Syrus

You walk along a sun‑soaked wall above the Mediterranean, pockets of shadow cooling your skin as the air hums with late‑summer jasmine.

In Syrus by Maya Njie, that jasmine feels alive and almost tidal, brushed with green leaves and the fuzz of ripe stone fruit. Sea spray drifts in, a quiet saltiness that makes the flowers feel luminous rather than sweet. As time passes, a gentle hum of ambergris, moss and pale woods settles around you, like warm skin against sun‑bleached stone.

You might reach for this on hazy evenings, seaside weekends, or any day you crave a calm, coastal escape framed in soft color and soft light.

• Maya Njie

Maya Njie treats perfume as inherited memory. Self-taught, the practice grew through experimentation — raw materials, essential oils, aroma compounds, and resins worked into compositions that trace a dual Swedish and Gambian heritage. The source material is personal: an archive of family photographs, a Swedish summer house, a grandparent's quiet flat, a wedding remembered in fragments. Each scent reconstructs a place, a person, a moment otherwise left to fade.

The results read as deeply personal yet strangely universal — accords nostalgic in tone, formulations that feel contemporary in execution. Each fragrance is conceived to operate as a souvenir, carrying its original association while taking on new meaning for whoever wears it next. The full range is formulated vegan, extending the same care given to memory to the materials themselves.