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
We matched these by the notes each one lists, giving more weight to the unusual ones they share. Sharing materials does not make one a copy of the other.
