Once given to me by a Japanese friend who liked the scent but found it too melancholic (‘setsunai desu’, she said – it makes me sad), I still use this perfume on occasions when something cool, dignified and is required. When I want to erect (invisible) barriers.
A modern iris; airy; an ethereal bouquet of solemnity – the botanical fragility of the flower’s texture evoked with a perturbing, paper white of carrot leaf, lifting the petals somewhat balefully as they exhale their timidly rarified fragrance – Hiris then remains like this throughout its clear, morose introversion: clear, pallid, depressive almost, developing very gradually, gently, to a soft, light, yet austerely powdered note of orris root and ambrette: the refined, bluest, very essence, of discretion.