After a hiatus of what seemed like years (what is time, anyway?) Chris Rusak released two perfumes in late November, 2023.

After six years of wearing Rusak’s perfumes and never tiring of any of them, I’m a believer. As with his past releases, I’ve worn each of them for weeks and feel like I’m only beginning to scratch the surface. I don’t need samples anymore — if he releases a perfume, I’m all in for a bottle immediately.

A year from now I’m sure I’ll look back on this and lament that what I’ve written here is a small, fuzzy snapshot of a vast, intricate landscape. Once again I could go on for days talking about this perfume, and once again words feel inadequate.

I’m still stubborn enough to try. Buckle up, things are about to get weird.

WHAT IS A CAJI?

According to Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary, a caji is a schoolmaster snapper. Also known as Lutjanus apodus, it’s found in the tropical regions of the Western Atlantic. The schoolmaster snapper is olive grey-brown with neon yellow fins and tail. In all the photos that I found, they either look majestic or derpy. Here’s one that’s a bit of both.

Is Caji, the perfume, related to this fish in any way? We’ll probably never know. Making something that is referential or a literal interpretation is not Rusak’s style. You’d think I would have learned from trying to guess what “an aeooj” was to not question such things. All of his work is high-concept made accessible. We don’t need a story to relate to it. Just let the feeling take you; the meaning will find you.

Please don’t say that I told you this was a perfume named after a fish, that would be far too obvious, and also completely incongruous. Caji, the perfume, is a land-dweller.

WHAT DOES CAJI, THE PERFUME, SMELL LIKE?

This is where it gets hard. The fish talk was procrastination. There can be no simple discussion of “notes” here — I want to grab both of your hands and tell you about visions and sounds and tactile sensations. Any attempt to describe Caji feels so dramatic, and yet, so insufficient. This is fitting, because Caji is a perfume of duality.

Before we get started, imagine a puckery-tart, juicy jasmine candy. Jasmine-flavored fruit gushers. They’re forming a chain, or a track, that is pulling you into this cave of sensations. The cave is an automatic car wash, and when you spray Caji you’ve put the car in neutral. Daylight fades behind you as you are gently sprayed with prismatic violet foam.

Then, thwack! Heavy felt strips of waxy cucumber mitter curtain turning on a carousel mechanism start thumping against you.

On either side are twirling brushes, formed by slender carrots. Their tips graze you as the sour jasmine pulls you through the thick cucumber peels that drag across and over you. There are random puffs of worn leather makeup bag, drips and beads of oily substances. A humid mist of nutty grain comes up from below, like steam off a bowl of warm amaranth. The total experience feels otherwordly, sometimes disorienting. Continuously propelled forward by a sour jasmine candy power that you don’t control, you see the first glimpse of daylight.

This would be a good point to check in and be clear that Caji does not smell like a soap or a car. (I told you it was going to be weird).

You emerge only feet away from where you entered, but having arrived here through the car-wash-portal, everything feels different. The quiet is quieter on this side. Daylight and colors are brighter, more intense. Your surroundings suddenly feel spacious. What’s different here isn’t the atmosphere — it’s you. You just had an experience that places your ordinary surroundings in a new context. That contrast has changed your perception, at least temporarily. You’re released from the jarring track, and as you cross that threshold you step out into a sun-warmed field of green summer hay.

This experience of being propelled through an intense sensory immersion lasts for the first twenty minutes. Depending on your perspective it will be invigorating or disturbing. Either way, it sets you up for the serenity of the next phase. Being jostled and surrounded by whirring, whipping, dense parts makes arriving at the expanse and stillness feel like taking the first breath after being underwater.

I don’t like most “hay” perfumes. They tend to smell thickly of coumarin; they remind me of dry, dusty hay bales that smell sneezy and make your mouth taste like you licked the underside of the lawnmower chute. Caji is tender, moist, flowering hay that bends slightly in the breeze. Unlike the hallucinatory car wash, the field of hay is real, and it stretches all the way to the horizon. Once again you are surrounded, this time by wide open space.

An idyllic hayfield might sound like enough to you, but we are wearing a Chris Rusak perfume — it’s a whole journey and we are just getting started. All of the frenetic movement has stopped and as your senses recalibrate, you can begin to notice more detail. Alongside the drier hay is sultry jasmine, now honey-tinged and fully saturated like sipping a strong iced jasmine tea.

Meandering through the field are luxurious ribbons of real orris butter. It’s as much a texture that you feel as an odor you smell. A gray jeweler’s polishing cloth rubbing across very dry wax. It’s not “lipstick” or “powder” like the orris accords people always talk about. It is opalescent grey, wet chalk. It’s smooth but not slippery or glossy, it has a little drag to it. The decadent amount of orris butter is an unusual imposition of luxury in this pastoral scene, but somehow it works.

The beating heart at the core of Caji is an aged tincture of natural civet. It’s an impressive amount, and despite the histrionics we usually see about this ingredient, it smells nothing like poo or pee or the anal glands of someone’s housepet. The civet is like bloomy-rind camembert drizzled with raw honey, inside a vintage leather bag. It’s warm, alive, and inviting.

HOW DOES CAJI WEAR?

Caji is deceptively soft and invitingly sensual. I can smell it at arm’s length for about six hours, but it envelops and moves with you like your favorite sweater. One spray is adequate and allows you to follow its progression closely. Four sprays are dramatic, yet not overwhelming. In these sad days of scratchy, tenacious wood-amber, it feels particularly indulgent to be able to apply that much perfume.

With all of its luxurious ingredients Caji should be an aspirational perfume, but it’s incredibly easy to wear. It feels just right on cold, damp days and nights under blankets and in your pajamas. It’s a perfume for high heels and for fuzzy slippers. As much as I love the sunshine, I’ve been enjoying this unusually rainy winter in Los Angeles and started calling it “Caji weather.” I have also heard from multiple people that their cats find Caji irresistible.

FINAL THOUGHTS

Caji is another standout release from Chris Rusak Perfume. It’s a modern perfume with vintage sensibilities; wearing it is an exquisite experience that goes far beyond scent. I’m looking forward to exploring and enjoying it for many years.

Caji is a limited-edition EDP available only through the brand’s website, https://shop.chrisrusak.com/.

I purchased my bottle of Caji at retail price, and I have no affiliation or agreements with the brand.

For reviews of other perfumes by Chris Rusak, see Relief from Chris Rusak Perfume – Fragrance Review, The Beast Mode Diaries (Beast Mode from Chris Rusak Perfume), LMB from Chris Rusak Perfume and Timbre EdT – Chris Rusak Perfumes – Fragrance Review.