I never paid much attention to the giant magnolia tree in my next-door neighbor’s backyard until this early spring, when I watched it bloom while I was stuck inside due to the pandemic.
While the flowers’ aroma is subtle, I noticed how the beautiful floral aspects were underlined with a kind of earthy decay, as though it were already fall.
Excited, I started work on a perfume that would capture this inherent dichotomy of a floral that anticipates its own demise.
I made a rich floral base—it contained plenty of ylang ylang—that while appealing, lacked the dark brooding side of those lovely flowers. I needed a little something to provide the funk. Civet would be perfect, but I couldn't use it because of ethical considerations. Tobacco was overwhelming; hay was close but wasn’t introverted enough and a bit too bright.
I only found two sources of magnolia absolute, one considerably more expensive than the other. As a chef a learned you’re nothing without your ingredients, so to me the choice was obvious. I added enough absolute for the aroma to emerge but not so much that I would go broke.
I now have a perfume like I’ve never created before. Most of my perfumes are emphatic with a deep gravitas. This one has gravitas, but it’s lightly expressed.
Once the perfume was complete, I ran my usual tests. It had astounding longevity, it projected, and it was substantive.
Now, the precious blend is aging in a tall graduated cylinder, so any particles settle to the bottom, making it easier to decant off the perfume.
I’m thrilled with the result—fragrant, friendly, and sophisticated—subtle, but impossible to ignore. I do hope it brightens your day as much as it does mine.