Benetton
Benetton
209 votes
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Lily of the valley arrives like a shaft of pale light, green and aqueous, before the woody weight descends almost immediately. There's barely time to register the floral delicacy before gurjum balsam's turpentine-like smokiness and the medicinal pungency of oud take hold, creating an arrestingly dark first impression that makes you question everything the name promised.
The two ouds settle into a more cohesive voice—less barn-like, more temple incense—whilst amyris adds a dry, pencil-shaving quality that tempers the intensity. Amber begins its slow golden glow beneath the wood, labdanum contributing a leathery-sweet stickiness, and that peculiar mold note manifests as something akin to old parchment or cellar-stored wine barrels, earthy and strangely compelling.
What remains is a surprisingly intimate skin scent—creamy tonka and vanilla finally emerge from beneath the oud's shadow, softened by musk into something almost comforting. The wood persists as a dry, splintered frame around the sweetness, whilst labdanum's amber-resin warmth provides a honeyed depth that lingers close, revealing the fragrance's tender heart after hours of austere posturing.
Benetton's Blue Neroli is a fragrance of stark contrasts—a deceptive name for something far more shadowed than citrus brightness would suggest. The lily of the valley opening feels almost spectral, its green crispness immediately overwhelmed by an opaque cloud of woody-amber density. There's a peculiar tension here between the floral transparency attempting to break through and the insistent weight of not one, but two oud varieties pulling everything into earthy darkness. The Laotian and Cambodian ouds create a medicinal, almost fermented character that's softened—but never fully tamed—by vanilla and tonka bean sweetness. What makes this genuinely intriguing is the animalic undercurrent running throughout: gurjum balsam's smoky, leathery facets merge with labdanum's resinous warmth whilst that curious 'mold' note adds a damp, almost fungal mustiness that shouldn't work but somehow does. The amyris lends a cedar-like dryness that prevents the amber from becoming cloying, whilst musk provides an intimate skin-like quality to what could otherwise feel oppressively heavy. This isn't for the faint-hearted or the office-bound—it's for those who appreciate fragrances that challenge, who find beauty in decay alongside opulence. The sort worn by someone equally comfortable in a dusty antique shop as at a candlelit dinner, who understands that elegance needn't always smell clean. At its price point, it's an ambitious composition that punches well above its weight class.
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