Bvlgari
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The green mandarin arrives with its sharp, slightly bitter peel oil meeting that curious aquatic note—think freshly filled vases, flower stems underwater, a coolness that's more vegetal than marine. There's an immediate transparency here, like looking through pale green glass.
Jasmine and pear blossom emerge with surprising gentleness, creating a soapy-clean florality that the white peony reinforces with its soft, barely-there sweetness. The pistachio begins its subtle work now, adding a creamy-green undertone that prevents this from becoming too sheer, too fleeting.
What remains is that intriguing powdery-musky skin scent, still carrying whispers of green through the blonde woods and lingering pistachio. It sits close, almost private—a mineral softness that reads more like expensive soap residue than conventional perfume.
Omnia Green Jade translates the cool, watery opacity of nephrite into liquid form—a jade pendant held under running spring water. Alberto Morillas constructs something genuinely unusual here: a fresh scent that eschews the typical ozonic brightness for something more substantial, almost mineral in character. The green mandarin leads with its bitter rind rather than sunny flesh, immediately grounded by an aquatic accord that reads less like marine synthetics and more like the green, chlorophyll-laden scent of crushed stems in cold water. What makes this compelling is the pistachio in the base—not roasted or gourmand, but green and slightly milky, lending an unexpected creaminess that tempers the jasmine's potential sharpness. The white peony and pear blossom create a soft, soap-bubble delicacy in the heart, but they're anchored by that persistent vegetal quality, preventing the composition from drifting into generic floral territory. There's a powdery musk drydown that feels almost mineral-dusted, like talc on damp skin. This wears best on those who appreciate restraint, who want their presence suggested rather than announced. It's for humid summer mornings, linen shirts, bare collarbones. The sort of scent that makes you lean closer to catch it properly—deliberate understatement rather than timid formulation. Not ground-breaking, perhaps, but executed with enough nuance to avoid the aquatic-floral doldrums that plagued the late 2000s.
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3.8/5 (165)