The Leviathan’s Liturgy

Benzoin, ambergris, and incense - whenever I step into the church of perfumery, this is the Holy Trinity to which I consecrate my senses. They’re three of the notes that resonate most deeply with me, so it’s little wonder that Squid has seized my heart.

The opening unfurls with a crisp, saline bite that doesn’t evoke the coastal shrubs of the shoreline, but the vast expanse beyond it. Before you can even brace yourself, you’re pulled beneath the surface by a behemoth - a giant squid spiralling you into the nocturnal void of his undersea kingdom.

Down there, ink pulses like the ocean itself - an aqueous thread of dark viscosity weaving through the incense. I imagine a waterproof incense stick, hand-crafted by this deep-sea sovereign, burning within the long-forgotten remains of a sunken pirate ship. The smoke doesn’t billow upwards, but pools, liquid and languid, drifting through the wreckage. The wood, once lacquered and gleaming, still carries a faint trace of sweetness, harmonising with the ink in a rather spectacular way.

Then comes the ambergris - its rich muskiness weaving through the squid’s deep-blue bioluminescence, a sultriness almost decadent. But this isn’t a sweet, vanilla-laden amber; it’s a midnight amber - viscous and balsamic - the scent of the ocean’s pulse, where salt, incense, and the dark allure of the abyss converge.

I adored Squid the first few times I tried it, but more recently, I’ve found myself a little less keen. Its medicinal sweetness and mineralic ink are certainly fascinating to sniff, but make for a rather selective wear. More unusual than challenging, and absolutely deserving of 5⭐️, but I no longer crave owning a bottle - or even a large decant - the way I once did.