Lorenzo Pazzaglia Gasoleather Extrait

Gasoleather isn’t just a perfume — it’s a scene. Imagine the heat coming off a motorcycle engine after a midnight ride, leather gloves still warm, a faint haze of exhaust and tobacco hanging in the air. That’s what this fragrance captures: not cleanliness or refinement, but adrenaline and grit bottled up.

The opening hits with a sharp burst of petrol and metal, almost like the tang of gasoline on a mechanic’s hands. It’s shockingly realistic and immediately addictive if you love that raw, industrial vibe. As it settles, the leather note takes over — rich, oily, slightly smoky, more like a well-worn jacket than a luxury handbag. Beneath that, you get faint touches of wood resins and balsamic greens, which give it some outdoorsy depth and keep it from becoming flat.

What I really love is how it transforms over time. The opening is harsh and thrilling, but an hour later it softens into something strangely comforting — like sitting by a garage door with a cigarette, watching rain hit hot asphalt. The petrol fades, leaving behind smooth ambered leather and a touch of resinous sweetness.

Performance is strong: two sprays last 8–10 hours easily, and the projection is bold for the first few. Not a scent for the office — this is more for late-night drives, warehouse parties, or anyone who wants to smell unapologetically rebellious.

This is an odd fragrance for me, or rather it's odd as to why I am mutually attracted to and repulsed by this fragrance. I'm old enough to have worn enough fragrances to know when one isn’t just a scent, but a memory trap. Gasoleather isn’t trying to be pretty, and thank God for that. It’s unapologetically masculine in that opening raw, oily, and smoky note; but somehow still tender in its own way. Like a man who works with his hands but listens closely when you speak - think any character portrayed by Nick Offerman.

There’s a note in it like burnt rubber, leather left out in the Mojave desert sun, maybe even a whisper of something sweet and animalic underneath that reminds me of the first time I snuck into a leather bar in the late '90s. I was terrified, thrilled, and surrounded by the smell of sweat, gear, and possibility. Gasoleather smells like that for me. It's dangerous, familiar, and strangely comforting. Paradoxically it's lingering, cloying, and repulsive.

It's defiant, nostalgic, and sexy in a greasy working-man way. Not trying to prove anything. It's just present while being unpresentable. Just real while being surreal. It doesn’t flirt. It lingers and stays.