Tiziana Terenzi
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The grapefruit accord hits like biting into the fruit itself—bitter pith, tart flesh, and that peculiar aromatic oil from the zest all at once. The lemon adds a cleaner, sharper edge, cutting through with an almost aggressive brightness that announces your arrival before you've crossed the threshold. There's already a hint of something richer stirring underneath, a creamy sweetness that promises this won't stay innocent for long.
The tuberose and jasmine take over completely, their shared indolic heaviness transforming this from citrus cologne into something far more carnal and complex. The ambergris weaves through the white florals like a salty marine breeze, preventing the tuberose from becoming too cloying whilst the magnolia and lily add a delicate, almost soapy cleanliness. It's the scent of expensive body cream applied with a generous hand, still humming with remnants of grapefruit in the background.
The woods finally assert themselves—sandalwood's creamy warmth, cedar's pencil-shaving dryness, and patchouli's earthy sweetness creating a surprisingly robust base that holds onto ghost traces of tuberose. The citrus is long gone, leaving behind a skin-close veil that's woody, slightly musky from the ambergris, and still faintly floral. It's softer now, intimate rather than projecting, like finding a pressed flower between the pages of a wood-bound book.
Rosso Pompei reads like an opulent contradiction—a citrus explosion that refuses to behave itself, anchored by a white floral heart so creamy it borders on indecent. Paolo Terenzi's 2020 creation opens with the kind of grapefruit intensity that makes your eyes water, both pink and Sicilian varieties colliding with sharp Amalfi lemon in a spray of prismatic juice. But this isn't a linear cologne by any stretch; the fruit here is a glittering facade for what lurks beneath. Within minutes, a tidal wave of tuberose and jasmine grandiflorum surges up through the citrus, their lactonic richness clashing beautifully with the bright acid of the opening. The ambergris adds a saline, almost marine quality that keeps this from tipping into headshop territory—it's as if someone's spraying Fracas at a seaside farmer's market. The lily of the valley and magnolia provide a watercolour greenness that tempers the tuberose's butter-thick intensity, whilst the base of sandalwood, cedar, and patchouli creates a surprisingly robust frame for all this fruit-and-florals chaos. This is for the person who wants their white florals served with a side of sunshine—think silk shirts unbuttoned at fancy beach clubs, the kind of insouciant wealth that accessorises tuberose with fresh-squeezed juice. It's loud, confident, and thoroughly Italian in its refusal to whisper when it could shout.
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3.1/5 (77)