“Rauque – L’Objet parfumant” was born from my encounter with perfumer Christopher Sheldrake. We have elaborated the olfactive creation as I was working on my visual creation. Not forbidding ourselves anything, we wanted to be driven by artistic baldness, and if our alphabet was made up of words and images, it sometimes included music and taste as well. « I would like the smell of a body about to implode! » this is how our olfactory exchange started. The waxy basement of a mushroom farm, a doughy Alep soap, a sticky piece of leather left in the back of a stable, the muzzle of a cow, an old box of Japanese incense smelling of ancient and dust, flowers marked by the patina of time or forgotten fruits with carnal accents, we censored nothing to best convey the idea of a feverish body surrounded by sleepy lives. Odd ideas and risky materials abound, but Christopher’s mastery was the safeguard, nothing was to fear, everything would be enhanced.
Rauque fragrance notes
Head
- blackcurrant bud, violet leaf
Heart
- acacia, mushroom, myrrh, narcissus, osmanthus
Base
- ambarome, leather, pine tar
Latest Reviews of Rauque
This scent is tricky to describe at first, but a redditor, Minidivine, summed it up perfectly as “an earthy green feel on top of a floral leather.” That captures it well. It reminds me a little of Chypre Mousse, which also features a mushroom note, though the two are very different. Here, the mushroom-like accord leans less earthy and more leathery. Initially, I got a strong 80s vintage vibe, but as it develops, a touch of greenness and light amber gives it a more modern twist.
I wouldn’t call it “futuristic” as some people do—fragrances from Comme des Garçons feel more avant-garde in that sense—but this one balances vintage and contemporary elements nicely. The yellow florals merging with a suede-like leather create a retro flair, while supporting notes like myrrh, tar, and soft animalics elevate it with niche-level complexity. The leather isn’t smooth suede; it’s muskier, slightly worn, a bit rugged. I suspect the ambrarome contributes that amber-leathery-animalic nuance. Still, the animalic edge is approachable, nothing too off-putting. The amber never stands alone—it’s fused into the leather and florals, showing just how well-blended this composition is.
The evolution is distinct: the opening bursts with prominent green notes for the first few minutes before the florals sweep in, which is likely why it evokes vintage references. I’m unsure if violet leaf is present—it doesn’t give the typical watery-ozonic feel—but the sharp greenness might be amplified by cassis. At times it even recalls Dior Fahrenheit, though more complex, pulling in florals, resins, and amber for a parallel interpretation. Performance is solid. That said, I hesitate to recommend it since it seems to have been made in limited batches, and bottles aren’t easy to find. Samples may be rare too. While it’s unique in how it borrows inspiration from different styles, I can’t say it feels completely unlike anything else I’ve smelled. I’m also not the biggest fan of leather florals personally, but I can still appreciate the artistry and craftsmanship here.
I wouldn’t call it “futuristic” as some people do—fragrances from Comme des Garçons feel more avant-garde in that sense—but this one balances vintage and contemporary elements nicely. The yellow florals merging with a suede-like leather create a retro flair, while supporting notes like myrrh, tar, and soft animalics elevate it with niche-level complexity. The leather isn’t smooth suede; it’s muskier, slightly worn, a bit rugged. I suspect the ambrarome contributes that amber-leathery-animalic nuance. Still, the animalic edge is approachable, nothing too off-putting. The amber never stands alone—it’s fused into the leather and florals, showing just how well-blended this composition is.
The evolution is distinct: the opening bursts with prominent green notes for the first few minutes before the florals sweep in, which is likely why it evokes vintage references. I’m unsure if violet leaf is present—it doesn’t give the typical watery-ozonic feel—but the sharp greenness might be amplified by cassis. At times it even recalls Dior Fahrenheit, though more complex, pulling in florals, resins, and amber for a parallel interpretation. Performance is solid. That said, I hesitate to recommend it since it seems to have been made in limited batches, and bottles aren’t easy to find. Samples may be rare too. While it’s unique in how it borrows inspiration from different styles, I can’t say it feels completely unlike anything else I’ve smelled. I’m also not the biggest fan of leather florals personally, but I can still appreciate the artistry and craftsmanship here.
Top notes of blackcurrant bud and violet leaf; heart notes of acacia, mushroom, myrrh, narcissus, and osmanthus; base notes of ambarome, leather, and pine tar. To describe Rauque this way unacceptably reductive. It is so much more than a collection of accords. The name translates to hoarse, which is a bit confusing. Hoarse, as most would think of it, is the sound of a voice after it has over-strained itself for too long; raspy, thin, distorted, the metallic taste in the back of your throat from worn and irritated flesh. I don't get an impression of that at all with Rauque. Rather, to my nose, it is very rich, dense, but far from being lumpen and impenetrable; it's breathable and alive. The elegant dance those notes perform with each other is exquisite, constantly shifting shape, form, and speed. There is nothing tired, raspy, thin, distorted or worn out about this perfume - it has an energy that is restrained but strong, like a rubber band not quite stretched to the breaking point but on its way to being. Another defining characteristic is that it is extremely reminiscent of classic masculine perfumes with its pipe tobacco accords, leathers, incense, earthiness, and resinous green notes. Though, you are far from able to say that this is derivative as it feels very modern, new, and youthfully energetic. Despite being called Hoarse, its volume never goes above speaking voice, but it is very much confident, very much powerful and strong, and bold enough to make a firm statement.
Looking back over the words I've written so far and how vague and metaphorical they are, the more I smell this perfume on me and the more I think about it, the more unhappy I am with my description and the more I struggle for clarity (maybe I'll be back for an edit with more thoughts after several more wears). It does what the best perfumes of all time do: deliver a message in a totally convincing way, making you think hard and engage the entire time, but never so challenging that you are off-put. It is, without question, one of the best perfumes I have smelled in years.
Looking back over the words I've written so far and how vague and metaphorical they are, the more I smell this perfume on me and the more I think about it, the more unhappy I am with my description and the more I struggle for clarity (maybe I'll be back for an edit with more thoughts after several more wears). It does what the best perfumes of all time do: deliver a message in a totally convincing way, making you think hard and engage the entire time, but never so challenging that you are off-put. It is, without question, one of the best perfumes I have smelled in years.
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Rauque blooms with a pinch of lavender, violet leaf, and bergamot, rapidly moving into a golden floral of narcissus and osmanthus, with a damp tobacco and leather accord rounding it out. A labdanum note seemingly leans this towards a chypre accord, but instead of moss, I get a delicate maple-tinged immortelle.
There is 3D depth to this fragrance, a translucent quality like golden light passing through amber glass. It manages to smell more of itself than of its components. It has that coca-cola trick, where an accord of orange, lemon, and vanilla become a “new” flavor, only with Rauque it’s more labdanum-tobacco-narcisus. (I don’t get mushroom, though: mercifully, for my tastes.)
Despite the name, I find absolutely nothing harsh and rasping about this fragrance. Even compared to other Sheldrake classics, this is remarkably smooth and edgless. It feels less like an experimental niche or even a 1980s broad-shouldered masculine, and more like a well-made designer from the 1990s (spiritually, with simple, graceful fragrances like 1999’s Yohji Homme).
I do find Rauque a charmer and singularly beautiful, but it’s not entirely singular: it owes a lot to classic labdanum-forward masculines (Patou PH’s drydown comes to mind), gentle tobaccos (Santa Maria Novella Tobacco Toscano could fit), and diaphanous golden florals (really, pick any nice narcissus - Bruno Fazzolari Au Dela; L’Artisan Fleur de Narcisse all work). Still, there's nothing that combines all these elements quite like Rauque.
Bring it back!
There is 3D depth to this fragrance, a translucent quality like golden light passing through amber glass. It manages to smell more of itself than of its components. It has that coca-cola trick, where an accord of orange, lemon, and vanilla become a “new” flavor, only with Rauque it’s more labdanum-tobacco-narcisus. (I don’t get mushroom, though: mercifully, for my tastes.)
Despite the name, I find absolutely nothing harsh and rasping about this fragrance. Even compared to other Sheldrake classics, this is remarkably smooth and edgless. It feels less like an experimental niche or even a 1980s broad-shouldered masculine, and more like a well-made designer from the 1990s (spiritually, with simple, graceful fragrances like 1999’s Yohji Homme).
I do find Rauque a charmer and singularly beautiful, but it’s not entirely singular: it owes a lot to classic labdanum-forward masculines (Patou PH’s drydown comes to mind), gentle tobaccos (Santa Maria Novella Tobacco Toscano could fit), and diaphanous golden florals (really, pick any nice narcissus - Bruno Fazzolari Au Dela; L’Artisan Fleur de Narcisse all work). Still, there's nothing that combines all these elements quite like Rauque.
Bring it back!
My bottle finally arrived. Oh boy… oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. I’ve never sniffed anything quite like this before. Seven hours into the wear and… I’m gobsmacked. It’s just ridiculous. I’d tried a mini sample but there’s something about spraying it on copiously that changes everything.
I don’t really know how to describe it yet. It feels like it’s alive. Literally. Like I’ve doused myself with the vital fluid of a living, breathing, throbbing alien being that inhabits the cloud forest and hosts within it a cornucopia of organisms, both carnal and ethereal. Mycelium, humus, exotic florals… fairies and spirits. A feral creature that exudes a dizzying warmth through every pore of its leathery epidermis, and exhales a boozy, sticky sweet, peppery, ambergris-like breath. The terpenes from pine straw filling the air as it lightly treads over fallen leaves and the undergrowth…
What the hell is going on here? Am I falling in love? I’ll write a proper review once I’ve wrapped my head around it. I’m intoxicated and swooning.
__
UPDATE AFTER SIX MONTHS (05/2025)
I was going to edit/update my review below, but I’ll just let that one stand as my first impression and add a new review after a few months of wearing this strange beauty.
There are perfumes that describe a place, and then there are perfumes that are a place—one that doesn’t quite exist, but feels eerily familiar. Rauque is the latter. From the first spray, I’m pulled into something dense and golden and strange: violet leaf and bergamot flicker like stained light through amber glass, and then comes the narcissus—damp, honeyed, almost vegetal. Not pretty, but definitely beautiful.
There’s tobacco in here, but not in any way that feels smoky or sweet. It’s more like the scent of old leaves underfoot, warmed by the sun, with that dusty animalic edge of pine tar and leather rising underneath. The leather is supple, a little oily, touched by osmanthus, and it pulses with this odd, feral energy—like something breathing slowly in a darkened stable. The labdanum (or more specifically, Ambrarome) gives it depth without weight. It doesn’t wear like a big chypre or a retro leather; it moves, shifts, hovers. There’s a lot happening, but it never turns chaotic. It smells of life forms we know and others we haven’t named yet.
What really gets me is the texture. It’s as if Sheldrake managed to trap breath and light and skin in a bottle. The fragrance doesn’t just evolve—it meanders. You get little bursts: a shimmer of soap made from old fat and herbs, a flicker of overripe fruit, then the cool, papery calm of narcissus again. It has an internal rhythm that doesn’t care what time it is, or whether it’s supposed to be masculine or feminine. It just is.
I don’t often use the word masterpiece. But I think this might be one. Not in the polished, gallery-slick sense—but in the raw, arresting way a painting or piece of music stops you in your tracks and leaves you blinking in the sunlight afterward, unsure what just happened. Rauque is that moment. It lives in its own time, and I’m glad I get to visit.
I don’t really know how to describe it yet. It feels like it’s alive. Literally. Like I’ve doused myself with the vital fluid of a living, breathing, throbbing alien being that inhabits the cloud forest and hosts within it a cornucopia of organisms, both carnal and ethereal. Mycelium, humus, exotic florals… fairies and spirits. A feral creature that exudes a dizzying warmth through every pore of its leathery epidermis, and exhales a boozy, sticky sweet, peppery, ambergris-like breath. The terpenes from pine straw filling the air as it lightly treads over fallen leaves and the undergrowth…
What the hell is going on here? Am I falling in love? I’ll write a proper review once I’ve wrapped my head around it. I’m intoxicated and swooning.
__
UPDATE AFTER SIX MONTHS (05/2025)
I was going to edit/update my review below, but I’ll just let that one stand as my first impression and add a new review after a few months of wearing this strange beauty.
There are perfumes that describe a place, and then there are perfumes that are a place—one that doesn’t quite exist, but feels eerily familiar. Rauque is the latter. From the first spray, I’m pulled into something dense and golden and strange: violet leaf and bergamot flicker like stained light through amber glass, and then comes the narcissus—damp, honeyed, almost vegetal. Not pretty, but definitely beautiful.
There’s tobacco in here, but not in any way that feels smoky or sweet. It’s more like the scent of old leaves underfoot, warmed by the sun, with that dusty animalic edge of pine tar and leather rising underneath. The leather is supple, a little oily, touched by osmanthus, and it pulses with this odd, feral energy—like something breathing slowly in a darkened stable. The labdanum (or more specifically, Ambrarome) gives it depth without weight. It doesn’t wear like a big chypre or a retro leather; it moves, shifts, hovers. There’s a lot happening, but it never turns chaotic. It smells of life forms we know and others we haven’t named yet.
What really gets me is the texture. It’s as if Sheldrake managed to trap breath and light and skin in a bottle. The fragrance doesn’t just evolve—it meanders. You get little bursts: a shimmer of soap made from old fat and herbs, a flicker of overripe fruit, then the cool, papery calm of narcissus again. It has an internal rhythm that doesn’t care what time it is, or whether it’s supposed to be masculine or feminine. It just is.
I don’t often use the word masterpiece. But I think this might be one. Not in the polished, gallery-slick sense—but in the raw, arresting way a painting or piece of music stops you in your tracks and leaves you blinking in the sunlight afterward, unsure what just happened. Rauque is that moment. It lives in its own time, and I’m glad I get to visit.
After reading the brief on Rauque, I was sure I'd find much to admire in this Sheldrake creation, plus, I really loved Oeilleres and didn't mind Porter sa Peau, so I ordered an expensive decant of Rauque online. Early this morning, I proceeded to sprinkle myself with Rauque and took off on an all-day road trip. AckKK! Five or ten miles down the road, I realized that this frag smelled so synthetically sweet that I became literally queasy. Plus, it lasted forever. Oh, man, I rarely smell scents and find them vile, but I really do here. And yes, I seem to be I'm in the vast minority with this one, but oh well. I am now finally home and have scrubbed twice and will be taking a very soapy bath. (I'm guessing it's the ambarome - a note I will be avoiding in the future like the proverbial plague.)
Here is Roberto Greco's third olfactory project, Rauque, composed by none other than Christopher Sheldrake. Sheldrake is quite possibly my favorite nose ever, therefore, I was beyond excited when hearing the news. Moreover, working with Roberto for the third Objet Parfumant, a series which till now, has been a fantastic journey. In my opinion, Rauque is the most triumphant of all three.
Rauque is a difficult-to-grasp perfume. It smells, unlike anything I ever tried. The evolution, the choice of materials, the strong contrasts, the very personal and complex idea/experience that ignited it, and even the bottle's design are dead giveaways of this. It feels like Dr. Frenkenstin's monster who learned how to behave like a highly sophisticated, intellectual human being. It's an oddity, yet refined. An example of how to create an artisanal/artistic complex piece of olfactory art while making sure that at the end of the day, it smells and wears like it's intended to, a perfume. When I first looked at the note pyramid I thought to myself, "This can't work, the notes are too contradictory". And yet it does. Here is where Sheldrake's genius steps in.
The perfume to me feels like an Agrestic Leather-Orientlal. The first half, the top and the heart precisely, remind me of smells I encountered as a child in the countryside. The base or the late dry-down, smells of resins and smoke, for the most part, hence, the Oriental part of the perfume. The opening is tangy, soapy, fatty, verdant, and somehow fizzy-ozonic. It's bright and dominated by the tart and sharp smell of the blackcurrant bud, as well as the green-ozonic violet leaf. There is a strong soap-like accord, but not what you'd expect. It smells like the handmade soaps my grandparents used to make from pig fat and sodium salts. No additives or perfume added. Fizzy and fatty. I assume the combination of narcissus, violet leaf, and olive create this phantom accord that feels very tangible to me. A handmade soap, tangy blackcurrant, grassy, and clean air accords.
The mid is all about the florals and the leather accord. I see Cassie flower listed, yet unfortunately for me, it's not the dominant floral here. It does play its part though. It lends its hay-like facet and subtle honey-like sweetness. The Osmanthus shares a bit of its fruity facet to help perpetuate the fruitiness from the opening, but more importantly, it helps build up the leather accord. The dominant floral here, however, is the Narcissus. A floral that was proudly used in the previous Objet Parfumant, Porter Sa Peau. It doesn't smell like the absolute, more like the flower in nature. The leather accord veers strongly into the equestrian territory. It feels alive, oily, creamy, almost drawing warm breath. Another important note to mention here is the pine tar, already exuding its characteristic smoky-woody quality. The mushroom is very subtle, again, unfortunately for me, but it helps to instill life into the leather by conjuring an organic quality.
The base pushes forward with the leather and the smoky pine tar to which the labdanum derivate Ambrarome is added, displaying leathery, smoky, ambergris-like facets, as well as myrrh for the extra nutty, chewy resinous touch. It settles down as a smoky resinous leather oozing warmth and pleasantly smoky wafts for hours on end.
All in all, one of the best releases of last year, triumphant in so many ways and on so many levels. A tremendous achievement when an artistic mind meets another and the talent of a Master Perfumer is put to great use. I hope that there will be more to see from Sheldrake under an independent creative direction, hopefully in more projects like this one, and I am excited for Roberto's future L'Objet Parfumant.
IG:@memory.of.scents
Rauque is a difficult-to-grasp perfume. It smells, unlike anything I ever tried. The evolution, the choice of materials, the strong contrasts, the very personal and complex idea/experience that ignited it, and even the bottle's design are dead giveaways of this. It feels like Dr. Frenkenstin's monster who learned how to behave like a highly sophisticated, intellectual human being. It's an oddity, yet refined. An example of how to create an artisanal/artistic complex piece of olfactory art while making sure that at the end of the day, it smells and wears like it's intended to, a perfume. When I first looked at the note pyramid I thought to myself, "This can't work, the notes are too contradictory". And yet it does. Here is where Sheldrake's genius steps in.
The perfume to me feels like an Agrestic Leather-Orientlal. The first half, the top and the heart precisely, remind me of smells I encountered as a child in the countryside. The base or the late dry-down, smells of resins and smoke, for the most part, hence, the Oriental part of the perfume. The opening is tangy, soapy, fatty, verdant, and somehow fizzy-ozonic. It's bright and dominated by the tart and sharp smell of the blackcurrant bud, as well as the green-ozonic violet leaf. There is a strong soap-like accord, but not what you'd expect. It smells like the handmade soaps my grandparents used to make from pig fat and sodium salts. No additives or perfume added. Fizzy and fatty. I assume the combination of narcissus, violet leaf, and olive create this phantom accord that feels very tangible to me. A handmade soap, tangy blackcurrant, grassy, and clean air accords.
The mid is all about the florals and the leather accord. I see Cassie flower listed, yet unfortunately for me, it's not the dominant floral here. It does play its part though. It lends its hay-like facet and subtle honey-like sweetness. The Osmanthus shares a bit of its fruity facet to help perpetuate the fruitiness from the opening, but more importantly, it helps build up the leather accord. The dominant floral here, however, is the Narcissus. A floral that was proudly used in the previous Objet Parfumant, Porter Sa Peau. It doesn't smell like the absolute, more like the flower in nature. The leather accord veers strongly into the equestrian territory. It feels alive, oily, creamy, almost drawing warm breath. Another important note to mention here is the pine tar, already exuding its characteristic smoky-woody quality. The mushroom is very subtle, again, unfortunately for me, but it helps to instill life into the leather by conjuring an organic quality.
The base pushes forward with the leather and the smoky pine tar to which the labdanum derivate Ambrarome is added, displaying leathery, smoky, ambergris-like facets, as well as myrrh for the extra nutty, chewy resinous touch. It settles down as a smoky resinous leather oozing warmth and pleasantly smoky wafts for hours on end.
All in all, one of the best releases of last year, triumphant in so many ways and on so many levels. A tremendous achievement when an artistic mind meets another and the talent of a Master Perfumer is put to great use. I hope that there will be more to see from Sheldrake under an independent creative direction, hopefully in more projects like this one, and I am excited for Roberto's future L'Objet Parfumant.
IG:@memory.of.scents
