Dead Air

When I was five years old, I would wait at the window for my friend Matt to cross my street to come over to play. I would stare out to my front yard, my teeth gnawing ever so slightly at the sill, leaving tiny indentations. I remember the taste of the paint and dust—not to worry, no lead poisoning here, even though it was the 80s. I recall thinking how brave it was that Matt would cross the street all by himself. My parents never discovered those indentations on that yellow window sill. Dead Air somehow brought up this memory. It suggests this beautiful stagnancy, the smell of an abandoned apparatus of time: a little sweet, a little saline, muzzy and not clearly defined, in a corner, undisturbed. I immediately recognized davana oil in its opening, one of my favorite materials. It smells of dried fruit fermented into liqueur: currants, elderberries, prunes. Then the herbaceous, woody camphor, which is in the bloodline of the artemisia family plants to which Davana belongs, starts to surface. In Dead Air, it blurs into the licorice-fennel-celeriac scent of lovage root. Then there is oakwood absolute, giving the impression of an old wooden barrel that once stored whiskey. Fresh or stale? It doesn't matter, I like it. Whatever that is floral here is not strongly outlined enough to be immediately recognizable, and it lends to the satisfying obscurity of Dear Air. There is nothing to really hold onto, and I find it perfectly acceptable, the elements drifting in a haze, sort of like when you notice floaters in your vision when looking up to a clear blue sky. I am then reminded of these ivy--patterned drapes that were in my living room (we called it the "parlor" here in Massachusetts), hiding in them, imagining I was hiding in a maze of vines. Or the smell of these peculiar plastic fake flowers that my mother owned—the petals so rigid, so unlike the real ones. Also, the way the old Zenith TV set we owned smelled as I would get close to the screen and examine its static. I still remember the way each knob felt, depending on whether I was turning the VHF or UHF channels. Obviously that's from the opoponax resin (just kidding). Remember, kids: Natural fragrant materials may give the perception of synthetic smells. Synthetic fragrant materials may give the perception of natural smells.

So first thing first. This is very unique. It's perfect during overcast or when it is raining. It doesn't entirely smell like the atmosphere outside at the time, but they encapsulated a very specific smell that I adore. Right before it rains, the air outside slightly changes. It's not petrichor! There is no element of that. And it's also not wet cement. It's very gentle and atmospheric. It's like the smell of the air itself has become slightly damp. I love that smell and that is in here. Done very well! But there's much more than that going on. The other elements of this fragrance I'm having a hard time placing. Dead Air is a perfect name for this composition. It almost has characteristic antique store ambience, or even a very modern liminal space. Such polar opposites and yet it has the ability to be both. I don't think this is a polarizing fragrance in itself, but I do think it may not be appreciated by people who are not artistic minded. This isn't a fragrance that, upon initial spray, excites you. It's not sweet, it's not fresh, and it's not spicy. If anything, I would call it eerie in the best way possible. Dusty, eerie and atmospheric exemplify this composition, and I actually quite love it. I find myself more in the mood for fragrances like this lately, especially during fall and winter when I am isolated or by myself in my house. Perhaps in a somber, nostalgic or melancholic spirit. To be completely honest, this is one of my personal favorite frames of mind. And I am starting to collect fragrances that amplify this instead of taking me out of it. That's one of the biggest mistakes I think people make. In my opinion, using a fragrance to try to make you happy when you are sad is the wrong way to do it. If you are sad, be sad. Amplify your sadness and really feel it. Process it. I believe if you do that, get through it the right way, it doesn't come back as often. And wearing a fragrance like Dead Air enhances those emotions. It's really quite beautiful and not many people seem to be talking about it. In my opinion, this is a hidden gem for the artistic people, like me, whom enjoy their melancholy.

If you were to dig up a bunch of roots without cleaning the dirt off and caramelize them in a cast iron skillet, throw in a large handful of salt, some crushed up green leaves, a few white flower petals, and the zest of a lemon rind, I imagine this is what you’d get. Smells like a delightful salted witch’s brew. If the scent had a texture, it would feel like sticky tree resin. I wear Dead Air very frequently. It is so addictive and versatile! I haven’t smelled anything quite like it before. This fragrance doesn't smell earthy -- it more so smells like something *of* the earth. Hard to explain. You’ve got to smell this one for yourself. The scent is linear and doesn’t transform at all over time, which is fine by me. There is a delicate balance between salty, green, and resinous notes that results in something I view as a masterpiece. 10/10. EDIT: wore this while swimming and it lasted even after getting wet n sweaty. It has also become one of my most complimented perfumes

Some reflection and mental digestion had to occur with this one to truly give my thoughts, although just to be totally incongruent (why break the habit of a lifetime Houdini?) they were kinda initially apparent in some sense as well, I knew that I liked this fragrance despite the most prominent theme in Dead air being something I'd usually say isn't my bag. As for this as an overarching genre, crudely 'greenish, modern, hipster shit' I'd say I do like that, but this had a metholated camphor which could be construded as cheap and annoying and edgy for the sake of it, but in this context I just got that sensation of really, really, good frankincense (or other similar resin) which usually has these very sharp, nose tingling, camphor to it. Dead air is complex to me, had it just been one dimensional I'd have tapped out and chalked it up to yet another fancy, trendy, artistically packaged brand, stocked at Bloom London or whatever? I liked the green opening, the woody aspect, the scratch of vetiver and faint suggestion of smoke (looking at the notes from cypriol perhaps) and the sea. However, what I most like about this perfume is that for such a highly artistic work (even including stuff I'd shy away from), I found it very much a perfume. A wearlable, likable, collection of familiar beats but with a individuality and strong underpinning, not just a collision of edgy smells. Also looking here at the notes I find perfumer Mark Buxton which in hindsight doesn't surprise me at all, in fact it makes total sense. Check this out, I liked it way more than I thought I would.

The first time I tried this, I thought this smelled like a mix of sweat, airconditioning air and men's cologne. It somewhat still smells like that to me. However, after having worn it properly the violet note is quite distinct to me in the opening, which lasts at least 3 hours. An airy, pollen-heavy violet. It reminds me a bit of Dirty Violet by Heretic (which I like) but somehow even dirtier. Weirder. Better longevity and stronger projection. The dry down is less sweaty and a little sweeter as well. Someone standing about 2 people behind me noticed the fragrance of Dead Air and asked who smelled nice. I didn't say it was "dead air", and instead tried to attribute it to spring time air haha. She replied, "no, it smells like perfume". On that note, while it has some fragrance notes rooted in nature, there is still something that's still a bit uncannily industrial/synthetic about it. Maybe that's also why it reminds me of stale airconditioning air. I only have a small sample of this and if I continue to grow in like of it, I may commit to the 10ml travel size. A little goes a long way with this one.