"Akro, in French, means 'addict,' you know?" Olivier Cresp explains on Akro's website. The focus on addiction is his brand's theme, with each fragrance representing another facet of compulsion. Ink is an "exploration of indulgences" in the tattoo direction, playing off the fact that some people get hooked on having untalented strangers brand them with permanent eyesores. Why not a perfume that smells like a tattoo parlor?
Akro's fragrance opens with an intense lime note, so astringent that it borders on vinegar. Within a few seconds it decompresses into a sour chemical smell, reminiscent of the ink that I used to insert into cartridge pens, back when I did a lot of pen-and-ink drawing. I'm reminded of Encre Noire, but Ink doesn't have the same buzzy iso E-Super effect, and instead relies on stretching the rubbery off-notes of vetiver into the sweaty-onions off-note of jasmine. This yields the bitter "ink" accord, though I wish it didn't. It's ink overload, the pong that radiates from epoxy jars, not the clean and perversely irresistible whiffs I get from magazine or printer paper.
With that said, it's fun to smell Cresp's conception of tattoo ink in perfume form. There are subtle woody underpinnings to its central accord, which must be the birch element, and vetiver is the most obvious note, hence the connection to Encre Noire. But tucked under these burlier pieces is the soft floral rasp of jasmine, which smells very green when I can find it. Clever and surprisingly complex, Akro's scent isn't especially wearable, but it's interesting nonetheless.