Rōzu
Aesop (2020)

I was looking for a rose I could wear, as a man.

Rozu is a pleasant surprise. I really like the shiso/green note, which actually obscures the rose a bit. I don't think this is a bad decision, because rose is so prominent and recognizable, it tends not to blend with other fragrances (to my nose). I've smelled some rose fragrances which cover the rose up, which isn't what happens here - it really is 50/50 with the green note.

The shiso and bergamot are almost citrusy together and it almost reminds me of rose orange - not the candied rose orange you get with Malle's Noir Epices, but a fresh, alive combination. Very appealing.

The tartness is fairly persistent and the rosiness calms down and becomes darker, but the basic character seems to persist.

I'm a poor judge of performance, this seems fine. Price is quite high, however, $200 for 50mL is getting up there. In fairness, you do get something fairly unique, and the combination of depth and tartness make this appealing in warm or cold weather.

Is it unisex? I'm a guy who wants a rose fragrance. I think for a man, a rose has to be presented either as a layer in a very warm fragrance, or in a very fresh fragrance where the rose is doing what violet or lilac might do in a traditional cologne- something clear and cold. This is neither, and while I think some men would enjoy this, it leans towards the traditional feminine rose presentation. The bergamot makes it manlier, the jasmine makes it more feminine, you get the idea.

Worth smelling.

Just when I thought roses had lost their capacity to surprise, along comes Rozu, which wraps a fresh, dewy rose in paper-thin layers of pink pepper, shiso leaf, and aromatic grasses that crackle with intent. Surprisingly, it is not the spice or the aromatics that shine through the hardest. For me, it is the evocative aroma of freshly-turned soil that makes Rozu special. Moist, sharp, alive – this is the healthful, plush air inside a Japanese onsen. There is also even a tenuous link to mitti, an attar that captures the aroma of the first rains of the season hitting the red earth of Mother India.

In line with other Aesop fragrances, Rozu smells uncluttered. Simplicity is not shorthand for laziness, though. On the face of it, you might write Rozu off as a rose perched between herb and wood, a dash of pink pepper providing an electrical spark to keep it moving. But pay attention and you’ll start to wonder why you never noticed until now how minty shiso leaf can smell warm or how spices can smell cold or how a rose can smell indistinguishable from clay. There is grace (and design) in the way your impressions are prompted to shift from roses to earth to spice to wood and back again. Yet, it is all as effortless as if Rozu had leapt fully formed from a Japanese forest floor rather than from a perfumer’s organ.

Hours in and you start paying for its supreme naturalness. One by one, the sharper, zestier notes fall back and even that dewiest of roses starts to feel a little faded around the edges. Every time I wear Rozu, I have to remind myself to stay still and let it roll over me like a fog. Otherwise, it is easy to miss parts of its conversation. For example, on my third test, I noticed that Rozu has a deeply fragrant, almost ‘dry-roasted’ drydown that, while subtle, provides the wearer with the sense of a party meandering pleasantly to a close instead of the abrupt full stop common to most ‘natural’ (or natural-styled) fragrances. Whether this is due to a particular resin or wood is besides the point. If you’re still paying attention at this stage, the only solid thing you grasp is a feeling of warmth. My God, but it’s good.

This one requires another spray for testing. The opening is a fascinating rose with a vegetal kick, probably coming from the shiso. Then, the greenness fades a bit, and the woods come out. The rose isn't your typical rose note; it feels photorealistic, not as dewy as Tea Rose, as there's an equal mix of shiso and bergamot that makes it feel grassy and vegetal.

The rose seems to disappear near the end of its life, which is fine as it's replaced by a woody backbone. I love the top and mid notes, but if I want a photorealistic rose garden, I would rather smell something like Diptyque's Ombre Dans leau.

Performance is moderate, and I'm not sure if it's worth the steep price.

Roses are my personal catnip and thus it was inevitable I'd eventually reach Aesop's Rozu, which promises: ‘An olfactive journey through a blossoming garden, the scent reflects the entire life cycle of a Rose.' On that front it doesn't quite deliver but it is otherwise a highly charming perfume, delicately shaded, and with a gorgeous creamy sandalwood (rare these days) that immediately caught my attention. The rose here is definitely an ensemble player, ringed with a light, clear and herbal shiso opening and then tempered by smoky and earthy tones of utmost gentleness, backed by that singular sandalwood. The mix smells completely of the natural world but at the same time tremendously refined, with the rose a subtle and gracious residing deity, perhaps more dried petals than the dewy flower – but who's complaining when the overall result is so captivating? There's enough freshness in the mix to keep the olfactory impressions in motion. It's an unassertive perfume of soft intensity, present but content not to push itself forward, and had I smelled it blind, I might have guessed it came from a house like Neela Vermeire. It seems to be a bit of a sleeper considering the paucity of reviews, and suffers from chi-chi pricing and a shortish (roughly four hours) active life after which the resinous-woody base remains as a skin scent, but the beauty of its journey is one that perfume fans definitely need to discover.