Pulp

It opens with a chaotic, bruised intensity—black currant and red apple collapsing into the thick, pulpy weight of fig. There is no delicacy here; the heart is a dense, sugary rush of praline and peach blossom, abruptly sharpened by a jolt of bergamot and earthy cardamom. As the sweetness settles, a dry cedar skeleton pulls the scent together, giving the fruit a grounded, woody frame. It projects with surprising force, radiating a sticky, hyper-ripe aura that lingers in the air long after you move through a room.