Quentin Bisch: 3 posts

At Notes Shanghai, the Born to Stand Out booth was impossible to miss. A blaze of red, pop-art prints, and crowds three rows deep—all trying to get a whiff of the brand’s latest releases. I admit that I hadn’t heard of this Korean house before the fair, but a perfumer friend insisted I stop by: “They’re doing something interesting,” she said. She was right.

The founder, Jun Lim, guided me through several perfumes, but the one that immediately caught my attention was Black Crème, a new creation by Quentin Bisch. If you know Bisch’s style—those bold, ambery-woody harmonies that manage to be both extroverted and impeccably polished—you’ll recognize his hand here at once.

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What’s your idea of leather? Ever since my perfumery student days, I’ve associated it with the green-dark paradox of iso butyl quinoline—or perhaps the horse-sweat pungency of cresols. I’ve tried many leather perfumes, but Ganymede redefined what a leather fragrance could be. Created by Quentin Bisch for Marc-Antoine Barrois, it replaces smoke and darkness with light and air. The result feels both ancient and futuristic.

The first impression is mandarin peel tinged with saffron—a brightness so sharp it seems to refract. Then comes the abstraction of leather: smooth, mineral, almost tactile in its absence. The familiar warmth is replaced by a sense of polished stone.

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I first encountered Marc-Antoine Barrois Aldebaran—a bold new tuberose fragrance by Quentin Bisch—in a small perfume shop in Ternopil, western Ukraine. The concept of buying decants is incredibly popular in Ukraine, and it makes high-end perfume exploration more accessible. I had read about Aldebaran’s launch and, being a devoted lover of tuberose, was immediately curious. Could it rival my benchmark, Frédéric Malle’s Carnal Flower?

I bought a small sample, tucked it into my bag, and tested it later that evening. One spray. That was enough. Aldebaran doesn’t bloom—it detonates.

This is not the “strawberries-and-cream” tuberose of Robert Piguet Fracas, nor the dewy green tendrils of Diptyque Do Son or the fruity-lactonic flirtation of Gucci Bloom. No. Aldebaran leans into the metallic, rubbery, mentholated side of the flower—amplifying its natural pungency, its blue-white chill, and even that faint, gasoline-like bite that tuberose can sometimes hide beneath its petals.

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