Fragrance
Tomorrow, the echoes of my steps will fade from these cobblestone streets, yet today, the city still pulses beneath my feet. Paris, you are a manuscript written in the ink of infinite encounters, a palimpsest of creativity and chaos. How to encapsulate this whirlwind? Let us dive into the looking glass, reflect backwards, upside down, inside out.
Read MoreIn the dwindling days of this Parisian saga, each moment distills into a cryptic concoction, a question posed in the language of creation. What tales do these streets whisper into the vials of my forthcoming fragrances? Each essence a chapter, every note a narrative—10 fragrances, 10 stories, 10 invitations to delve deeper into the world of Amadeo Amadeo.
look at the tags of this journal entry
Yes, the answer is always yes. Can the essence of Paris be captured in a bottle? Yes. Can a scent translate the texture of rain on cobblestones or the rustle of leaves along the Seine? Yes. Are these concoctions reflections of past journeys or premonitions of tales yet untold? Yes.
The Codex awaits its next chapter, a collection poised on the brink of becoming. What will these next 10 fragrances hold? Stories from days draped in history, or visions of futures yet to unfold? Are they echoes of events never occurred, figments of Paris dreamed in the depth of night?
Yes, they are all this and more—fragments of fabric torn from the reality of Parisian days and nights, stitched together with the thread of imagination. They are invitations to wander, to wonder, to inhale deeply the essence of a city that never truly reveals itself all at once.
Consider this an invitation, a prompt whispered across the ocean, across the web of connectivity that binds us: Yes. Dive into the surreal, embrace the narrative sewn from this month of artistic fervor. Yes, join me in the final act of this Parisian play of fragrances and feelings.
And for those who have journeyed with me, watched the days unfold and the collages grow, there is something more. A hidden easter egg lies within the tapestry of these posts—can you find it? Recall a detail, a hidden moment captured in these entries, and reach out. Email me at studio@anthony-amadeo.com with your discovery, and receive an exclusive behind-the-scenes glimpse of the collage creation, a video diary of the unseen process that will soon breathe life into new artistic realms.
So, pause for a moment, reflect on what has been shared, and ponder what lies ahead. What stories will the next 10 fragrances tell? What secrets do they hold, ready to be unraveled by those daring enough to ask, to listen, to inhale?
Yes, the end of this Paris journey is near, but the adventure, the creation, the revelation—this is only just beginning.
Remember the photographs of round door knobs, the talks of circles and roundabouts, and even the shape of the easter egg itself—all hinting at our hidden word. If you've followed along and spotted these clues, let me know the magic word: (check the image caption above)
Draw, O coward! No, sir, panic is a basic in a prison.
Rip, cut, collect. Art, a star. Collages, so elegant. A canal, plan, a NASA lad. Did I as I said I’d do? O, stone, be not so.
Read MoreAwoke with the dawn, a puzzle waiting to be solved. First, Lasse—our red locks a clue to the camaraderie and creativity that would unfold. Click, flash, a mystery captured in each frame. What tales do these images whisper?
Read MoreDawn unfurled slowly as I embarked on a solitary pilgrimage to the Marché aux Puces de Saint-Ouen. The city was hushed, streets emptied of their usual clamor, offering a rare solitude. With only my footsteps as company, I wandered, the echo of each step a soft conversation with the cobblestones.
Read MoreWoke enveloped by a dawn of enthusiasm—espresso in one hand, retouching tool in the other. Nia arrived, her energy radiating like a beacon through the calm of my studio. Click, flash, laughter—our session was a whirlwind of creativity and conversation, a dance of light and shadow capturing her vibrant essence. As she left, I plunged into edits, the digital canvas morphing under my hands, each pixel a note in an unfolding symphony.
Read MoreI rose with the sun casting long shadows across the crumpled sheets—a canvas of light and dark. Espresso brewed, the scent filled the apartment, the first muse of the day. Just as the coffee hit its darkest note, Koki arrived, his presence slicing through the morning haze.
Read MoreToday, I arrived in Paris. This morning? This morning was soft, like the inside of a baguette. Checked into my Le Marais sanctuary, took a nap that lasted both 15 minutes and a millennium. Then I began to roam—a flâneur with no map, just a nose and a notebook.
The air was alive with a chaos of smells: aldehydes skipping like schoolchildren, buttery clouds, milky murmurs. Paris smelt of eggshell blue. Undertones brewed in the corners—espresso whispers, chocolate shadows, the spectral exhale of cigarettes, cigars curling their fingers toward dusk. Evening dropped its sepia-toned curtain.
A Pierre Cardin storefront caught my eye—a structure of dreams I need to revisit. But first, perfume. Jovoy was an altar to olfactory gods, and I knelt. Khanjar by Oman Luxury—still as arresting as the first time in London, a scent so sharp it slices memory. From there to Dover Street Parfums Market, a pocket of whimsy where I stumbled upon Thumbsucker by Stora Skuggan. It’s Shocking by Schiaparelli reincarnated, or perhaps reanimated—a ghost wearing lipstick. I loved it. I loved it the way you love a mistake.
Serge Lutens was next, all science fiction and apothecary chic. Bottles like laboratory beacons, thin and tall, vessels of future potions. Their discovery set: a story in every vial.
Hunger set in—not a Parisian hunger but something primal. Grocery store simplicity called: baguette, cheese, cured meats. Could I wait until I got home to start eating? Could I hell. The baguette was an art form in itself, torn apart like my notebook pages.
Somewhere in this first day's haze, I wandered to the Louvre's pyramid—a shard of light in the city’s ribcage. But more captivating? The trash receptacles. Oh, the trash receptacles! Wire sculptures holding plastic bags like offerings to an urban god. One was bent, mangled, kissed by a motorbike. Its twisted form was sublime, a swoop of accidental genius. I drew it in my journal, and that, my dear readers, is my masterpiece of the day.
Trash cans as art. Perfumes as poetry. Bread as the divine. Day one in Paris was everything and nothing at once.
Fragrance House: Etat Libre d'Orange
Nose: Antoine Lie
Few fragrances have stirred the pot quite like Secretions Magnifiques. Billed as an olfactory exploration of intimacy, body fluids, and raw human sensuality, this creation by Antoine Lie is an infamous piece of fragrance lore. I’d read countless reviews—both horrified and enamored—before finally getting my own nose on it. Intrigued by the divisive chatter, I needed to experience this "art" firsthand. Spoiler alert: it didn’t disappoint.
I discovered this polarizing scent at New London Pharmacy, a hidden gem that surprised me with its extensive niche fragrance collection. The enthusiastic woman behind the counter was quick to share her thoughts on Secretions Magnifiques, retrieving it from the shelf with arms extended as if handling a live grenade. Her reaction to the test strip—a subtle recoil, followed by a nervous nose adjustment—only amplified my anticipation.
The first sniff? Intense, shocking, and wholly unique. Metallic, salty, milky, and slightly green, the opening conjures seaweed-strewn shores and something deeply animalic. It's neither good nor bad, feminine nor masculine—it simply is. Naturally, I had to take the plunge and spray it on my skin. After all, fragrances live their fullest lives on warm, human flesh.
The immediate hit on my arm was a cocktail of sea spray, warm skin, and a metallic tang—like the taste of a nicked lip or the lingering scent of salty ocean air. As it settled, the fragrance warmed into something softer, sweeter even. On me, the mid-development brought hints of milkiness and wood, turning it into a surprisingly wearable second-skin scent. It’s as if you’ve spent the morning rolling in sand under the sun with someone special, their warmth lingering on your skin.
When I met a friend later, the dry-down had already shifted to a woody, creamy accord. She smelled my arm and remarked, "It’s like people sitting around a warm, chlorine pool, with the body heat rising and mixing with the air." That’s the magic of Secretions Magnifiques: it’s weirdly familiar yet utterly disorienting. It invites interpretations as varied as the people experiencing it.
This isn’t a fragrance for those who believe perfume’s sole purpose is to “smell nice.” It’s for the adventurous—those who seek to provoke conversation, challenge norms, and redefine what it means to wear scent. Antoine Lie has crafted an olfactory narrative that’s as much performance art as it is perfume. Its ability to mimic the intimate smell of human closeness, sweat, and even bodily fluids is both uncomfortable and comforting.
Secretions Magnifiques would shine as a layering scent. Pair it with something smoky to amplify its warmth, or add a floral fragrance for contrast. Its chameleon-like quality makes it a versatile tool in the hands of a creative wearer.
Secretions Magnifiques is not for the faint of heart. It’s provocative, subversive, and unapologetically human. But therein lies its beauty. It’s a scent that captures the raw essence of human interaction—the warmth of an embrace, the salt of the sea, the metallic bite of life’s imperfections. For those bold enough to wear it, it’s a fragrance that turns heads, raises questions, and invites touch.
Would I wear it daily? Probably not. But do I admire its audacity and the masterful hand of Antoine Lie? Absolutely. If you’re a fragrance enthusiast who believes perfume can transcend mere scent and venture into the realm of art, this one deserves a spot in your collection.
Let me know if you’ve tried Secretions Magnifiques or if there’s a similarly divisive fragrance you’d recommend I explore. Smell on!
There are moments in life so vivid, so deeply woven into the fabric of who we are, that their memories feel like they have their own fragrance. For me, that moment was at the house of Aunt Mary and Uncle Bozo. It’s not just a house; it’s a world filled with layered scents—a garden in full bloom, the elegance of Aunt Mary’s perfume, and the grounding warmth of Uncle Bozo’s den. These are the inspirations behind No. 37, a fragrance I’ve created to encapsulate this treasured memory.
Read More
