The Story
Why it exists.
The beginning
Chris Rusak built After Every Ounce of Joy (Leaves My Body) around a phrase that wouldn't leave him alone during a mental health crisis, the kind of lexical anchor someone grips while waiting for the psychotic waves to recede. Released in 2019, it attempts to render a sensory warp, the perceptual distortion that arrives under extreme psychological duress. The title reads less like a product name and more like a timestamp from a difficult night, and the composition itself seems to want you to feel that specific destabilization rather than simply smell something pleasant.
The structure centers on pinyon pine resin Rusak foraged himself from Inyo National Forest in July 2019, processed as a studio tincture rather than sourced from a supplier. Pyrogenated amber and styrax join it, engineered to produce what the perfumer describes as a melting vinyl or burning plexiglass effect. Three types each of patchouli, vetiver, and synthetic musk layer underneath, calibrated to register simultaneously as rubber, sweat, and the dark, earthy smell of worm castings. It's a composition that prizes textural dissonance over harmony.
The evolution
The first twenty minutes are confrontational. Acetone and gasoline hit the skin like solvent fumes in a closed garage, a chemical brightness that makes the nose flinch before anything softer arrives. Vinyl and motor oil follow, dragging the scent toward something tarry, almost combustive. There's a moment around the forty-minute mark where the whole composition seems to come from somewhere else entirely, like burnt sugar mixed with new tire, before the pinyon pine and earthy notes finally cut through. The drydown is where AEOOJ earns its reputation. Patchouli and vetiver settle into the skin, the synthetic musks warm up, and the resins sweeten into something that reads like leather left in the sun. It lingers close for ten hours or more, and the next morning there's still a faint resinous hum on the wrist.
Cultural impact
AEOOJ has drawn a devoted following among wearers who describe it in physical, almost visceral terms, with recurring notes of burnt rubber, wet soil, vinyl seats in summer heat, the kind of textures you feel on skin before you consciously register them as scent. The fragrance attracts collectors who treat olfaction as material practice rather than self-presentation, people interested in what a composition can hold and communicate rather than what it projects across a room.
