Sicily

The first spray is an assault of citrus pith and syrupy fruit—grapefruit's bitter pink flesh wrestling with peach's lactonic sweetness whilst pineapple adds a sharp, almost acidic fizz. Bergamot tries valiantly to introduce elegance but gets shouted down by mandarin's candied enthusiasm. It's loud, unsubtle, and impossibly cheerful in that slightly synthetic way that's become Mancera's signature.

As the fruit subsides (though never entirely disappears), jasmine and ylang-ylang emerge with their creamy, indolic warmth, creating an unexpected tropical-floral hybrid that shouldn't work but does. Rose adds a touch of soapy refinement whilst violet brings a peculiar powdered-sweet quality that recalls sugared violets from a Victorian sweetshop. The interplay between lingering citrus oils and these white florals creates something oddly compelling—like expensive shampoo designed by someone with maximalist tendencies.

What remains is a soft cocoon of white musk and skin, with ghostly traces of jasmine and the faintest citrus memory clinging to the edges. The woody notes finally reveal themselves as a barely-there cedar-like dryness that adds just enough structure to prevent total evaporation. It's pleasant, undemanding, and entirely forgettable—the fragrance equivalent of a satisfied sigh after all that initial drama.