Lorenzo Villoresi
Lorenzo Villoresi
213 votes
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The initial spray delivers a concentrated burst of bergamot and mandarin that's almost shockingly natural, complete with that slight bitterness where essential oil meets rind. Within minutes, green floral accents begin creeping in from the edges, softening the citrus without sweetening it, whilst an undefined fruitiness adds unexpected roundness to what could have been a straightforward cologne.
As the first hour unfolds, narcissus and jasmine emerge with surprising restraint, their indolic character tempered by aromatic woods that smell more of sun-warmed bark than pencil shavings. The patchouli here functions as architectural support rather than starring player, its earthy presence anchoring the florals whilst allowing that initial freshness to persist as a translucent top layer.
By hour four, Aura Maris has settled into a skin-close veil of musk, amber, and residual woods that's more textured than typical clean musks—imagine laundered cotton with faint traces of dried flowers pressed between pages. The fragrance doesn't disappear so much as become intimate, a whisper of warmth that suggests you've spent the day somewhere considerably more interesting than an office.
Lorenzo Villoresi's Aura Maris reads like a Mediterranean coast captured in that precise moment when citrus groves meet salt-scrubbed cliffs—before the sun climbs too high, when the air still carries overnight dampness and green sap. The bergamot and mandarin here aren't the polite, spa-like citruses of countless summer flankers; they arrive with genuine vigour, their oils still clinging to bitter pith and torn leaves. There's an almost tactile fruitiness threading through the opening, not overtly identifiable but more like the ghost of stone fruit skin left on warm rocks. What makes this compelling is how quickly those aromatic woods begin their work, pulling the brightness earthward without snuffing it out entirely. The narcissus contributes a subtle indolic quality—not the full-throttle funk of tuberose, but enough to suggest actual flowers rather than dryer sheets. Jasmine and patchouli weave through the heart without dominating, creating a verdant undercurrent that prevents this from tipping into pure marine abstraction. By the time the musk and amber settle, you're left with something simultaneously clean and textured, like linen dried outdoors then worn for a day. This is for those who find most "fresh" fragrances insufferably hollow—people who want transparency but not translucence, who understand that real Mediterranean freshness smells of earth and resin as much as citrus and sea spray. It's unisex in the truest sense: indifferent to gendered expectations, simply well-constructed.
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3.5/5 (105)