Faux Rose's Parlor of Pleasure

The four perfumes — Mons Venus, Dauphine, Viva Maria, and Josephine in Furs — demonstrate a perfumer setting a dazzling precedent for an up-and-coming fragrance house.

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All photos by Roxy Lee.

Faux Rose’s perfume collection is a look into the inner sanctums of desire. Fronted by fashion designer and stylist Amelia Rose, the collection invites you to gaze into a boudoir triptych, a sun-soaked lactonic, an ode to the endless symbology of women and their erotic power. Inspired in part by Rose’s work in visual culture and experience as a stylist for Vivienne Westwood, Rose’s perfume collection puts visuality at the forefront. What transpires is an olfactory journey through the senses. The four perfumes — Mons Venus, Dauphine, Viva Maria, and Josephine in Furs — demonstrate a perfumer setting a dazzling precedent for an up-and-coming perfume house. After meeting Rose by chance at her place of work — an erotica shop based in North London — I became acquainted not only with her, but her perfumes. Taking inspiration from mythology, erotica, and the matrixial folds of desire and the body, Faux Rose invites you into their parlour of pleasure.

This interview was conducted in June 2025 and has been edited for grammar and clarity.

M.P.S. SIMPSON: Hey Amelia, it’s lovely to get to talk to you like this, although I know we’ve been chatting on and off for weeks over text. I wanted to start here: what’s your favourite perfume? 

AMELIA ROSE: Vivienne Westwood, Boudoir.

M.P.S.: Why do you love it? 

AR: It was one of the first perfumes I felt instantly connected to, and I fell in love with the concept and visual aesthetics of it. Since then, I have always searched for perfumes that emulate this powdery and animalic feeling. Westwood used to have a range of Boudoir products during the ‘90s/2000s,  and I have the pearlescent pink dusting powder, which still smells incredible. The whole bottle design and packaging are beautiful, too. It’s so sad that it has been discontinued!

M.P.S.: I agree, it is such a shame. I’m inclined to believe that our experiences — which not only shape our entire worldview — very much shape our interests in terms of perfume, and the types of olfactory experiences we lean towards. What’s your most vivid scent memory? I think mine has to, unfortunately, be the smell of cigarette smoke on skin, when the person’s been smoking so long it almost seeps out of their pores. 

AR: My most vivid scent memory is from when I worked at a morgue. I didn't last more than a day there as I could not get over the smell, which was like a salty, high-pitched amber intertwined with lactonic, raw meat and chemical bleach. It was like a scented hum in the background, humming in tune with the sound of the fridges while I was physically there, but once I left, it did not fully leave my nose for days, and the scent would reappear out of nowhere like a phantom ghost. After some time had passed, I was in a garden centre, and that smell hit me again. I had a rush of adrenaline and felt like I was going to vomit instantly. When I turned around to see what it was, there was a butcher's counter. So yeah, that one has probably been etched into my brain forever.

M.P.S.: That’s fascinating. I can only really begin to imagine what effect coming so close to such an abject scent had on you, not only in terms of your perfumery journey, but as a shaping personal experience more broadly.  I remember you saying how you purchased Cadaverine — the scent that emulates certain abject bodily odours  — in an initial interest in creating perfumery along those more provocative lines. I’m interested as to why you decided against this? 

AR: Yes, that was the first aromachemical I purchased with the scent descriptions as “sperm, dead animal, animalic”. I bought it out of curiosity, which then led me to Secretions Magnifiques, which I  loathe. I tried smelling it once diluted at 1% but it was so repulsive that I felt like I was going to vomit again, so I put it in a plastic bag and hid it in the drawer, as I didn’t know what to do with it. It made me realise that I wanted to make perfumes that people actually want to wear and not smell like death. Although I am really curious if anyone has been able to use Cadaverine in a perfume.

M.P.S.: Besides your experience working in the morgue, I’m curious if there’s anything else that inspired your start in perfume? 

AR: I remember just before COVID, I wanted to turn my boyfriend's natural body odour into a perfume; we joked that we would sell it and call it SWEAT. I bought a bottle of perfumer's alcohol, and it sat in the drawer for over a year before I started experimenting with it. And then the day at the morgue happened, which was when I became fascinated with the power of scent and what visceral reactions it can have on someone. It almost felt like a forgotten sense to me that I had rediscovered through this experience.

M.P.S.: I’m always enamoured by stories like that. It’s not only experiences that shape us, but the people we find along the way, the communities we develop, and the connections we forge. It brings to mind how we actually met by chance, as I was writing an article for Jouissance Perfumes and I referenced your place of work — the erotica shop Ram Books in North London. I’ve only been to Ram twice, but it feels like such an enclave of the weird, strange, and perverted. No wonder I feel so comfortable there. But how does Ram, and working with erotica more broadly, shape how you approach perfumery? 

AR: My favourite category at Ram is the 1950s and ‘60s glamour magazines, featuring icons like Pamela Green and photographers such as Harrison Marks. I love everything about this era of erotica — from the dreamy neon pastels on film to the nostalgic set design and furniture that you would find at your Nan's house. The models appear ethereal and have a glow-like aura, photographed in saturated boudoirs with exaggerated, sculpted hairstyles; they are so vivid you can almost smell the hairspray. Immersing myself in this imagery has shaped my approach to perfume — not just in the scents, where I like to explore the duality of femininity between primal and delicate, but also in the visual worlds that surround them.

M.P.S.: In my opinion, the duality of these images really comes across in your perfumes. And, on that note, how does your experience working with erotica shape your interests in perfumery? 

AR: I think it deepens my love for vintage scents, including the bottle and packaging design — so many of the bottles are artworks in their own right. Sometimes, while flipping through the magazines, I will spot vintage perfumes used as background props — some I've never heard of before — or I’ll find a cover featuring a woman standing semi-naked next to a bottle of Bandit. Or, if I get lucky, I will find an original sealed perfume sample stuck between the pages, like a little scented time capsule. 

M.P.S.: Your visuality is an element of the perfume that really strikes a chord with me. Alongside your experience in the erotic, I know you worked in fashion — particularly for Vivienne Westwood — for a number of years. Does your experience in fashion shape your approach to perfumery? 

AR: Yes, I think it does — I see scent in colour and I like to feel the textures, so I work in a very similar way to designing a collection. I usually begin with visual research and then start matching the perfume materials to these references, in the same way I would select fabrics to reflect a mood or theme. Compounding formulas is also similar to the trial-and-error process of toiling garments, except instead of sewing, I'm using a scale to weigh out formulas. 

M.P.S.: You described to me that Mons Venus, Dauphine, and Josephine in Furs as representing a boudoir triptych — could you expand on that for me? What sort of a boudoir? What sort of fabrics? Silks, velvets, pinks, reds, blacks? These scents bring to mind Belle du Jour on a CRT television. 

AR: A lot of my research for Dauphine came from oil paintings of Marie Antoinette poised in her early years as the Dauphine of France, dressed in blue-lilac silk and frilled lace-corseted gowns, with lilacs and ribbons woven through her powdered hair. I imagined her chamber filled with vases of lilacs and framed by pale blue satin drapes. I wanted the scent to feel coquettish and blue-toned, like a powdery, plastic lilac.

Josephine in Furs represents the peach boudoir with champagne-gold accents. It has soft peach silk curtains, plush carpets, a champagne bedspread, and a big gold chandelier in the centre. There's definitely a white fur rug on the floor, and a vanity scattered with used makeup and a powder puff. And there's probably some light sandalwood burning in the background. 

Mons Venus represents the purple, velvet suede-like boudoir. I envisioned it like the yin to Josephine in Furs’ more angelic yang. It’s almost like an alternate dimension,  where while the dressing table in Josephine in Furs is perfectly poised and pretty, the one in Mons Venus has shattered glass and snuffed-out candles. It has a dusty-violet note and a darker undertone. It feels like smoking a long cigarette in soft black leather opera gloves.

Photos by Roxy Lee.

M.P.S.: Josephine in Furs is one of my favourites, the aldehydic, sweet peach opening that dries down to a musk is very reminiscent of iconic scents like Guerlain’s Mitsouko, and other “old-school” feminine fragrances like Naomi Goodsir’s Cuir Velours. It holds this incredible aura of vintage glamour. What was the inspiration behind this fragrance? 

AR: A lot of the inspiration behind Josephine in Furs came from the idea of Old Hollywood and the platinum blondes of that time — Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Mansfield, Diana Dors, Jean Harlow, and Mamie Van Doren. That era had this heightened, almost surreal sensuality and darkness that I endlessly obsess over. Josephine is actually a reference to my Nan, who I've always seen as this cinematic, Marilyn Monroe-type figure in terms of her aura, beauty, and talent — they were also born in the same year. When she passed away, I kept her makeup bag, and now the scent of her makeup powder and lipstick is like a portal — it takes me back to watching her get ready at her dressing table, which I also kept and have in my bedroom now.

M.P.S.: Speaking of Josephine in Furs, you sent me a wonderful selection of reference images that inspired your perfume collection. I was beyond excited to see several images of Diana Dors in the Josephine in Furs folder. I could clamour on about the enigma that is the Siren of Swindon for days. Do you know she claimed to have auditioned for Powell & Pressburger’s Black Narcissus, which, if true, means she auditioned for one of Britain’s most iconic erotically charged films at the age of 15? What about Diana Dors — and other iconic women like her — inspires you and your perfumes? 

AR: No, I didn't know that! The images I sent you are from a tiny magazine called Diana Dors in 3D. She is photographed nude, wrapped in this white fur stole, and the images are printed in this neon acid-peach tone that gives them a fuzzy, radioactive quality. I wanted Josephine in Furs to emulate this visual feeling of these images. Diana has always been a muse alongside Marilyn, whom I feel most enamoured with. 

M.P.S.: I have to say that another one of my favourites is Viva Maria. Now, this is pretty big coming from me, as I have never been a lactonic enthusiast. But there’s something about the salty brine, the crushed seashells, the sand in-between toes, sticky sweat-slicked and sun-kissed skin motif that I am absolutely in love with. It’s especially good on top of sun cream. In terms of notes, it’s creamy, lactonic, and salty. We spoke about this fragrance in reference to Secretions Magnifiques, where you hoped Viva Maria was a more palatable fragrance that indeed possessed similarities whilst being wildly different. Given its lactonic motifs, how did you navigate the more provocative angle with something so subtle and beautiful? 

AR: Viva Maria is rooted in Italian iconography — I’ve spent a lot of time in Italy over the last few years, especially in Rome and in the South. I am always drawn to the deep symbology [there], especially in the Madonna, the ultimate matriarch, where there is this interplay between purity and sacrifice, life and death. There is a subtle lactonic jasmine note that was my way of referencing the breast milk — something both sacred and bodily, nurturing and animal. I contrasted this with a salty seashell accord to represent that same duality between the maternal and the erotic. And although I hate Sécrétions Magnifiques, there’s still something [addictive] about the way scent can evoke bodily fluids, intimacy, and revulsion. 

M.P.S.: What really fascinates me about the collection is the ideas of artifice and interiority. The perfume simultaneously constructs fantasies of the self, whilst also expressing inner desire and the inner self. It's bold yet secretive. Was this something you were considering when creating the perfumes? 

AR: It’s interesting — while I always begin with the intent to create a mood, a feeling, or [an] alter ego, scent is so subjective that I can never control how it will be perceived. When someone who doesn’t know me smells my work, there’s a vulnerability about it. The way you described the perfumes to me — without any context —  felt like you were giving me an eerily accurate psychic reading. It made me realise I may have revealed more of myself through the perfumes than I ever intended to.

M.P.S.: Scent is a portal — but you never really know where you’ll end up. You told me that a friend of yours described one of your scents as similar to “opening a package of vintage stockings”. I find it really interesting that in your olfactory expressions of sex, sensuality, and pleasure, there’s a real focus on objects and materials of sexuality, rather than just the bodily materials. 

AR: I really love the stocking analogy. I think this has been unconscious, but I guess it must link back to my background in fashion design, and from being a visual person. It is a concept I want to continue to explore.

M.P.S.: We’ve spoken about your visuality as a key cornerstone in the perfume’s construction, and I wanted to further that point. One of the elements of perfumery that I love, and I think is utilised even subconsciously by perfumers, is the ability to transcend the more traditional sense of the “gaze” as found in visual culture. As it’s not a visual medium, but an olfactory and thus sensorial one, the whole idea of the gaze shifts significantly. In actually wearing a perfume, the visual sense is overridden by the olfactory sense. Given the inspiration behind your work, I was curious to hear what you think of this? 

AR: That’s such an interesting observation. I do think perfume shifts the power dynamic of the gaze in a compelling way. Unlike visual mediums — where the body is looked at and often consumed passively — scent is invisible and difficult to control or define; it can trigger memory or desire without explanation. What I love about perfume is that it can be provocative without being explicit in a visual or literal way. Unless someone understands what certain notes or materials reference, it leaves more room for provocation. For example, indole occurs naturally in faeces as well as white flowers such as jasmine; therefore, how do you know if the perfumer intended the perfume to smell just like a beautiful flower, or if they were adding a darker layer to it? In this way, perfumery can push boundaries far more quietly and interestingly than visual culture allows.

M.P.S.: Yes, exactly. I find this fluidity in perfume so fascinating; the line between the abject and the sublime is often crossed, something like a Janus-head, always influenced by each other. 

But, speaking on abjection and the splendid, I’m really interested in the moment we’re having culturally, where it seems that sexuality is both at the forefront but also intensely scrutinised from all angles, particularly expressions of sexuality from women. We have photographers like Roxy Lee shooting wonderful campaigns for Martine Rose (and also for Faux Rose, of course), books by fetishists like Anastasiia Fedorova published through Granta on fetish and kink, and Kylie Jenner collaborating with designers like Dilara Findikoğlu. And yet, Sabrina Carpenter’s album cover wreaks complete havoc on social media. Given your clear interest in erotica, I was wondering if you had any thoughts on this, especially with creating perfume art inspired by erotica. 

AR: That theme of duality definitely comes up again here. I don’t think the tension or division around sexuality is anything new — it’s always been there — and it will probably only get more intense with the upcoming and confusing internet censorship laws enacted in the UK this year. I think what's shifted the most is how immediate and visible people’s reactions are now because of digital media. Expressions of sexuality and erotic autonomy have always existed in this strange space between freedom and control, and I think that duality is just as present today. While you’ve got kink and fetish aesthetics becoming more accepted in mainstream fashion, music, and media, there’s still this discomfort when people express sexuality on their own terms.

M.P.S.: And finally, just because I’m curious, what’s your favourite scent in the collection? 

AR: Right now, it’s Viva Maria as it reminds me of summer in Italy, but otherwise it’s Josephine in Furs.

Faux Rose’s perfumes have been a feature of The Hard Sell — a women-centric design pop-up based in London — for both installments, most recently ending in June of 2025. Going from strength to strength, the Faux Rose collection is now also available for purchase at Melbourne’s Sanguin Studios, as well as featuring alongside a host of iconic designers and pave-way renegades through APOC Store’s London shopfront from the 18th of July. Or if that’s not your style, buy straight from the source.

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M.P.S is a writer, zine-maker, part-time urban researcher, full-time perfume over-thinker, maximalist fashion enjoyer,   and creature from East London. You can find her looking gorgeous on Instagram as @_femmedetta or giving unsolicited opinions as  @cyberyamauba on X.