Body butter for men
South Louisiana in its bones.Made for the men who move different.
Launching soon. The list gets in first.
Where it comes from
Jeanerette. Sugar City. Cane and cypress, Bayou Teche running slow through the middle of it. That’s home — that’s where I’m from, where the story begins.
New Orleans is where I became who I am. School — Xavier, UNO. Work — Gentilly, Canal Street. Life — House of Blues, Frenchmen St, Le Bon Temps. Love — married a woman from the city. So when I talk about New Orleans, I’m not describing a place I visited during Mardi Gras. I’m talking about experiences.
That’s what’s in every jar. Not a mood board, a postcard, nor somebody’s idea of Louisiana — the cane, the cypress, the bayou, the trip down Highway 90, the city. My life, my experiences, worn as scent.
And it’s built on something bigger than me: the unity and excellence that is the culture. Showing up for each other. Keeping the standard high. For the men that move different. That’s who I made this for.
The first three
Still in the lab. Here’s where they’re headed.
The flagship
The crowd behind the band.
When the brass turns the corner, the second line follows, dancing and pulling the whole street in with it. Vibrant. Hypnotic. A pulse that keeps building until it hits fever pitch. Wear it at noon or at midnight.
Built as opposites. One burns. One waits.
Heat
Harvest burn. Night heat.
Out in cane country, the harvest ends in fire. Smoke riding the night air, a dark sweetness underneath, warmth you feel before you see it. Sultry and primal. Cane Fire doesn’t hold back.
Restraint
Frenchmen Street, late fall.
The first cool night of the season. Live jazz leaking out of open doors, warm skin meeting a breeze off the river. Something’s about to happen, and nobody’s in a hurry. Marigny Nights holds back on purpose.
The rest of the lineup
The full lineup gets revealed later. When it’s ready, the waitlist hears first.
The waitlist
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