Osmanli

When I first began working with Isparta rose of the highest grade — the kind that rests semisolid at room temperature, so concentrated is its essence — I found myself drawn into the history of how this flower came to be cultivated in the plains of Anatolia. The name Osmanli is my tribute to the Ottoman Turks, those great custodians of the rose who carried it westward into the Balkans and eastward to the mountain terraces of Arabia over centuries of empire. This perfume is a liquid cartography of that journey.

I wanted to reunite three daughters of a single lineage: the incomparable Isparta Rose,
harvested at its peak in Turkey; the honeyed depth of Taif Rose from the Arabian highlands; and the classical elegance of Bulgarian rose from the Valley of Roses. Each bears the fingerprint of its terroir, yet all trace their ancestry to those first Ottoman gardens. To smell them together is to understand that geography is merely time made visible.

The Experience

From the first press of the atomiser, Osmanli opens with an exuberance that surprises even me each time I wear it. There is a sherbeted brightness here, almost citrus in character — a sweetness recalling fresh tangerine peel caught in morning light. I have never encountered another rose that behaves this way. It is heady, joyful, a rose that dances rather than broods.

As the fragrance settles into its heart, an effervescent quality emerges that I can only describe as fizzing, sparkling, alive. The rose reveals new facets, playful and luminous, before gradually yielding to something richer and more contemplative.

In its final hours, Osmanli recalls for me the great rose perfumes of another era — a sumptuous jamminess underscored by the faint bitterness of candied orange peel. It is a dry down of warmth and memory, of petals pressed between the pages of old books. I created this fragrance for those who understand that the rose is not merely a flower but a civilisation unto itself.

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