Lp No 9

By the editors · 2 min readThe opening is classic barbershop lavender, but quickly twisted by anise-sharp tarragon and bergamot into something stranger and more medicinal. It smells like old-fashioned grooming products stored in an apothecary cabinet—aromatic, slightly herbal, almost antiseptic in its clarity.

As it settles, the heart introduces soft rose and jasmine that never quite bloom fully. They remain pressed and papery beneath the persistent lavender, while cinnamon begins to warm everything from below. The effect is of a fougère that refuses to stay entirely masculine or crisp, growing sweeter and spicier as hours pass.

By the drydown, amber and musk create a skin-like base that holds traces of patchouli and cedar without going heavy. This is Penhaligon's attempting a modern aromatic in the late nineties, landing somewhere between traditional English barbershop and something more unisex and intimate. It wears closer than many fougères, comfortable but never entirely conventional.