Perfumer's Note

It begins with the sharp, electric clarity of winter air — the kind you inhale through a wool scarf on the way home from school, cheeks burning, mittens damp. Then something shifts: the door opens. A kitchen spills out its amber light, and with it the deep, overripe sweetness of strawberry jam simmering on the stove, linden honey, and the faint waxen smell of crayons left in a warm room. At its heart, an almost unsettling note of plasticine — specific, real, unapologetic — anchors the scent in pure tactile memory. The dry-down is a long exhale: soft sandalwood and sleepy musk, like falling asleep under a heavy blanket while the radiator ticks.

“Что-то с детством”

Первый Снег и Варенье

The warmth you forgot you remembered.