Ibitira

Ibitira is Jacques Flori's meditation on Italian elegance, where the sharp, almost metallic bite of violet leaf tempers what could have been a saccharine floral composition into something far more architectural. The opening announces itself with lemon that feels purposefully austere—no sunny Mediterranean cliché here, but rather the pale oil expressed from winter fruit, its brightness amplified by the green, cucumber-like facets of that violet leaf. As the citrus recedes, a triumvirate of white flowers emerges: neroli's bitter orange petals dancing with orange blossom's indolic richness, whilst Bulgarian rose adds a peppery, almost geranium-like edge that prevents the composition from collapsing into boudoir sweetness.

The real genius lies in how Flori handles the Florentine iris—it appears not as the usual carroty, lipstick-powdery note, but as a pale grey veil that unifies the disparate elements, its dusty character binding to the vanilla (which reads more as resinous benzoin than actual pod) and cedar. This is powdery perfumery for people who normally find powdery scents cloying; there's a dryness here, almost chalky in the best sense, like tracing your finger through cosmetic powder that's been left open to the air. The vetiver and musk in the base provide earthiness without weight, keeping Ibitira tethered to skin rather than floating into abstraction. This is for the lover of vintage Guerlain who finds modern interpretations too timid, worn by those who understand that true luxury whispers rather than shouts.