Bio á Bioé (Ask of Ancestor)

This is the *jiao*—a ritual every Fujian kid grows up knowing, like tying shoelaces or dodging rain.

Top: Almond, Lemon, Hay
Middle: Patchouli, Incense, Redwood
Base: Benzoin, Cypress, Juniper

It’s two smooth, crescent-shaped wooden blocks—carved from camphor wood, some say, though most just call them “the cups.” You cup them in both hands, close your eyes, whisper your wish straight to the gods (no filter, no polite small talk), then toss them down like dice.  

One flat side = yin. One rounded side = yang. If you get one of each? That’s a “sheng jiao”—“holy throw.”  

The god’s nod. Yes. Done.  

We do it twice a year, Qingming and Winter Solstice, same altar, same setup: whole chicken, steamed fish, braised pork belly, sticky rice cakes, candied kumquats, three cups of tea, three cups of rice wine, and yes, even a bowl of noodles (gods love longevity, apparently). And right in the center? Those two little wooden cups, waiting.  

Light the incense. Kneel. Press your forehead to the cool floorboards. Let the smoke rise slow, thick, fragrant and carry your wish up, up, up... Then? You wait. Not too long. Just long enough for the smoke to curl, for your breath to settle. Then—you throw.  

I’d brought thick gold paper and fat red incense sticks, offered them to the ancestors and household deities in the *gongma* hall. Held the cups tight, whispered my heart out—then tossed. *Clack.* Both landed flat-side up.  

*Xiao jiao.* A “laugh throw.” Translation: *Nah. Try again.*  

An old man with a cane and one leg shorter than the other shuffled over, squinted at the cups, then nodded toward the gold paper stack. “Two more layers,” he said, voice raspy but kind. “Then it’ll be *hao shi*.”  

(That’s Minnan for “it’ll get done” – not magic, just momentum.)  

So I added them—folded, stacked, lit the corners and knelt again. Hands pressed together. Breath held. Tossed.  

*Clack.*  
One flat. One round.  
*Sheng jiao.*  

The god didn’t shout. Didn’t flash lightning. Just... nodded. Quietly. Like He’d been waiting all along.

Note: Damfool samples are approximately 1mL in partially-filled vials.

Damfool Perfume, builds it's world the way a game designer builds a cast: each creation is written as its own NPC, with a backstory, role, and emotional script rather than as a generic “main character.” His work isn’t about a single signature; it’s about a whole ensemble of quiet protagonists—altar-keepers, aunties, street-stall ghosts, migrating cousins—each bottle behaving like a side character you meet in a different scene of the same universe.

When you move through the Damfool line, you’re not choosing status or center stage so much as deciding which NPC you want walking beside you that day, carrying their habits, memories, and stories into your story.

Damfool is artisanal house, keeping as much work as possible at his own bench rather than outsourcing formula building. Instead of leaning only on ready-made bases, he spends time crafting components and tinctures himself, especially from harder-to-find or specific raw materials that carry real texture and history. That slow, hands-on approach means each idea is built from the ground up: unusual extractions, rare ingredients, and temple-adjacent materials turned into liquids that feel lived-in rather than generic.

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