Silences by Jacomo

Silences by Jacomo sounds like a relic from another era, where radical greens and aldehydes ruled the roost. As Oscar Wilde might say, nostalgia is a trap: it idealizes what never was, and that’s exactly what happens here. At first, galbanum hits like a hammer—a relentless, furious green. It’s not that fresh spring-forest crispness, but a harsh, almost metallic green that smells of crushed dried herbs and dust. The aldehydes try to recall the golden days of Chanel No. 19, but here they’re ghosts, not protagonists; they feel disconnected, a persistent shadow on something that no longer matters. The flowers struggle to emerge from so much herbaceous chaos, managing only a fleeting gesture, a breeze that vanishes before it even touches the skin. While Chanel No. 19 is a masterpiece, Silences seems like a lost imitator drowning in its own green noise. As Salvador Dalí said, I fear nothing but the past repeated without meaning. This perfume is an echo of something that didn’t need copying. If its only value is its ‘historical relevance,’ then the future doesn’t need to look back so much. For vintage nostalgics, it might have something, but for the rest of us, Silences smells more like an off-key homage than a classic that lasts.

Today I smelled that earthy, green, and woody aroma again, and it transported me straight back to my childhood. It’s like being in my father’s arms as he said goodbye. Maybe I associate it with him because it keeps that classic touch, and the base notes—oakmoss, vetiver, sandalwood, and cedar—are very masculine yet mysterious. It’s incredible how memories tie themselves to scents. Leaving nostalgia aside, in Silences the flowers are ephemeral and dominate the dry-down. I see it as ideal for formal wear and evening occasions. The longevity and sillage are good.

In the embrace of damp moss, the scents go to sleep. It is refined, green, full, and floral. The crisp, rough breezes of autumn take me into the forest while the wind whispers secrets to those who deserve them. Leaves of vivid colors crunch endlessly. Silences is beautiful yet eerie. From its opaque black bottle, resembling an urn, to its somewhat morbid name, it is a surreal perfume. It is connected to life, with green and floral notes signifying renewal, yet strangely disconnected from the familiar, a bit rare. It reminds me of a René Magritte painting: so realistic it becomes unknown, i.e., surreal. In that painting, abstract spheres hover over a realistic landscape, making it strange. Silences by Jacomo is green to the extreme; after a bitter, almost calcareous herbaceous opening of galbanum, it adds a drop of sweetness with neroli, then throws in lemon and bergamot into the mix just to show it isn’t joking around with its radical green. Silences is much sharper (ironic, considering the name?) than Chanel 19 and, in a sense, fills all the gaps Chanel 19 leaves empty, acknowledging that the durability and development of Chanel are undoubtedly better. For me, all facets of this perfume are perfectly balanced: the green, the flowers, the oakmoss. It’s interesting that it’s a cool green, not a warm one. It brings to mind sitting by a window watching a spring storm, raindrops hitting the glass, a cold wind in the trees. It feels like a contemplative fragrance, an autumnal scent with few rivals. And that fresh wind, wherever it comes from, accompanies it from start to finish.

Silences makes me sad. I don’t have associated memories, but it smells like the women of forty years ago: my mother, my teachers… something clicks and melancholy invades me. It’s like a warm blanket that embraces you but also traps you. That’s why I put on a drop again to feel truly sad. The best part is that it takes you straight to the eighties, not to the simplified version with blurry florals, but to the reality: normal people in gray offices, oversized clothes, long skirts, and men’s shoes. It smells of those gray knit sweaters, of female clerks with vests and wrinkled boots. It’s a 1981 European scent, gray and industrial, distinct from the naive version of Vent Vert. Isolating the personal, it smells of a towel softener inspired by a forest, completely manufactured, with something that makes me visualize Northern Europe.

Light, green, and dry, although @AnnaCé compared it to an infusion and she’s right. I was expecting something more aquatic and less powdery; the iris, galbanum, and vetiver sound too much like wood to me. It feels a bit matronly and, strangely, gives me nostalgia. I don’t think of a forest, but rather a box full of black-and-white photos or a closet smelling of mothballs and old clothes. I loved it, but it wasn’t my cup of tea. I hope whoever I traded it with enjoys it more and values it better than I did.

SILENCES DE JACOMO has not a shred of Dior, Burberry, or Benetton. It is much more elegant and dressed-up, without losing that lightness that everyone loves so much.