CHEZ CASTEL
Regular price£54 Sale priceThe blink of a Godardian eyelash, the pages of Proust, smoky curls of incense, the spark of a lemon drop cocktail, Parisian tongues and art deco jade, amber flames crackling to the sound of spilled champagne.
TOP — Juniper, Lemon, Pink Peppercorn
HEART — Pine, Incense, Champagne
BASE — Sandalwood, Amber, Velvet
220G candle. 45 hour burn time. Signature three-colour gradient glass. Matching recyclable ombré packaging.
Our candles are made using fully traceable, sustainable, high-grade vegan wax comprised of an all-natural blend of soy and rapeseed oils formulated to melt in an even, slow burn. Formulated, crafted and hand-poured in the UK. Designed to evoke that pure, deep bliss of the dance floor in fragrance as vibrant and layered as the glass that holds it, and the disco that inspired it.
Our signature three-colour gradient glass is crafted by hand in the UK. Each colour is individually sprayed by hand and heat-set, before the next pigment is applied. The result is a layered effect that makes no two Discothèque glasses the same. A one-of-a-kind curio meant to stay in your home long after your candle has burned.
Burn time is approximately 45 hours. For the best burning experience, trim the candle wick before each use. Read our Candle Care for complete instructions.
We offer free shipping on all orders over £70 within the UK. Orders are processed, shipped and delivered in 2-3 business days within the UK.
Worldwide shipping is available and shipping costs are calculated at checkout.
You can return any product purchased on our site within 14 days of delivery.
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He saw her across the room through smoky curls of incense. An infinite moment, like inky letters floating from the pages of Proust. There was a glance. The blink of a Godardian eyelash. Her scent of skin and suede. The spark of a lemon drop cocktail. He followed her through a labyrinth of skinny stairwells, Parisian tongues and art deco jade. Sconces of amber flames crackled to the sound of spilled champagne until he reached her. His hand followed the seam of black nylons, pressed against red walls, and rolled into leather banquettes. They melted into each other like Dali clocks. And burned, burned, burned like Kerouac poetry, exploding like spiders across the stars.