Single Man

Grief does not always have the right to a public form, especially when society decides whose loss may be seen. MOTH AND RABBIT Single Man smells like a person reassembling themselves from pieces of wood, routine, and silence.

Cardamom, ginger, and red pepper open the composition restlessly, with winter lemon and nutmeg. The freshness is tense, like an attempt to get daily life moving while mourning still lies beneath it.

Mark Buxton takes the perspective of a gay man accompanied by ordinary sadness, unexpected joy, numbness, and the possibility of a new awakening. The scent speaks of an identity being constructed or reconstructed to bear the weight of loss.

Rose, elemi, and violet wood and cashmere wood create a transition between sensitivity and firmness. Mahogany, cedar, patchouli, and moss then build a serious, layered woody structure.

On the skin, amber warms up, but the scent doesn't become comforting in a simple way. If you're looking for a cheerful spicy woody or light cedar, its melancholy and dense woods might be too closed off for you.

In the drydown, cedar and mahogany remain like a room someone built themselves, while a trace of rose lingers in a crack — proof that the mourning hasn't disappeared, but the man has a shape again.