Fragrances

In the early hours of December 12, 1877, there was no stopping the guests of the Court Opera Soirée. The Waltz-addicted Viennese pushed chairs aside and took over the floor, in defiance of an Imperial ban on dancing. An homage to the Waltz, the Opernball and the Viennese Blood.

Within the silence of the sacred stone walls and smooth marble floors, flickering altar candles radiate hints of wax, ashes and chilled frankincense.

From the open doors of the Orangerie, bright notes of green and golden citrus flow into the crisp morning air of the palace gardens.

Franz Ferdinand in India: After a day of elephant riding, tiger hunting and coin shooting, tobacco and spirits are served beneath the arcades of Chowmahalla.

High above the mountain forests, between snow fields and bare rock, the crystal-clear nocturnal sky carries the scent of cold wood and eternal ice.

When the Bora wind whips the black waters of the Quarnero, a fresh, salty mist engulfs the Coast of Laurels, the grand riviera of Imperial Austria.

In the cafés and parks along the grand boulevard, the dernier cri is the curiously soft and milky fragrance of an exotic plant with an outlandish name.

In the world of Freud, wood stands for sexual desire in general and the female bosom in particular. A milky fragrance that captures intimate skin feeling ⸺ with animalic and lactonic notes vibrating around a luscious woody core.

According to Freud, the uncanny is the familiar and the unfamiliar at once. This fragrance is an attempt to capture that quality: Dark, clean, dirty, innocent, erotic, unsettling and intriguing at the same time, there is no familiar category that fits this composition.

Freshly broken twigs, spiced grasses and dark green nettles mark the path of the noble savage through the undergrowth of the wooded hills.

A fragrance that defies classification. Inspired by Freud’s concept of the uncanny, this limited edition in a striking black bottle embodies contrast—dark yet clean, innocent yet erotic, unsettling yet irresistible. A scent that lingers in the space between the familiar and the unknown.

A fragrance as intangible as Klimt’s golden vision of the Elysian Fields: “an ideal realm, wherein alone we can find pure joy, pure happiness, pure love.” It wears like a subtle, immaterial cloak of bright light, verdant freshness and subdued florality.

A dark, spicy warmth reveals the presence of the great beast. Typhon, or Typhoeus, once ruled the deepest realms of Hades. Klimt places him at the center of the hostile forces, in shades of black, brown and uncanny blue.