Hori Hori

A blade slips into cool soil, and something bright breaks open.

Named for the small garden knife that parts earth and root, this is a study in sharpness giving way to warmth. Citrus comes first — bergamot, grapefruit, and blood orange — carrying a metallic brightness, like sun on a clean edge. Then the cut runs deeper. Saffron and cedar turn dry and mineral, warm as stone left in the light. Sandalwood and soft musks settle low, more felt than seen. It moves like a morning in a garden freshly turned over: green, a little raw, then calm. Made for anyone, it leans neither delicate nor loud — present and steady, sitting with the body rather than above it.

• Tamara Segarra

Strange Harvest is an independent fragrance house built around a single premise: scent as terrain, not decoration. Each composition starts from a specific place — dry, humid, sharp, dense — with materials introduced and adjusted until that space feels inhabited rather than illustrated. Nothing stays in a formula unless it shifts the atmosphere around it. Development happens entirely in-house, from raw material selection through to the finished object, treating perfume as a way to relocate the wearer rather than simply flatter them.

The house builds compositions the way a chaos garden grows: notes overlap and push against each other instead of resolving neatly, because tension, not arrangement, is where the real harmony sits. Its Extrait de Parfum line — Praying Manthus, Rose Relic, Hori Hori — blends natural and synthetic materials chosen for character over convention, hand-poured in small batches and left unfiltered. These aren't fragrances built for instant approval; they're built for people drawn to texture, specificity, and the slightly off-center.