The modern perfumery house produces, on average, eleven new compositions per year. We have produced twelve in twenty-six. The arithmetic is the manifesto: we believe a fragrance is closer to a building than to a season. It does not improve when hurried, and it does not survive the discount rack.
The library at Voile was not designed as a catalogue. It was designed as a vocabulary. Each fragrance is a complete sentence in that vocabulary; the three ranges — perfume, body, candle — are the three voices in which that sentence can be spoken. We do not blend body milks that match the perfume. We compose, separately and patiently, the body's own quieter answer.
Restraint, for us, is not asceticism. It is the courage to leave the gardenia out, to let the cedar sit unaccompanied for a full half-hour on skin, to print a dossier on uncoated stock and to ship it inside a recyclable box that does not pretend to be anything other than what it is.
This is a quieter house than the perfumery counters of the rue Saint-Honoré. It will remain a quieter house. We have no plans to grow Volume II beyond the twelve compositions currently named — and every plan to keep their quality at the standard at which they were first met.