Sogni
Eau de Parfum, Meo Fusciuni (2023)

Very comforting cozy homey scent. At first its like brand new off-gassing tatami mats just unwrapped from its plastic but the wood, rice, and lone delicate flower is very meditative, calming, serene. Reminds me of my Japanese grandmother’s sauna. It projects but is totally inoffensive. One thing too besides the nice heavy bottles, Meo Fusciuni has the best sprayers around. Perfume companies should take note as the sprayer is an important part of the experience.

Sogni is quite possibly the worst thing I have smelled in a long while. I can usually find something positive to talk about in any perfume – and I am inclined to give indies like Meo Fusciuni an easier ride than designer – but this is just such a badly made, almost ugly effort that I can’t summon one iota of generosity in its service. It starts with that God-awful fake sesame-bread-nut aromachemical that was already over used in the indie perfume oil sector (think BPAL, Alkemia, etc.) but has now begun to blight higher end niche perfumes such as L’Eau de Papier by Diptyque and Jardin de Cythère by Hermes. Perhaps due to over-exposure to this particular material in the ‘throw spaghetti at the wall and see what sticks’ approach of the indie oil sector, this note smells objectionable to me – as fake as that movie popcorn butter food additive and amateurish to boot.

This is compounded by an extensive mid-section that I understand is supposed to smell like tatami mats but regrettably smells to me like a dull, greyish ‘paste’ of unknown but probably industrial origin. I like some industrial smells, but this perfume doesn’t commit to any one point of reference, like glue, plaster of Paris, latex or glue, but rather, hangs uneasily between them all, which gives the paste accord a gassy, poisonous character that is as unpleasant as raw potato flour dough that has been proving too long. It is not easy to describe, but this part of the perfume gives me the same feeling as when a dog flattens its ears and emits a low warning whine. It makes me equal parts anxious and depressed. It just smells like a bad mood.

I really should stop there because if a perfume makes you feel this bad, there is nothing that can redeem it. And indeed, what follows, like the most unfortunate backwash ever, is a sourish woody amber that bellows tech bro. Expensively cheap, if you know what I mean. I am beginning to see that the perfumer behind Meo Fusciuni is capable of doing amazingly intricate, interesting work with incense and florals, but equally capable of doing stuff that smells mawkish, cheap, or designer-adjacent. It’s ok, everyone has their off moments. It’s just that this perfumer has so many of them that it makes me wonder if the truly incredible ones he has managed to create are his strokes of genius or just happy accidents.

2023 was a big year for Giuseppe Imprezzabile at Meo Fusciuni, with Sogni and Viole Neri, both of which are standouts of innovation. Sogni, which means "Dreams" (compare "Sueño"), is such a pleasant and wearable scent that I misinterpreted it as ordinary and made the mistake of not buying it at a perfume store in Bologna, going instead for the more arresting Odor 93. But I got a sample of Sogni, applied it before a long and hellacious travel day, and Sogni proved to be one of the best perfume experiences of my life. (Longevity is impressive; sillage is not "in your face," but is quite active; projection is potent in the first minutes and then becomes "just right.") I couldn't identify the slightly sweet top notes, which act like florals, but are predominantly rice, tatami, and pine. (There is peony, the lone floral in this woody, grainy, amber.) I could say that it smells like a dream of Japan, but although I do have nostalgic memories of Japan, I don't think I can quite say that, although the rice and tatami notes are becoming more palpable to me with each wearing. To me, Sogni is a velvety breath of fresh forest air, and a kind of royal translation of florals into other notes of the sweetness of the world, of living. It is just exactly right--it nails it--for the world's inherent sweetness to accompany in my journey, right on my skin. A room where one might sleep, with that animal gift for circadian activity and stillness alike, which the weft of the tatami might illustrate. Green tea that one might pour and offer. Pines that might breathe with us, and add their architecture to the roofline. So many woods one could lose oneself in their grains and hues. The incense of silence. The salesman in Italy presented this and Odor 93 as "pensivo," pensive scents. The vetiver and tobacco create the slightest boundary to the dream. It just smells so good; it is a touchstone.