Simone Andreoli
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Amarena cherry hits like a spoonful of preserve straight from the jar—dark, syrupy, with that characteristic medicinal-sweet edge that separates it from cheaper maraschino interpretations. The salted caramel weaves through immediately, its butterscotch richness cut with mineral salinity that keeps the red fruits from becoming one-dimensional. There's an almost boozy quality to these opening moments, as if someone's dissolved cherry sweets in bourbon.
Rose emerges gradually, its petals softened by vanilla cream until you can't quite separate flower from dessert. The ylang ylang adds a custard-like denseness, its banana-adjacent facets playing beautifully with the sugar accord to create something that smells like expensive patisserie rather than body spray. The cherry recedes but never disappears, lurking beneath the florals like jam between cake layers.
Tonka bean and amber form a warm, slightly powdery base that finally reins in the sweetness, though this never becomes austere. The precious woods—likely cedar or sandalwood—add just enough structure to prevent the composition from collapsing into pure confection. What remains is a skin-close veil of caramelised warmth, sweet but no longer shouty, like the scent of someone who spent the afternoon in a Venetian pasticceria and let it seep into their cashmere.
Vicebomb announces itself as precisely what the name suggests: an unrepentant sugar rush dressed in Italian flair. Simone Andreoli has crafted something that teeters on the edge of excess without quite toppling over, where amarena cherry—that dark, syrupy preserve from Bologna—collides with salted caramel in a way that feels more gelateria than perfume counter. There's a deliberate tension here between the tartness of red fruits and the saline edge cutting through the sweetness, preventing this from becoming another generic cherry-vanilla bore. The rose heart, bolstered by ylang ylang's creamy indoles, adds an unexpected floral depth that keeps you guessing—this isn't just gourmand paint-by-numbers. Instead, the florals swim through vanilla cream and sugar like petals dropped into panna cotta, their presence felt more as texture than overt bouquet. The base leans into amber and tonka's warmth without the heavy hand of patchouli or oud, keeping things plush rather than dense. This is for the person who wears Kilian and Xerjoff without apology, who understands that sweetness isn't juvenile when it's this deliberately composed. Wear it when you want to smell like the most decadent thing in the room—a velvet booth in a members' club where the cocktails cost £25 and nobody blinks. It's playful without being silly, indulgent without being cloying, a fragrance that knows exactly what it is and doesn't apologise for any of it.
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