My Past Selves' Flowers
Fragrance notes
Character
My Past Selves’ Flowers opens like a greenhouse under a sudden tropical storm, a collision of mangosteen’s tart fizz and genmaicha’s roasted grain, with white tobacco weaving a dry, leafy thread through the humidity. The heart spirals into something more disorienting: opium’s narcotic honey tangles with nettle’s green sting and rhododendron’s almost medicinal bloom, while olive leaf adds a bitter, waxy counterpoint. On the base, the incense resins thicken into a cathedral of nag champa and hinoki, dragon’s blood giving a syrupy, almost metallic amber glow.
The overall character is a single image: a cracked ceramic bowl holding wilted orchid petals, burnt rice, and a smoking stick of temple incense. It feels natural in its rawness yet synthetic in its edges, leaning niche in its refusal to be pretty. The longevity and sillage sit in the modest range, 3.77 and 3.17 respectively, which works for a scent this dense you don’t want it shouting across a room. This is for someone who appreciates contradictions, who finds comfort in decay.
It suits the thinker, the weeper, the person who replays old conversations on long walks. Skip it if you want clean florals or a crowd-pleaser. Best worn on a drizzly spring afternoon when the sky is the colour of pearl and you are ready to sit with yourself. A fragrance for reclaiming, not impressing.
Smells similar
Built from the same materials — ranked by how unusual the shared notes are, not by how many.
