Roberto Cavalli
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
Neroli arrives first with its characteristic bittersweet punch—orange blossom's sharper cousin, all petitgrain twigs and citrus pith. There's an almost medicinal cleanliness here, like expensive hotel soap, that feels deliberately spare. The sweetness teases at the edges but hasn't yet committed.
The tiaré blooms with its signature coconut-milk softness, but Lorson keeps it leashed—this isn't Coppertone, it's the memory of monoi oil absorbed into sun-warmed skin. The neroli hasn't disappeared entirely; it continues to provide a citrus-fresh counterpoint that stops the florals from becoming cloying. The powder begins to emerge, a gentle talc-like quality that adds an unexpected vintage dimension.
Brazilian rosewood asserts itself with its peculiar combination of sawdust and black pepper, creating a skin-scent that's woody-sweet rather than floral-sweet. The tiaré has softened into a creamy murmur, the neroli is gone, and what remains is this surprisingly androgynous woody comfort—like sandalwood's less opulent cousin with a whisper of vanilla.
Just Cavalli Her is an exercise in tropical restraint, where neroli's citrus-bitter clarity meets the narcotic richness of tiaré flower without tumbling into full-blown suntan oil territory. Nathalie Lorson has crafted something that feels like white linen dresses and terracotta tiles rather than beach resort clichés—the neroli maintains its petitgrain-tinged sharpness even as the tiaré unfolds its coconut-vanilla lactonic sweetness. What makes this interesting is the Brazilian rosewood base, which brings a spicy, almost peppery woodiness that keeps the composition from drowning in its own tropical indulgence. The powdery aspect emerges not from iris or violet, but from the way tiaré's natural cream-soft texture interacts with rosewood's subtle sawdust quality.
This is for someone who finds Diorella too austere but L'Artisan's Drôle de Rose too overtly creamy. There's a sweetness here, certainly, but it's tempered by neroli's inherent astringency and that woody backbone that prevents the whole affair from becoming saccharine. It wears close to the skin with an almost vintage sensibility—think 1970s Guerlain Chamade rather than contemporary aquatic florals. This is for warm afternoons in Portofino, not nightclubs in Milan. The unisex categorisation makes sense; the neroli provides enough brightness to read as traditionally fresh whilst the tiaré-rosewood combination has sufficient depth to avoid the pitfalls of generic feminine sweetness. It's uncomplicated but well-executed, like a perfectly ripe white peach.
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3.8/5 (208)