"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 begins with a striking lime note so sharp it nearly veers into vinegar territory. Within moments, it transitions to a sour, chemical scent reminiscent of the ink used in old cartridge pens, evoking imagery of pen-and-ink drawings. While it brings to mind Encre Noire, it lacks the same buzzy iso E-Super effect. Instead, Akro’s scent stretches the rubbery off-notes of vetiver into a sweaty-onion note akin to jasmine, which results in a pronounced “ink” accord. I wish I could say this smells pleasant, but it doesn't. It brings to mind the pungent aroma of epoxy rather than the clean, enticing smell of fresh magazine or printer paper.
Despite this, experiencing Cresp's interpretation of tattoo ink in a perfume is intriguing. There are subtle woody notes, likely from the birch, but the vetiver dominates, hence the connection to Encre Noir. Beneath these stronger elements lies that hint of jasmine, which reveals a green quality when detected. Cleverly crafted and surprisingly complex, Akro’s scent may not be wearable, but it certainly offers a unique olfactory experience.