Mortal Skin

Zoologist Black Mamba, is that you? Inspired by the viper snake, this scent could very well be a part of the Zoologist perfume line (which is a compliment and a full-bellied glowing endorsement). In fact, with its primary ink note, Mortal Skin is highly reminiscent of Zoologist’s Squid: these two could be sister scents. Except, whereas Squid is a marine scent from the oceanic depths, Mortal Skin is more woodsy and fruity with its blackberry note, which stops just short of entering gourmand terrain. Similar to Squid, the ink is front and center here, and it spills across your mortal skin like a heavy, wet, delicious, black stain. Yet, Mortal Skin proves to be an entirely different animal from Squid, given the additional notes of blackberry, resin, and the faintest hint of iris. Ink, fruit, and woods: Mortal Skin is an enigma and challenging to describe. But let me tell you this... This scent still fucks. It’s art, and it's the definition of niche perfumery. It’s sex in a bottle. It’s masculine and sleek, like a serpent’s scales. It’s like being thrown into the Indiana Jones snake pit - except that pit is a black pool of watery ink with black mambas and blackberries skimming and floating on the surface like black rose petals. The only problem is that pool goes dry quickly, as the longevity on this is quite weak. But above all else, Mortal Skin is tempting. It’s the snake in the Garden of Eden, flicking its tongue against your ear and daring you not to eat the apple, but rather the blackberry. "The darker the berry, the sweeter the juice," the snake hisses. As you give in and spray this, biting into that poisoned berry, you can feel the sweet black juice oozing and dribbling down your neck and wrists, as your eyes turn pitch-black and vampiric. Then the snake wraps its coils around you further, and it tempts you to pull out your credit card to drop $230.00 on this bottle of precious venom. Go on, give into your basic instincts and buy the bottle. Both sin and skin never smelled so good. In five words or less: Squid, but make it viper.

Mortal Skin is a passage. The moment it touches skin, it doesn’t greet you; it confronts you. An unrelenting blast of smoke, ink, and something herbal hits like an invocation. There’s a piercing green sharpness in the form of tarragon, maybe, or something even stranger; cut by a deep, inky darkness that smells more like squid ink than inkpot. It’s pungent, feral, even alien. And yet, just as you steady yourself, blackberry (dark and macerated) rises through the smoke like a memory. It’s uncanny, almost spectral. As minutes pass, the tempest quiets. What was once bold and confrontational becomes soft, spiritual. The smoke clings to the skin, no longer rising, but glowing. Incense mingles with herbal shadows and vegetal musk. The scent no longer leads, you lead it. You become the wearer, not the worn. It transforms from a spell into a second skin. Where Myrrh Shadow 403 leans smoother and more vanillic/structured; Mortal Skin walks barefoot through forgotten forests. It doesn’t offer sweetness or familiarity, but seduction born of mystery. Myrrh Shadow whispers across a candlelit table. Mortal Skin murmurs from the tree line. This is a scent for the solitary sorcerer, not the social poet. Its projection is intimate but with purpose. It invites only those close enough to listen. It doesn’t broadcast, it beckons. Yet, it doesn’t inherently challenge those unfamiliar with its accords. Instead, it seduces. I’m still learning its language, but after just one full wear, it’s clear: Mortal Skin is among the most original and emotionally resonant fragrances I’ve ever tried, point blank. For those unafraid of the dark, this is where the journey begins.

My husband writes calligraphy at times, and he always uses a fountain pen for general writing. One of the inks that he uses is a brand “Iroshizuku”. The colors are rich; the ink is smooth. The bottles are simple and elegantly beautiful. When I wear Mortal Skin, I think of the darkest colors of this ink. A kind member sent me a sample of Mortal Skin quite some time ago. I was smitten, but the price at that time was something that I’d only spend on a rare Guerlain... maybe. So, for many months, I kept stalking online sites with a wild hope of finding one I might afford. As good fortune would have it, another member with whom I’ve traded several times had an almost full, with total presentation bottle for trade. I hemmed and hawed, and cursed. She kindly accepted my trade offer of a very HTF bottle. I sighed a bit, and then danced for joy! Mortal Skin is not similar to the other Stéphane Humbert Lucas fragrances that I’ve tried. In my opinion, this is the nicest one. Unique in its’ stark beauty. I adore the ink note that underlies the scent throughout its’ wearing. If there were such a thing as Blackberry Ink, this would be it. The other notes that talk to me are the myrrh, incense, artemisia (yes, a faint whiff of absinthe), and cardamom. I wouldn’t be surprised that ambergris contributes to the mix by joining everything together beautifully. I find MS to be a serene, peaceful scent that speaks with an Asian tone. Sillage is moderate, but definitely noticeable, dry down is long-lasting and mesmerizing. The bottle speaks for itself... I hope I never empty my bottle.

A dichotomy of warm and chilly. I was actually quite nervous to try this one. The reviews were crazy, the ink note was strange, and of course the bottle looks intimidating. However, it was much more subdued than I imagined. After smelling ink in another scent and disliking it, this one put some fear into me, but I was just too curious to resist. This scent combines what I can only describe as a chilled blackberry with a warm myrrh. The blackberry almost feels like it's mixed with mint, but I think it's actually the ink note that's giving it an odd chill. Pair this with a gorgeous, resinous cloud of myrrh and the scent is unique for sure, but not necessarily unusual. I don't find that this feel venemous or intimidating at all. I'm quite surprised at how well the blackberry/"ink" combo mixes with the myrrh...it doesn't feel too disjointed. You can still pick them out as two distinct vibes, though. Like all other reviews of this, I don't think I can do this justice. It's not a matter of whether or not this is good, it's just a bit indescribable...but in a subtle way. I was not bombarded with a bizarre ink note, overly-sour berries, or sickly sweet resins. It's all quite subdued and intriguing. If your interest has been piqued, try it. No review can convey exactly what this is like. I don't say this to hype it up as some ingenious work or masterpiece, it's just unlike any combination of notes I've smelled before, and I'm surprised that it works so well. It's worth trying at least once, just to see.

W̶h̶o̶ What are you? If Stephane Humbert Lucas told me that there's a real snake hidden inside Mortal Skin, I would believe him. The fragrance seems to shed skin and present a different side of itself each time I wear it. Sometimes it opens with a beautifully dark and cold blackberry that is spiced up by cardamom, and dries down a wonderful buttery iris laying on a bed of myrrh and almond. This variation reminds me a little bit of Bois d'Argent and Rolling in Love. And sometimes, it has a venomous and photorealistic opening of ink that is made even more bitter with artemisia, and dries down to a robust concoction of resinous opoponax with an animallic touch of a combination between musk and ambergris. This variation reminds me a little bit of Tobacco Oud. A dark shadow of incense looms over the composition regardless of which variation decides to show itself that day. Mortal Skin is what I consider to be my favorite type of estoric niche perfumery, where the artist creates a unique and engaging fragrance that will not only intrigue your olfactory senses, but also pleases them. That's what I love about Mortal Skin; is that all artistic merit aside, it smells GOOD. Unlike many other "niche" fragrances that think they are the pinnacle of innovation just because they reek of fecal oud and other novelty notes.