Juliette Has A Gun
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
That lime hits with an almost painful brightness, immediately swaddled in hedione's peculiar transparent glow—imagine biting into citrus peel whilst standing in a white-tiled bathroom with windows thrown open. The neroli adds a slightly bitter, petitgrain-adjacent greenness that keeps the opening from becoming too sweet or obvious.
The jasmine finally makes itself known, though it's more of a jasmine-shaped absence than a full-throated white floral—hedione creates this curious effect where you smell the idea of jasmine rather than the flower itself. The whole thing hovers close to skin now, a sustained note of clean radiance with that characteristic soapy-but-not-soap quality that marks well-executed synthetic florals.
Pure ambroxan territory: that warm, mineralised skin-scent with a whisper of powder, like expensive talc on sun-heated flesh. The citrus has long departed, leaving only a memory of freshness, whilst the florals have collapsed into a single, unified glow that sits in that addictive space between clean and sensual.
Anyway is Romano Ricci's calculated exercise in transparent radiance, a fragrance that feels less like wearing perfume and more like stepping into a shaft of white morning light. The lime here isn't your typical citrus shriek—it's softened and diffused through a generous haze of hedione, that jasmine derivative that smells like sun-warmed air rather than actual flowers. This is the hedione molecule doing what it does best: creating space, luminosity, an almost hallucinogenic sense of cleanness that hovers just beyond natural. The neroli adds a bitter-floral edge that keeps things from sliding into laundry territory, whilst the jasmine itself remains impressionistic, more felt than overtly smelled. Ambroxan forms the skeletal structure beneath it all, that dry, mineral quality modern perfumery has become utterly dependent upon.
The effect is deliberately synthetic in the best sense—this isn't trying to convince you it's made from hand-crushed botanicals. It's unabashedly chemical, a cool aldehydic shimmer that feels futuristic despite being a decade old. There's an appealing austerity here, a refusal to seduce through conventional means. The powdery aspects emerge as skin chemistry warms the ambroxan, creating that distinctive 'expensive laundry dried in Positano' effect. This is for those who've grown weary of gourmands and oud bombs, who want something that suggests rather than announces. Wear it to feel like you've just emerged from a very minimalist, very expensive shower. It's the olfactory equivalent of good bone structure.
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3.3/5 (86)