Megara

The last exhale from Le Galion before it went under (only to be resurrected in 2014 by Nicholas Chabot), Megara is an unheralded gem in the canon of green aldehydic florals. It has a fleshy flourish and strong bone structure, and my bottle is still radiant after having been sealed for what I am certain was decades. I rather enjoy the rough-hewn quality of its gardenia, that glinting-silvery radish and mushroom umami that the fattest blossoms emanate, just as the petals begin to yellow, A crisp hyacinth and damp lily of the valley recalls that of the exquisite Metal from Paco Rabanne, yet here there is a prim, starchy rose accord, giving pause to my wearing experience. Then there is that midway between brittle and waxy sensation from a fondant of iris. What gives me a rapturous shiver, however, is that musky, mossy inhalation that comes from its base, the flowers growing dry, cool, and distant. Through its development, it sparkles, erupts, saunters, and hums Zen-like in its coda. It's absolute heaven. It's like moody poetry. As a matter of fact, this was perfumer Dominique de Urresti's dedication to her father, Paul Vachon, himself the house perfumer for Le Galion (h/t Brian Buchanan of Basenotes for the detail). Unfortunately, Le Galion did not revive Megara in its second incarnation, and it has been rendered obscure among far more culturally enduring and commercially successful releases. It is worth seeking out, if only in the form of a mini. I also love the illustration on the box—an unidentified specimen of botany that somehow suits the fragrance well.