Laura Biagiotti
Laura Biagiotti
196 votes
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Prune and blackcurrant dominate with almost jam-like immediacy, underpinned by peach's softer contours and a bright citric snap of bergamot that prevents everything from becoming murky. The green notes and osmanthus peek through like shadows—you're standing in a Venetian fruit market at dawn, surrounded by overripe abundance that somehow smells simultaneously fresh and dense.
The spice notes—cinnamon especially—emerge as the fruity opening recedes, transforming the composition into something warmer and distinctly powdered. The floral core (rose, jasmine, iris) settles into a creamy, almost almond-tinged sweetness as amber blooms underneath, whilst the cedar and civet add an animalic depth that prevents the composition from feeling overly perfumed or feminine. By the second hour, you're wrapped in a textile of amber and spice rather than suspended in fruit.
The base notes—benzoin, vanilla, tonka bean, and sandalwood—gradually subsume everything else into a soft, musk-laden amber sweetness that's almost skin-like in its intimacy. The civet becomes more prominent, lending a slightly animalic, almost human quality. What remains is a gossamer-thin veil of sweet, powdery amber that clings close to skin rather than projecting; it's less a fragrance now and more a subtle second skin.
Venezia arrives as a peculiar time capsule—a fragrance that refuses easy categorisation, oscillating between lush fruit preserve and spiced amber rather than committing wholly to either. The opening salvo of prune and blackcurrant, brightened by peach and a whisper of bergamot, creates something almost compote-like; it's the scent of overripe stone fruit caught mid-fermentation, yet the geranium and green notes prevent it from descending into jammy excess. There's a distinctly European sensibility here—less the aspirational floral of its contemporaries, more the slightly worn velvet of old Venetian palazzos.
What makes Venezia compelling is how its heart layers cinnamon and clove-inflected spice over a floral arrangement that refuses to demur. The rose and jasmine don't perform operatic showmanship; instead, they sit beneath the amber like objects sealed in resin. The iris adds a powdery restraint, whilst ylang-ylang contributes a honeyed thickness that complements rather than overwhelms. It's simultaneously sweet without being cloying—the amber and civet in the base prevent saccharine drift.
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