Bvlgari
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The first spray is an assault of green cardamom pods cracked open with your teeth—sharp, eucalyptic, almost menthol-cool despite the warmth suggested by the notes. Saffron lends a leathery, iodine-like bitterness whilst ginger adds juice and sting, creating an opening that's more apothecary than perfume counter.
As the initial aggression settles, the masala chai accord emerges in full force, cinnamon and clove creating a dusty, red-brown haze that's simultaneously comforting and intense. The almond note becomes more pronounced, its sweet nuttiness softening the spice onslaught whilst lotus adds an elusive, almost soapy floral whisper that keeps this from becoming purely edible.
Hours later, Omnia reveals its true amber bones—a woody, resinous base where tonka bean's hay-like sweetness mingles with guaiac's smoky, Band-Aid quality. The white chocolate finally surfaces as a creamy undertone rather than a distinct note, binding sandalwood's gentle warmth with lingering traces of cinnamon, like the ghost of a spice biscuit left too long in a wooden drawer.
Omnia announces itself as a spirited collision of spice market exotica and millennial-era opulence. Alberto Morillas crafted something genuinely audacious here: a fragrance that treats cardamom, ginger, and saffron not as supporting players but as the main event, their sharp, almost metallic brightness amplified by pepper's bite. This is spice worn without apology, without the usual softening veil of vanilla or musk to make it palatable. The heart's masala chai accord—complete with cinnamon's red-hot sweetness and nutmeg's dusty warmth—creates an almost synaesthetic experience, as though you're breathing in steam from a terracotta cup. Almond adds an unexpected marzipan richness that bridges the gap between the incendiary opening and the gourmand tendencies lurking beneath.
What makes Omnia fascinating is how it balances on the knife-edge between an Oriental spice bomb and something genuinely edible. The white chocolate in the base isn't cloying; instead, it provides a creamy, slightly waxy smoothness that tempers guaiac wood's medicinal smoke and sandalwood's pale warmth. This is for those who find most amber fragrances too timid, who want their spice to have teeth. It's the scent of someone who wears jewel tones and isn't afraid of patterns, who orders the most complex dish on the menu. Unabashedly bold for 2003, Omnia remains a fascinating study in how far one can push warmth before it combusts.
Add fragrances to your collection and unlock your personalised scent DNA, note map, and shareable identity card.
4.0/5 (112)