So, you found the front door.

You were probably expecting the founder story.

The childhood obsession. The defining moment. The inevitable perfume brand.

Afraid not.

Kissing Gate began with perfume.

Then perfection became inconvenient.

A beautiful fragrance wasn't enough. It needed somewhere to stand. The room needed architecture. The architecture needed an attitude. The language had to know when to leave well enough alone.

And the obsession unfurled. Relentlessly.

Rooms. Wardrobes. Plots. Cultural references. Rules. Rituals. And very definite opinions about what was - and was not - coming through the front door.

Kissing Gate became architectural.

Not architecture as backdrop. Architecture as authorship. Every element considered in relation to the next, until perfume no longer sat inside a brand. It inhabited a House.

A House with its own eye. Its own language. Its own characters. Its own judgement. A signature carried from the thing in the bottle to everything surrounding it.

A world constructed with the same obsession as the perfume itself.

Perfume is still the reason we're here.

We simply refused to stop designing at the glass.