Santal Oceania
I contemplated building a Sandalwood blend for a long while, ever since my first attempt: Purple Sandalwood — a blend from my very early days in perfumery, not listed here as a product. So what is different about this one? Two things: technique, and range. I knew I loved Mysore sandalwood’s creamy profile, Australian sandalwood’s drier character, and Ceylon sandalwood’s greener, slightly oceanic quality. That last aspect was the key: oceanic. More particularly, the salty aspect of it. I devised a technique to mesh Mysore and Australian sandalwood together while teasing out an oceanic, salty character — without resorting to the use of Ceylon sandalwood itself, and therefore avoiding profile elements that did not fit the vision I had for this particular project. The outcome is a sandalwood accord that is simultaneously creamy and slightly salty. What makes this especially exciting to me is that I went as far as developing a dedicated distillation recipe for producing this material itself, so it may later serve other projects as well. This should not be mistaken for a perfume formula; it is a recipe for producing a material that can later plug into a formula. Second, the range of directions this Oceanic Sandalwood profile makes possible. It can move from floral, to indolic sweetness, to spicy, resinous, and woody territories — all while remaining tied together by the same creamy oceanic sandalwood backbone.
My Taxonomy
This is how I organize my work in perfumery as I strive to remain clear about intention, structure, and what each composition is meant to be. My work, so far, moves through three strategies which I refer to as Compositions: Solos, Bases, and Genres, shaped across three ways of making, which I call Signature: Unscripted, Curated, and Co-authored. Signature Unscripted is discovery-led. I work directly with materials without a fixed formula. The composition develops in real time through interaction with the raw materials themselves. Curated is integrity-led. I seek and select only high-quality work from trusted artisans and collectors I have built relationships with over time. Everything is offered exactly as I receive it—unaltered, uncompromised, and in its original form. Co-authored is collaborative. I set the initial direction, then hand it to another perfumer to reinterpret or develop further. Think of it like a kitchen: I make the dough, they take it and shape it into what they see fit. Composition (Architecture) Solos standalone work. No shared base, no continuation, no structural link to other perfumes. Each piece exists fully on its own. Bases came from my curiosity to work from a shared foundation as a point of departure. Instead of starting from scratch every time, I use a common base as a branching structure—allowing me to explore different directions from a single olfactive starting point. It creates a controlled divergence space: one root, many paths. Genres sit between repetition and reinvention. It came from a different need entirely—the request for continuity. People often want a perfume to return, to be “the same again,” but I generally aim not to repeat myself in a literal way. Genres allow me to revisit an idea without freezing it. The core narrative remains recognizable. It is a way to stay in dialogue with an idea without locking it into stasis. Extensibility Orthogonal to Signature and Composition is the idea of Extensibility. This concept evolved from an earlier approach I called X Editions, where “X” represented whatever a customer wanted to add to a blend. Over time, that open-ended flexibility became too loose, and I moved toward a more refined and constrained set of controlled additions. Having worked on a few releases, I realized that certain blends—specific implementations of compositions—can naturally accommodate additional notes, either to amplify an existing profile or to introduce a complementary direction. The goal is not to transform the perfume into something else, but to extend its language without breaking its identity. This idea comes from my research in human-computer interaction and modular systems thinking, where systems are designed as templates for interaction rather than fixed objects. In the same way, these perfumes function as structured frameworks—allowing variation and personal direction while preserving core identity. Intuition This framework reflects how I currently understand my work and how it evolves. Often intuition leads first, and only later reveals its structure—almost as if it is saying: "this is what I meant all along." I am simply putting that into words.
Blue Roast
Many of my blends come to life through the slow, intentional mingling of oils, while others emerge fully formed from ideas I carry in my mind. This collection is one such concept—an exploration of Blue Lotus, Coffee, and Black Ambergris. Sourced from Sri Lanka, Hawaii, Thailand, and India, Blue Lotus introduces an airy and aquatic profile, true to the nature of water lilies. This contrasts beautifully with the deep, roasted richness of Coffee and the oceanic, mineral nuances of Black Ambergris. This base is anchored with a trio of ouds—Manipuri, Kalakassi, and 20-year-aged Cambodian oud—added in subtle amounts to depth and longevity without assertion. You might ask, is the blue lotus noticeable? Is it not exorbitantly expensive? I would argue that it is indeed noticeable, and yes, it is expensive. But in perfumery, there are many techniques a perfumer can use to amplify certain facets of a note while incorporating supporting elements to build a complete composition. The notes I found that blend beautifully to achieve this effect are Black Ambergris, Fir Balsam, and Coffee. It is an entourage of notes, not just one. But Blue Lotus is certainly given special treatment, and I hope you will find that it stands at the center of the composition. This was Blue Roast.
Ghazali
The Ghazali moniker began when I discovered Al Hashimi's SP1, which ignited my desire to explore its potential. Special Reserve No.1 was the first creation, a blend of Sultan's Rose (2008) and Taif Rose (2012), chocolatey deer musk, ambergris, and Assam oud. This composition is a beautifully balanced marriage of floral richness, the soft barn notes of Al Hind oud, and deep floral and balsamic musk from Kashmir and Siberian deer musk. The name "Ghazali" came about from a funny misunderstanding. A friend who received an early version of my first Ghazali perfume misread my handwriting and thought I had written "Ghazali" instead of "Ghalia." I kept correcting him until, eventually, I caved and said, "You know what, Ghazali it is." The first version of Ghazali, with its rich mix of saffron, rose, chocolate, and musk, was well received, which inspired me to further explore variations, leading to the expansion of the Ghazali moniker into a series. At the time of this website release, I have a few attars available for your to choose from--each going a different direction. This was Ghazali.
Ambergris Spectrum
This is my first exploration of ambergris-based compositions with 1 oud blend, developed over seven months of collecting and refining various ambergris tinctures and macerations. Throughout this process, I experimented with different roses, florals, and complementary notes, pushing ambergris in multiple directions—gourmand, floral, earthy, woody, and fruity—to uncover its full expressive range. This was Ambergris Spectrum.
Wait Before You Wear It
Shared wisdom says you should let your perfume rest for a few days after it arrives. Here’s why: Shipping can shake your bottle and expose it to temperature changes, introducing microscopic air bubbles that temporarily disturb the blend. These bubbles can affect how volatile top notes evaporate, making the perfume smell sharper, flatter, or less integrated. Letting the bottle rest allows the bubbles to dissipate and the scent to regain its intended balance. The same applies to bespoke or freshly blended perfumes. When freshly made, the ingredients haven’t fully interacted. Over weeks, processes like co-solvation, mild oxidation, and slow esterification help the blend stabilize, soften edges, and harmonize the overall composition. Think of this as maturation—the slow development where sharp notes settle, transitions smooth out, and trace oxidation adds subtle warmth and depth. The older it is, the more rounded and luxurious it smells. Patience truly pays off—giving your perfume time to rest lets you experience it as it was meant to be: balanced, integrated, and complete.
The Concentration Question
I’m moving away from traditional labels like EDP, Parfum, or Extrait. I don’t see much value in holding onto these terms, because they imply a standardization that simply doesn’t fit what I do or how I work. These labels suggest that perfumes within a certain category will perform similarly—but in my experience, that’s not entirely true. The character of a blend comes from the types and quality of the materials I use. You might see some consistency in mostly synthetic blends, but when I work largely—or solely—with natural materials, these labels can be misleading. The variations in the materials themselves are far more significant than any standardized concentration number. Some materials differ in processing, some in age—factors that profoundly affect the final composition. For example, a 10% musk tincture that’s one year old might need to be used differently than a 10% musk tincture that’s five years old. Each variation is unique, and trying to impose rigid numeric measures feels like chasing a mirage. If my work were reduced to numbers, I’d quickly lose interest in perfumery altogether. I approach perfumery as an attempt to capture olfactory moments in liquid form—much like painting captures a moment on canvas in color and form. Whether real or imagined, asking a painter how much white pigment they used—or how many tubes they emptied to produce their work—is absurd. They simply use enough to achieve the effect they intend. That said, when a blend feels like it could benefit from a different concentration—and indeed offer behavior worth experiencing on its own at that level—I will introduce it. In those cases, I create my own labels. Not to be a rebel, but to emphasize that the standard EDP/Parfum/Extrait distinctions are not necessarily relevant or meaningful for my work. The only questions I can meaningfully answer are practical ones: for instance, “What impact does adding one gram of X oil have on this existing blend?” That’s concrete, measurable, and relevant to the client. Questions like “What’s the concentration?” or “How much of this is in that blend?” are not questions I am interested in entertaining—especially if the intent is to compare my work to another perfume. I don’t do perfumery to compete with others—I do it to challenge myself. Looking back to measure progress against a standard only holds me back. For me, growth is forward-focused; the moment you look back, you’re already behind.
Bases To Genres
I’ve always moved between building bases and creating individual blends. Bases—collections of notes and accords—serve as seeds, giving life to multiple blends that share a root but grow in their own directions. Early on, I experimented with X Editions, a way to let customers shape a scent by amplifying or even adding notes not present in the original blend. In theory, it was an exciting experiment in mass customization. In practice, there were just too many “knobs to turn.” The process felt overwhelming rather than empowering, and I realized complexity can sometimes obscure intention. From that came Add-ons. By simplifying choices to a few focused options with clear guidance, I created a gentler entry point for customization. Add-ons are a bridge—a way for customers to gradually participate in shaping a fragrance, building the confidence to explore semi-bespoke or bespoke scents. It was a step toward collaboration, without losing clarity or identity. Alongside this, I began thinking about Genres. A Genre, for me, is a collection of profiles that give a scent its character, while a Base is a collection of notes—the raw materials. If you like software analogies, a base is a library of components, and a genre is a framework that shapes how the system behaves. Notes form accords, accords form profiles, and profiles define a genre. Genres let me honor familiar directions that people enjoy while still leaving room to explore new territory. Today, I’m developing five core genres: Purple-Gris, Musk, Leather, Resin, and Cola. Each draws from past blends that resonated with customers, but none are recreations—they are frameworks for new expressions. Alongside these, I continue to create one-off blends, explorations that exist outside any framework. So, in a way, it's: One-Offs ⊂ Bases ⊂ X Editions ⊂ Add-Ons ⊂ Genres All of this is shaped by my background: trained equally in the arts and computation, I’ve worked across architecture, software, and manufacturing. I love structures, patterns, taxonomies, modularity, and reuse, but I also thrive on freestyle creation. Perfumery, for me, is where these impulses intersect—a space where rigor and intuition coexist, and where every scent can both honor tradition and explore the new.
Creamy Leather
Leather was one of the first materials I ever experimented with. You might have seen a couple of bottles floating around under the name Scarlet Leather. Back then, I was new — curious, learning, and admittedly unsure. The leather I used was entirely synthetic. I wasn’t building a philosophy; I was trying to understand structure, projection, and texture. How something tactile could exist as vapor. It was experimentation in its purest form. Over the many blends I’ve since released, my understanding of materials deepened. Blending became less about layering notes and more about control, balance, and intention. What notes appear when, how they transition, and how they land. Up until recently, I viewed leather as an accord. That changed when I got a sample of CO2-extracted Night-Blooming Jasmine. Sure, it had the Jasmine character — floral, a little weighted — but it wasn’t indolic. It was creamy. Leathery creamy. Suddenly, gears in my brain started turning. I envisioned how this could become a leather-Jasmine project. What began as a single blend turned into the seed for a leather genre: something resinous, creamy, and versatile enough to work not just with Jasmine, but with Rose or other materials as well. I remember joking to a friend that it feels like a luxury leather seat — polished, warm, lived-in. Not rugged. Not aggressive. The kind of leather that doesn’t need to prove itself. And yes, I realize it might be a bit (or a lot) irrational to use Night-Blooming Jasmine as a material to build a core leather accord for other blends. But if you read up on perfumery, you’ll see that many masterpieces use exotic materials to create a robust, characterful foundation. So I’m not totally crazy here. Probably just a little irresponsible.
Purple, Violette, Banafsaj, Lilacy, Etc
The concept for this blend was Purple Ambergris. I envisioned its character through a set of keywords: iris, violet, ambergris, oceanic, powdery — dark, certainly. In the past, I approached my work through bases: Blue Roast, Nectar, Ambergris Spectrum, Ghazali — each guiding a single blend or a set of experiments. This time, I wanted to do something different. Present from the earliest stages was Nigella damascena, known as Love in a Mist. Its curved petals, pale blue and purple, inspired the mood, while its profile — part vanillic beeswax, part rose, part powdery iris — anchored the idea. Its hue sits between blue and purple. Ambergris made its way initially as a fixative. I macerated gray ambergris in Nigella oil… then it went out of control. Black, brown, gray, and white facets emerged, transforming the blend in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Experience has shown me that a full ambergris profile only comes to life when all these facets are present. In nature, ambergris is rarely uniform; it is intermixed, later separated, and commercially categorized by color. Alongside this, over the past ten months, I gathered purple florals: violet enfleurage, lilac, liatris, lavender, heliotrope, and iris — Pallida, Sibirica, and Germanica — each contributing a different shade of powder, root, or floral shadow. I also added blueberry and blackcurrant to balance the profile with fruity notes that kept the earthy, almost dusty aspect that comes from Iris Germanica. I was searching for a particular darkness. Something grounded, weighted, but not heavy. I knew it had to be a combination of wild Nagaland oud and Mission fig: dark purple, almost black, the same material I sourced for the first release of Ghazali. Natural Mission fig is exceptionally difficult to obtain. I know of only a single artisan who produces it, largely for her own work and sparingly for her store; it is time-consuming to make and prohibitively expensive. So far, this has been a joy to work on and experience, as it kept getting better. And in my experiments, the profile proved so versatile and robust that I could turn almost anything into drop-dead beautiful — at least to me. A side note on Iris Did you know that the national flower of Palestine is the Faqqu’a Iris? I wanted to offer an interpretation of it in this blend. I have never smelled Faqqu’a in person, but descriptions place it somewhere between powdery and musky. To approach that idea, I combined Sibirica for its extreme powdery quality with Germanica for its musky, green, root-like depth. This isn’t Faqqu’a itself, but my interpretation of its described profile. Maybe one day I’ll be able to experience it in person, in Jenin.
Nectar
This project started nearly five months ago, initially envisioned as a sandalwood perfume crafted around five distinct varieties. Then came osmanthus—both French and Chinese—followed by two rare vintage oud oils I sourced from collectors: Sumbawa and Kalimantan. Honeysuckle joined the composition next, alongside Oolong Tea and a castoreum infusion I left to mature for almost a year. You get the idea! Months later, I acquired five grams of vintage civet and five grams of vintage musk, both decades old. They smelled heavenly. Their inclusion transformed the blend, giving it a direction of its own—some kind of sprint, if you will. Then came a dark Hyraceum absolute, coupled with wool so soft in smell, like it probably was to the touch. At this point, the last tola of a vintage 2014 Pursat oud I scored from Anas of Al Hind Oud found its seat. Now, I felt I had a base developed enough to be taken in different directions, allowing both cohesion and the unique identity of each variant to come. This was Nectar.
