Ex Nihilo
Gold Immortals Extrait
The Story
Gold Immortals Extrait reworks the original Gold Immortals by Jordi Fernández, with pear and bergamot over peony with amber and tonka underneath. The extrait deepens the base without turning the composition dark.
Amber
Resin warmed until it goes sweet
Labdanum, benzoin and vanilla melted together into something sweet but dusky, like tree sap gone soft in the sun with a thread of incense smoke through it. Amber does not sparkle or shout. It sits close to the skin and gives off heat for hours.
Floral
A whole garden, never one flower
Not one flower but the impression of many, usually rose, jasmine and orange blossom leaning on each other until no single one is recognizable. Sweet, dewy, faintly powdery, with nectar underneath. It is what people mean when a perfume smells like flowers and they cannot say which.
Citrus
First bright zest of morning
The juicy, rind-snapping brightness of lemon, bergamot, and orange peel, tart and effervescent with a clean bitter edge. It opens a scent with instant lift and sparkle, fresh and energizing, evaporating quickly like sunlight on water.
Fresh
Cold water, open air, washed skin
Cool water, laundered cotton, air with nothing in it yet. The lift can go citrus-zesty or salt-aquatic, but the effect is the same either way: it registers as clean rather than as a scent, the way a room reads different five minutes after you open a window.
Vanilla
Cured pod, boozy under the cream
Cured pods, not frosting. The sweetness here is custardy and balsamic, with something dark and boozy under it, closer to rum and woodsmoke than to sugar. It warms everything above it, blunting sharp edges and slowing the whole thing down.
Sweet
Warm sugar you cannot quite name
Caramel, honey, spun sugar: sweetness that hovers between all three and never settles on one. This is the gourmand pull, the thing that makes someone lean in closer than they meant to, warm and soft and a half step short of edible.
Bergamot
Sparkling citrus light with a bitter edge
What it is
Nobody eats bergamot. It is sour, seedy and disappointing, and almost the whole world's supply grows on one strip of Calabrian coast, farmed purely for the oil pressed cold from its green rind.
How it smells
Zest and green light in the first second, then something rounder than lemon: a floral, tea-like smoothness sitting on a faintly bitter warmth. It burns off fast. What stays behind is a quiet, slightly spiced hum.
In perfumery
It defines eau de cologne, and sits on top of nearly every fougère alongside lavender and oakmoss. Perfumers want the first bright second it gives, and the oil is also what makes Earl Grey smell like Earl Grey.
Good to know
The thing that makes it sparkle can also burn. Bergamot carries bergapten, which leaves skin hypersensitive to sunlight, so perfumers either keep the dose low or reach for a grade with the molecule stripped out.
Pear
Almost always built, almost never extracted
What it is
Squeeze a pear and you get juice, not perfume. The esters that carry its smell sit at parts per million and will not survive a still, so almost every pear you smell was assembled, not extracted.
How it smells
Juicy and gently sweet, dewy at the edge, watery-honeyed in the flesh. The built version is crisp and high-definition, one clean shape all the way through. Naturals run blurrier and drift toward green herb and waxy skin.
In perfumery
Pear brightens the tops of fruity-florals, fresh musks and gourmands. The build is pear ester and a few acetates, dosed at one percent or less; more and it takes over. Roman chamomile carries the same facets naturally.
Good to know
Only one of pear ester's four forms smells of pear, which is why it is specified so precisely. Pear was long called impossible to extract, until Firgood, a process that warms the fruit's own water, produced one.
Peony
Dewy ruffles, fresh and quietly green
What it is
Ruffled spring bloom of the Paeonia genus, herbaceous bushes and tree peonies alike. The living flower yields no oil at usable scale, so every peony in a bottle is assembled from rosy, green and watery aroma-chemicals.
How it smells
Cool, dewy and see-through: a soft rose heart lifted by crisp green stems and a faint honey. Think pale pink rather than red, a bud just opening, water on the petal. It never turns jammy.
In perfumery
The heart note of a thousand pink florals, radiant and light where rose would be heavy. It leans on lychee, freesia, magnolia and white musks, and shimmers through countless spring-toned bouquets.
Good to know
Since there is nothing to distil, every peony is a perfumer's guess at a flower, so two of them can smell almost unrelated. China has called it the king of flowers, a symbol of honor and wealth.
Lysylang
A ylang fraction, turned solar and creamy
What it is
Distil ylang-ylang and it comes off in grades: Extra first, then First, Second and Third, each smelling different from the last. Lysylang is a fraction of ylang-ylang oil from Robertet, separated out and kept for its own character.
How it smells
Softer and sweeter than raw ylang, without its banana-medicinal spike. What you get instead is sunlit: frangipani and jasmine over a creamy coconut and monoi warmth, with a thin lily-like spice running through it.
In perfumery
In the heart it does ylang's job without ylang's volume. It rounds white florals, sits easily with tuberose, coconut and soft musks, and supplies the warm beach-flower glow behind a lot of modern solar fragrances.
Good to know
Robertet did not invent a molecule here. They went back into the ylang oil and found a material in it, which is a quieter kind of ingenuity than synthesis.
Amber
A warm resinous glow built, not harvested
What it is
There is no amber tree. Perfumers assemble the smell from labdanum, the sticky gum that bleeds off a Mediterranean rockrose in summer heat, plus benzoin and vanilla. The fossilized resin in museum cases is odorless on skin.
How it smells
Honeyed and faintly animalic at first, then it settles into golden powdery warmth: beeswax, old tobacco, worn leather, a thread of smoke underneath. It stays close to the skin rather than filling the room.
In perfumery
It sits at the base and holds everything above it in place, which is why oriental compositions lean on it so hard. Vanilla and patchouli push it sweet; more resin, spice and dry herbs push it austere.
Good to know
The word once meant ambergris, the waxy secretion of sperm whales, and the confusion never cleared. The trade now uses amber for two things: this resin accord, almost always plant and synthetic, and the ambergris substitutes like Ambroxan.
Tonka Bean
Warm almond-vanilla sweetness with a hay-tobacco shadow
What it is
Shelled seeds from a South American legume tree go into alcohol, then dry for weeks until coumarin crystallizes across their skins like frost. That frosted bean is what becomes the absolute perfumers use.
How it smells
Vanilla and bitter almond first, then hay, dried tobacco and something toasted. The opening is close to caramelized custard; the drydown goes powdery and boozy, with cinnamon and cut clover in it. Hazier than vanilla, softer than almond.
In perfumery
Between heart and base, it sweetens without turning sharp. Lavender, amber and tobacco all take to it. Coumarin, first pulled out of this seed, built the fougère family, though the 1882 original ran on the synthetic version.
Good to know
Tonka owes most of its scent to coumarin, which American food regulators banned in 1954 after high doses damaged the livers of lab animals. The bean is effectively illegal in a US kitchen and perfectly legal on skin.
Vanilla
Cured orchid pods, custard and faint smoke
What it is
Green pods come off the orchid vine smelling of almost nothing. The scent is made, not found: months of blanching, sweating in the sun and slow drying before the vanillin appears. Mexico first, Madagascar now.
How it smells
Custard and caramel up front, then something darker underneath: dried fruit and a thread of tobacco smoke. It turns powdery as it dries and sits close to the skin. Real cured vanilla reads deeper than vanillin alone.
In perfumery
Perfumers use it to round off edges. Anything too sharp, too green, too austere gets warmth and body from a vanilla base, which is why it anchors many oriental and gourmand builds alongside tonka, amber, sandalwood and spice.
Good to know
Every flower opens for one day. Miss it and there is no pod, so all of it is pollinated by hand, a trick devised by Edmond Albius, a twelve-year-old enslaved boy on Réunion. Most vanilla flavour today is synthetic.
Fragrance Character
Bergamot and pear open it clean and lightly juicy, and peony keeps the middle airy rather than sweet. The turn happens underneath, where amber, tonka and vanilla build a warm, resinous base that carries the florals instead of competing with them. At extrait strength it reads golden and dense, with a generous trail.
Longevity
how long it stays on skin
The hourglass reads wear time: how many hours the fragrance keeps speaking before it fades. A bar that barely leaves the start means a few fleeting hours. One that runs the full length carries from morning into evening. Treat it as typical, not promised. Oily skin holds scent far longer than dry.
Sillage
the size of its scent trail
Sillage is French for a ship's wake, and that is exactly what this measures: how much of the scent reaches the room instead of staying on you. Low is a whisper only close friends catch. Enormous fills the room, then keeps filling it after you leave.
Experimental
Built to provoke, not to please
Some perfumes are made to be liked. These are made to be argued about: inky tar, hot rubber, fruit on the turn, metal and fur where you expected flowers. The coin glows for a scent that provokes and dims for one that plays it safe, which is sometimes the point.
Office
Polished, and never louder than the room
Scent is manners in a shared room. At this range it should reach the person across the desk and stop there: tidy citrus, soft musk, pale woods, all of it reading competent and considerate. A glowing coin means nobody has to mention it. A dim one means it travels.
Evening
After dark, when it deepens
Dinner, drinks, the night that runs long. Low light is where ambers, resins and smoky woods stop being polite, and where a plush floral finally blooms. A glowing coin means it is waiting for exactly this hour. A dim one means it did its best work in daylight.
Romantic
Close enough to be felt
A fragrance can hum against skin instead of announcing itself across a table. That is the register here: creamy florals, vanilla, soft musk, a thread of spice, warm enough to make someone lean in. The coin glows when a scent sets that mood and dims when it is more practical than seductive.
Formal
Quiet authority in a dressed-up room
A wedding, a ceremony, a room where everyone has thought about their shoes. What works here is structure, not volume: smooth woods, disciplined florals, soft leather. A glowing coin means it holds its posture all evening. A dim one means it is too casual for the room.
Casual
Easy comfort for unhurried days
Errands, coffee, a slow Saturday with nowhere to be. Nothing here has to impress anyone, so the fit is soft and easy: fresh citrus, light woods, a little warmth off the skin. A glowing coin says yes to all that. A dim one means the fragrance is asking for a bigger night.
Day to Night
where its mood naturally falls
A bar running from sun to moon, reading the hour the fragrance was made for. The more of it that stays gold, the more the scent belongs to daylight and open air. The further the blue reaches back toward the sun, the deeper and warmer it turns: evening, candlelight, low rooms.
Winter
Warmth that carries through cold air
Cold air mutes a fragrance and slows it down, which is why winter belongs to the dense and the warm: resin, smoke, vanilla, leather, ambered spice. The bar reads how well this one pushes back, glowing against the chill instead of thinning out in it.
Spring
Fresh blooms in mild, rising warmth
Mild, humid air lifts a light composition, so the season belongs to dewy florals, green stems, soft powder and citrus you can see through. Alive rather than heavy. The further the green runs along the bar, the more comfortably this one wears in that weather.
Summer
Bright and airy in real heat
Heat does the projecting for you, which is why the wrong perfume turns unbearable by noon. What survives is cool and breathable: sharp citrus, salt air, aromatic herbs, water. Things that refresh instead of cloy. A short bar here means save it for cooler months.
Fall
Spiced warmth for cooling days
As the air cools, the rich materials stop smothering and start reading clearly: dry woods, warm spice, tobacco, amber, fruit gone golden. It is the season perfume turns contemplative. The bar fills according to how naturally this one settles into crisp, cooling days.
Best Worn
Made for autumn and winter evenings and the dressed-up end of the day, when the amber and vanilla beneath the florals do most of the carrying.
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The Vibe
The Nose
Jordi Fernández
Senior perfumer
Self-taught Spanish perfumer based in Barcelona who began at Eurofragance and is now a senior perfumer at Givaudan, known for his oud work. He composed Maison Crivelli Oud Maracujá, D'Orsay Tonka Hysteria and Carner Barcelona Helix, and co-signed Montblanc Explorer with Antoine Maisondieu and Olivier Pescheux.
More by this noseOud MaracujáBlue Talisman ExtraitBrompton Immortals
The Maison
Parisian modernity with a lab streak, sized to try before the flacon.
Ex Nihilo runs cool and self assured, chic minerality and clean florals set against dry woods and modern amber. Nothing shouts. Fleur Narcotique was the breakout that put the house on the map, and the line has kept that same quiet, bespoke feeling since.
- Origin
- Paris, France
- Founded
- 2013
- Known for
- Fleur Narcotique, cool modern woods
EVERY DECANT
From the original bottle to your door
We buy the original flacon at full retail price, direct from the house.
A medical grade Socorex syringe takes the exact millilitres straight from the flacon.
Packed into the hot foiled box and handed to DHL, every duty already paid. How a decant is made
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