Sillage — from the French for the wake a ship leaves in water — is the trail a fragrance draws behind the person wearing it. It is not strength. A loud perfume can die at the shoulder; a quiet one can fill a stairwell twenty minutes after you have gone.

The difference lives in molecular weight. Light molecules lift and travel; heavy ones cling. A composition built for sillage layers volatile brightness over fixative depth, so that the air keeps receiving news of you in the right order: sparkle first, then skin.

At SILLAGE we compose for the third hour, not the first minute. The opening is an invitation. The trail is the signature.