We all have shadows, even at night in the dark forest. You may call yours by another name : your invisible friend. Your conscience, your soul, maybe even your complementary ego. Your shadow could have a name, like Hermann. Or your shadow could be your perfume. This is your companion. You can argue with your companion, you can challenge your companion, you can test the boundaries of your own attitudes. You can debate the finer points of existence. But you cannot lose this companion, not ever. This is your alternative self. As you move through life and contemplate its meaning, you ask unanswerable questions. When you’re overwhelmed with uncertainties, look to your shadow. Maybe you’ll get a response. Maybe not. But at least you’ll have an interesting conversation.

The night was so black and the forest very dark. By my side, Hermann seemed to me like a shadow. Our horses were galloping. Guardians of god ! The clouds in the sky looked like marble. The stars flew through the branches of the trees Like a swarm of firebirds.

I am full of regrets. Broken by suffering, Hermann’s deep spirit is empty of hope. I am full of regrets. Oh my loves, sleep! Yet, while traveling through the green solitude, Hermann says to me: “ I am thinking about half-opened graves. ” And I say to him : “ I think of closed tombs. ”

He looks ahead : I Iook back, Our horses gallop across the clearing ; The wind brings to us from far away the sound of the angelus bell ; he says : “ I think of those who are afflicted by existence, Of those who are, those who live ”. “ Me, ” I say to him, “ I think of those who are no longer ! ”

The fountains are singing. What do the fountains say ? The oaks are murmuring. What do the oaks murmur ? The bushes are whispering like old friends. Hermann says to me, “ The living never doze. At this moment, some eyes cry, other eyes are awake. ” And I say to him, “ Alas ! Other eyes are asleep ! ”

Hermann then continues. “ Misfortune, that’s life. The dead no longer suffer. They are happy ! I envy Their graves where grass grows, where trees shed their leaves. Because the night caresses them with soft flames ; Because the sky beams peace upon all their souls In all the tombs at the same time !

And I say to him, “ Be quiet! Respect the black mystery ! The dead are lying in the ground under our feet. The dead, these are the hearts that once loved you This is your expired angel ! This is your father and your mother ! Do not dismay them through bitter irony. As in a dream, they hear our voices. ”

50ml

Like blood, sweat, sperm, saliva, Sécrétions Magnifiques is as real as an olfactory coitus that sends one into raptures, to the pinnacle of sensual pleasure, that extraordinary and unique moment when desire triumphs over reason. Masculine tenseness frees a rush of adrenalin in a cascade of high-pitched aldehydic notes. The sensation of freshness is gripping. Then the fragrance reveals a metallic side, precise and as sharp as unappeased desire. We are on a razor-edge… skin and sweat mingle, and tastes of musk and sandalwood. The slightly salty marine effect stirs, arouses, and sets your mouth watering. Tongues and sexes find one another, pleasure explodes and all goes wild. Confusion reigns supreme. A subversive, disturbing perfume. It’s love or hate at first sight. Sensuous jousting is rarely satisfied with half- measures… In between Don Juan and the woman who offers herself, arms are laid down… Who will be the first to surrender?

With almost a cult of love or hate, Sécrétions Magnifiques shook up the perfume world when it was launched, and it still does. A work of conceptual perfumery designed to speak to all the senses at once. One rule: attraction and repulsion.

50ml

Les Fleurs du Déchet represents a passage to the adulthood of Sécrétions Magnifiques. It is a counter-revolution for Etat Libre d’Orange, still noisy and disruptive, but ultimately functional.

Givaudan, Ogilvy and Etat Libre d’Orange have created a three-fold company in the service of Mother Nature, to offer her a bouquet of forgiveness and let everyone know – loudly and quickly – that soon it will be too late.

Dear world: Do not throw anything away because at the bottom of our trash lies the fermented distillation of great love. The garbage trucks hold flowers that can still bleed, the peels and rinds that can still give. The noxious exhalations have honey notes that can merge with the earth. And there are so many floating concretions, the trash that is thrown into the sea, and the natural waste, the ambergris, mystical symbols, the attitudes of primitive tribes – these must now be reprocessed.

To paraphrase and distort Alan Paton: Cry, my beloved planet, for the unborn child; let him not love the earth too deeply, for it is slipping away.

So before it’s too late, let us (s)pray to the god of waste, our dear lord of leftovers.

End of sermon. This is a messianic fragrance (in natural spray, of course.)

— Etienne de Swardt

50ml