An independant publication on the cultural life of fragrance.
SEP 8 2026
WE BOUGHT THE BACKROOMS PERFUME SO YOU DON’T HAVE TO
I’m not particularly obsessed with the Backrooms movie– it was a pleasant watch, it didn’t bother me nor blow my mind. However, a perfume inspired by an analog horror film–an ode to ancient YouTube videos hailing back to my time in middle school when I wore panty-liners just to feel something– is (unfortunately) right up my alley.
And so, on a hot summer day, I drove down to the land border to cross into the Great United States to pick up the Backrooms and Skype perfumes from Unjust Jewelry. I was tickled by this brand from the beginning– exotic frutiger aero visuals made to tantalize zillenials aside, I am always impressed by a brand that manages to successfully capitalize on nostalgia without it being particularly corny. More of my favorites include the Torrent bracelet and the Legend of Zelda sticker pack, but both were sold out. If Mr. Unjust is reading this, please do send them my way. Apparently the brand has been under heat as of late for trying to trademark the IP behind the fruitiger aero aesthetic– I don’t even know how that works but I think I’ll just let the wonderful American judicial system sort that one out.
If you’re wondering why I had to order to the USA, it’s because of the insipid Canadian laws surrounding alcohol percentages in perfume. I noticed if you’re in Canada, you can now order a travel-sized Backrooms perfume oil– I suppose this is to skirt around the laws. This product was apparently made in collaboration with a man who calls himself RomancePlanet, who upon further research appears to be a hardstyle DJ whose ethos lies at the intersection of wholesale-schizo-90’s-rave-nostalgia-baiting, and what young audiences seem to think Basshunter was doing.
After I secured the goods from my PO box, I was met with border agents blocking off the road. I thought there was a terrorist threat or something, the way their car was parked diagonally across the road– either that or they were filming 24 Jump Street. Turns out it was a roadside search checkpoint. Having crossed this border countless times and never encountering them, I found myself nervous at the prospect of strangers pillaging my car when not even I knew what exactly was in it. Any trace of packaging from an edible or a receipt could mean jail time – I would not fare well in prison.
I parked, rolled the windows down, and put on my best “hello officer, what seems to be the problem?” face. He said his spiel, so I opened the trunk and let his goons search my 2006 Toyota Corolla. As they worked, I explained what I had been in town for. I showed him my perfumes with great enthusiasm– he requested to smell the Skype one– I offered to spray it for him, but he elected to just smell the cap, a move that typically would bother me but I didn’t feel like insisting that this border agent needed to be sprayed with Skype liquid. He affirmed that it smelt fresh. I wanted so badly to shoot the shit with him and have him test the Backrooms frag too, but that probably would have landed me a spot in secondary inspection. They put the 100 tons of various archived sporting goods and windshield washer fluid back in my trunk, and let me go.
I got home and carefully examined my new items. The Backrooms perfume came in a box printed with the classic image of the movie poster. Hard cardboard opened to reveal the bottle encased in foam padding. The bottle is modest, with a simple backdrop of classic yellow wallpaper peeking through the dingy liquid. The cap is gold, complimenting the mustardy-greige backdrop nicely.
I found myself anxious to test the smell. With these novel perfumes inspired by eccentric source material (think Toskovat's spinal fluid accord), I feel the creative process has to be intentional. The perfume can either be interpreted as wearable and a little bit weird, wearable and normal, or completely repulsive, its sole purpose to act as a sort of sensory art piece. I was dying to know which approach had been taken here.
The notes listed in the copy are “old wallpaper, wet carpet, mahogany and dust, with the heart and base notes being dark musk, cedar, leather, and a hazy ozonic spaciousness & ceiling tile.” I sprayed a marginal amount in the air, feeling scared. I hadn’t felt that much anxiety smelling a perfume in a long time– I felt mad at myself, like I needed to pull myself up by the bootstraps and just smell the god damn Backrooms perfume.
Upon the first sniff, I got whacked in the face with a brick-shaped slough of what I can only describe as what you’d get if you took a classic men’s fougère and pickled it. It was sour beyond sour. I attribute this to the wet carpet note– but not really soaking wet carpet, more so a damp carpet that's been in a basement suite, deep underground and untouched for 56 years. The source of the moisture feels like it came from a leak in the ceiling, perhaps from the plumbing pipes a floor above– one drop welting up slowly over the course of many days, until it finally swells over and falls into the same spot on the rug it's been dripping onto for decades. Like a dog's dish that's been licked and slobbered all over daily, dried up in the sun, saliva crusting over.
Once the sourness dissipates, it dries down into a semi-approachable woodsy cologne, the leather and cedar providing a life line to climb upon and rest. The first time I wore it out was entirely unplanned – I was getting ready to leave to see a movie and panicked in indecision not knowing what perfume to wear. I grabbed the Backrooms bottle as it was fresh on my mind and in clear view on my vanity, and sprayed it in a way that shouldn’t be allowed– I applied it to my wrists, neck, and décolletage. I ran out the door, not wanting to be late for a screening of Maddie's Secret, and as I drove, the aroma was absolutely gobsmacking.
It was that specific, fermented-mahogany-ladybug-innards aroma that had me reeling. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t expecting for this fragrance to become a top favorite of mine, but I was at least hoping it wouldn’t make my stomach flip the way it does. Thankfully by the end of the day, it wore like your run-of-the-mill Le Labo masc-magnet. I suppose the product served its purpose, which is to compliment the implied horror of the film, however I’d argue that the perfume was scarier than the movie itself. Will I be reaching for it again anytime soon? Absolutely not. Will I display it fondly on my vanity as a souvenir for this hyper-saturated consumer era? Obviously.
WE BOUGHT THE BACKROOMS PERFUME SO YOU DON’T HAVE TO
BY LAUREN LEXA BROWN
This perfume almost got us a cavity search at the Canadian border. Was it worth it?
And so, on a hot summer day, I drove down to the land border to cross into the Great United States to pick up the Backrooms and Skype perfumes from Unjust Jewelry. I was tickled by this brand from the beginning– exotic frutiger aero visuals made to tantalize zillenials aside, I am always impressed by a brand that manages to successfully capitalize on nostalgia without it being particularly corny. More of my favorites include the Torrent bracelet and the Legend of Zelda sticker pack, but both were sold out. If Mr. Unjust is reading this, please do send them my way. Apparently the brand has been under heat as of late for trying to trademark the IP behind the fruitiger aero aesthetic– I don’t even know how that works but I think I’ll just let the wonderful American judicial system sort that one out.
If you’re wondering why I had to order to the USA, it’s because of the insipid Canadian laws surrounding alcohol percentages in perfume. I noticed if you’re in Canada, you can now order a travel-sized Backrooms perfume oil– I suppose this is to skirt around the laws. This product was apparently made in collaboration with a man who calls himself RomancePlanet, who upon further research appears to be a hardstyle DJ whose ethos lies at the intersection of wholesale-schizo-90’s-rave-nostalgia-baiting, and what young audiences seem to think Basshunter was doing.
After I secured the goods from my PO box, I was met with border agents blocking off the road. I thought there was a terrorist threat or something, the way their car was parked diagonally across the road– either that or they were filming 24 Jump Street. Turns out it was a roadside search checkpoint. Having crossed this border countless times and never encountering them, I found myself nervous at the prospect of strangers pillaging my car when not even I knew what exactly was in it. Any trace of packaging from an edible or a receipt could mean jail time – I would not fare well in prison.
I parked, rolled the windows down, and put on my best “hello officer, what seems to be the problem?” face. He said his spiel, so I opened the trunk and let his goons search my 2006 Toyota Corolla. As they worked, I explained what I had been in town for. I showed him my perfumes with great enthusiasm– he requested to smell the Skype one– I offered to spray it for him, but he elected to just smell the cap, a move that typically would bother me but I didn’t feel like insisting that this border agent needed to be sprayed with Skype liquid. He affirmed that it smelt fresh. I wanted so badly to shoot the shit with him and have him test the Backrooms frag too, but that probably would have landed me a spot in secondary inspection. They put the 100 tons of various archived sporting goods and windshield washer fluid back in my trunk, and let me go.
I got home and carefully examined my new items. The Backrooms perfume came in a box printed with the classic image of the movie poster. Hard cardboard opened to reveal the bottle encased in foam padding. The bottle is modest, with a simple backdrop of classic yellow wallpaper peeking through the dingy liquid. The cap is gold, complimenting the mustardy-greige backdrop nicely.
I found myself anxious to test the smell. With these novel perfumes inspired by eccentric source material (think Toskovat's spinal fluid accord), I feel the creative process has to be intentional. The perfume can either be interpreted as wearable and a little bit weird, wearable and normal, or completely repulsive, its sole purpose to act as a sort of sensory art piece. I was dying to know which approach had been taken here.
The notes listed in the copy are “old wallpaper, wet carpet, mahogany and dust, with the heart and base notes being dark musk, cedar, leather, and a hazy ozonic spaciousness & ceiling tile.” I sprayed a marginal amount in the air, feeling scared. I hadn’t felt that much anxiety smelling a perfume in a long time– I felt mad at myself, like I needed to pull myself up by the bootstraps and just smell the god damn Backrooms perfume.
Upon the first sniff, I got whacked in the face with a brick-shaped slough of what I can only describe as what you’d get if you took a classic men’s fougère and pickled it. It was sour beyond sour. I attribute this to the wet carpet note– but not really soaking wet carpet, more so a damp carpet that's been in a basement suite, deep underground and untouched for 56 years. The source of the moisture feels like it came from a leak in the ceiling, perhaps from the plumbing pipes a floor above– one drop welting up slowly over the course of many days, until it finally swells over and falls into the same spot on the rug it's been dripping onto for decades. Like a dog's dish that's been licked and slobbered all over daily, dried up in the sun, saliva crusting over.
Once the sourness dissipates, it dries down into a semi-approachable woodsy cologne, the leather and cedar providing a life line to climb upon and rest. The first time I wore it out was entirely unplanned – I was getting ready to leave to see a movie and panicked in indecision not knowing what perfume to wear. I grabbed the Backrooms bottle as it was fresh on my mind and in clear view on my vanity, and sprayed it in a way that shouldn’t be allowed– I applied it to my wrists, neck, and décolletage. I ran out the door, not wanting to be late for a screening of Maddie's Secret, and as I drove, the aroma was absolutely gobsmacking.
It was that specific, fermented-mahogany-ladybug-innards aroma that had me reeling. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t expecting for this fragrance to become a top favorite of mine, but I was at least hoping it wouldn’t make my stomach flip the way it does. Thankfully by the end of the day, it wore like your run-of-the-mill Le Labo masc-magnet. I suppose the product served its purpose, which is to compliment the implied horror of the film, however I’d argue that the perfume was scarier than the movie itself. Will I be reaching for it again anytime soon? Absolutely not. Will I display it fondly on my vanity as a souvenir for this hyper-saturated consumer era? Obviously.
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