Best The Matcha 26 by Le Labo Alternatives & Similar Perfumes

Rest in the blissful shade of an orchard in the humming city of Pompeii: the year is 195 BC. Inhale the sweet aroma of ripe figs and the local pomegranate leaves heated by the sun; these entine spicy incense being smoked in the nearby temple. So anciently refreshing!

This is a beautifully rounded fig on the mellow end of the spectrum. Bright bergamot, cardamom and galbanum open the fragrance with confidence, leading into a smooth fig accord layered with iris, cypress and soft floral nuances. The earthy, woody base glows with subtle musk.

Perfumer: Ralf Schwieger

L'espérance est violente.

Mirabeau, what a pretty word, peculiarly Parisian, suspended above the Seine. It composes a memory, joins another bank, and returns by following its trail of sandalwood, pink bay and cedar. In the heart of the City of Light, on the way to the twilight of the day, there is a bridge, a poem and a perfume.

A discreet and symbolic bridge, of the master-builder spirit which transcends borders, becoming better by coming together. Those solid foundations of cedar, sandalwood and orcanox span love and musk.

A poem as slow as it is violent, expressing the brutal and desirable hope of the one who would like to believe, of the one who wants to love. Vanilla, I write your name on the water, with muffled traces of incense and violet green.

A perfume to save us, fish us silently out of the water, bringing us above the Seine, our spirits on the water of our essences, bergamot and pink berry mingled with fig in a glass bottle, fiercely reuniting bodies in unison with souls, coming back to her by following her wake.

Perfumer: Jordi Fernández (the nose behind the white floral wonder of Latin Lover).

Beso Pasion is like a sweet summer breeze caressing a Mediterranean island. A breeze infused with sea salt, the delicious aroma of fig trees, and fragrant grass cured by the hot sun.

A Mistpouffer is an unexplained natural sound, a sonic boom like distant cannon fire that seems to come out of the fog over large lakes or rivers. It has been recorded all over the world throughout history, and is the source of many legends. Despite scientific attempts to understand the sounds, its source has still not been identified. Possible explanations include solar winds resonating in the atmosphere, underground earthquakes or gas bubbles being released from the deep. Others believe it is the work of extraterrestrial or subsurface civilisations.

Rendering this mystical water thunder as a fragrance was as elusive as the sound itself. We spent four years and hundreds of iterations before finding the right balance between being distinctive and inexplainable. The honeyed hay of immortelle dapples sunshine across deep green siblings vetiver and cypriol. It’s foggy but not aquatic, smoky but not heavy. Natural, but in equal parts supernatural.

Even intrepid voyagers exploring outer space to its outer limits need to keep calm at their core, which is where Tu Te Calmes comes in. Inside your spacesuit, you’re smelling a clean blend of fig leaf, cardamom, citrus and cedarwood. Guarantees a safe splashdown.

204 perfumer Domitille Michalon says, “I imagined a sunny fragrance bursting with sweet figs over creamy sandalwood; a nap in the shade when the sun is beating down. I added a touch of green, a touch of nature, like a crunchy edamame bean.”

A sweet, ambery perfume with many shades of sweet packed into a single formula: heliotrope, vanilla, caramel, toffee and benzoin, all interlinked with a soft sandalwood theme.

Bon Parfumeur open olfactive dimensions and invite you to add your own story. Try 402 if you like sophisticated gourmands.

Perfumer for 402: Corinne Cachen. 

August 1508, Lopud Island, Adriatic Sea

A sunny island in the Adriatic, a small harbour with stone houses and fig trees. Across the verdant Mediterranean hills sprawls an aromatic landscape of cypress stands, pine, rosemary, thyme — and olive groves with their subtle, nutty scent.

The dirt road is bumpy, glowing red in the fiery sunset. The truck lumbers through Mediterranean farmland, kicking up dust at every turn. You put your hand out the passenger window, experiencing the dry heat of summer and the rich smell of figs. Pulling into the grove, you fill your mouth with sticky figs. The driver takes you by the hand and you start running towards the sounds of laughter and music. There are flamenco guitars, dancing, milky cocktails. You spin around and around until the colours of the crowd swirl into infinity.

Perfumer: Joëlle Lerioux Patris