Atlante

Atlante doesn't smell like a tidy beach, but rather like a rock pool after the tide has receded. SARAH BAKER Atlante combines sparkling citrus, tangled seaweed, and that salty animality that ensures the sea is never entirely clean.

Yuzu and pink pepper open the extrait with a cool, sparkling cut. Seaweed appears almost immediately, green and wet, so the citrus takes on the taste of sea air instead of lemonade.

Iris and lily of the valley introduce a pale florality, but the wet rock accord keeps them tied to the shore. The impression is smooth, mineral, and damp, like a flower left on a stone that a wave has just washed over.

Sarah McCartney guides the composition towards the motif of the siren's call and forbidden desire. The marine imagery is not just decoration: every material acts as part of the same tidal pool, from seaweed to seashells.

Natural ambergris, cedarwood, and driftwood later provide a deeper, warmer saltiness. The initial yuzu fades, while shells and wood remain dry on the surface, but still full of the scent of the sea.

If you want a light blue aquatic, Atlante will be stranger and more carnal. Its signature is ambergris among seaweed, shells, and wet rocks — a siren's voice coming from the deep, not from a hotel pool.