Hendley Perfumes – that gritty Brooklyn alchemist who's been distilling vibes from thrift-store basements since 2014 – is unleashing a "Folk Hearth" trio that's basically grandma's spice rack after a séance, no capes required.
Leaked via a cryptic newsletter blast Monday, this earthy squad of three extraits (with a rogue tincture sidekick) draws straight from Hans Hendley's hazy memories of family bonfires in rural Kentucky, where his dad would "perfume" the air with pine shavings and mystery herbs to chase off "haints" (that's Southern ghost-speak, for the uninitiated). As Hans confessed to Basenotes in a rare Q&A, it all bubbled up during a lockdown rummage through his folks' attic: "I crack open this tin of dried vetiver Dad swore warded off bad dreams, and bam – it's like the whole yard's yelling 'bottle me, you fool.'" Cue the mortar and pestle, and a vow to keep it 100% natural, no lab shortcuts.
Mashed up in micro-batches at a whistle-stop distillery outside Louisville (because NYC's too bougie for this dirt-road poetry), the scents ring in at $145 for 30ml – pricey for a spritz, but eternal like that one family legend you can't unhear. Headliner: Fume, a resinous gut-punch of scorched fir, galbanum grit, and ruh khus roots that lands like a leather-bound hike through a smoldering bog. "He's the grizzled trail guide who smells like last night's embers and zero regrets – top whiff of conifer blaze, mid-layer of mossy intrigue, and a tail that clings like an uninvited hug," the reveal email snarks, with lo-fi Polaroids of a bearded "muse" toking on a pipe by a foggy firepit.
Chasing the haze is Bourbon, the tipsy charmer blending bergamot zing, toasted oak haze, and castoreum musk into a boozy blanket that unfolds like eavesdropping on a Prohibition speakeasy. "For the evenings when your vibe's 'one more story, then bed' – citrus spark up front, vanilla-bourbon heart that's pure liquid hearth, and a smoky finish that says 'we're not done yet,'" they wink, tossed in with ASMR clips of ice clinking in a tumbler under starlight.
Bringing up the rear: Gia, a feral floral twist of jasmine absolute, civet shadow, and oakmoss underbelly that slinks in like a cat burglar at a garden party. "She's the sly cousin who shows up unannounced with wild tales and wilder blooms – dewy petals on top, animalic pulse in the core, and an earthy echo that lingers like a secret handshake," according to the notes, campaign visuals featuring bobble-headed silhouettes of a woodland sprite mid-prank.
Corked in recycled-glass flasks with twiggy, hand-twisted caps that nod to those potion-stirring sessions (campaign pics show "muses" as oversized-headed garden gnomes, because why not?), these aren't just sprays – they're scent therapy for anyone who's ever romanticized their messy heritage. "We aimed for aromas that feel like bumping into your past self at a flea market – familiar, flawed, and oddly comforting," Hans chuckled in the chat. Nailed it, because nothing bonds like a whiff of "remember when?"
Hunt 'em down starting Friday at rogue apothecaries like Scent Bar in LA or online via Hendley's co-op site (with a waitlist that's already longer than a Black Friday line for artisanal socks). This olfactory family reunion rides the wave of indie houses like Slant Perfumery and Hiram Green going full folklore, but with zero corporate co-signs – proving that in scents, the real magic's in the homegrown grit.
If Hendley's balms already have you hooked on that "witchy but approachable" life, these drops might just turn your vanity into a family reunion nobody RSVPs to regret. Spritz wisely... or don't. Your call.
