind smelling like a restoration project. Skip it if you crave projection or if your idea of woody is a clean cedar pencil. Wear it for a crisp autumn afternoon, when the air has that bite of rotting leaves and cold gravel, or for a solitary evening in a room with a fireplace. It is a slice of industrial nostalgia, honest about its limits and therefore all the more compelling.
Smells similar
Built from the same materials — ranked by how unusual the shared notes are, not by how many.
