Tiziana Terenzi
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
That rum accord hits with the force of overproof spirits—sweet but never simple, laced with nutmeg's prickle and elemi's piney-lemon brightness. The dried fruits feel almost fig-like, adding a sticky, concentrated darkness that suggests winter markets rather than summer orchards. It's boozy without being cloying, resinous without turning ecclesiastical just yet.
The frankincense emerges as the spiritual centre, its cool, smoke-tinged austerity clashing beautifully with tobacco's honeyed leather tones. Patchouli and vetiver form an earthy foundation that smells like turning soil mixed with ash, whilst the spice from the opening settles into a warm hum beneath everything. This is where Ursa reveals its complexity—each element distinct yet inseparable, creating a scent that's simultaneously devotional and debauched.
Indonesian oud's animalic facets merge with leather until it's impossible to distinguish hide from wood, both warmed by vanilla that's more resinous than sweet. The frankincense persists as a ghostly incense trail, whilst the patchouli deepens into something almost chocolatey without losing its earthy soul. What remains is a skin scent that's dense, warm, and utterly enveloping—like standing too close to a fire until your clothes absorb the smoke.
Ursa unfolds like a medieval apothecary caught fire—all dark resins, spiced spirits, and smoke-singed wood. Paolo Terenzi orchestrates a collision between Caribbean rum's molasses-thick sweetness and the austere spirituality of frankincense, creating an unsettling push-pull that refuses to settle into easy comfort. The elemi resin acts as a citrus-sharp catalyst in the opening, cutting through the dried fruit compote before the real weight arrives: a troika of patchouli, tobacco, and vetiver that smells like the earth beneath a bonfire. This isn't the polite, laundry-musk patchouli of contemporary compositions; it's the raw, soil-dark variety that speaks to actual plant matter rather than synthetic shortcuts.
The Indonesian oud weaves through the base with leather and vanilla, but don't expect this to veer into gourmand territory—the vanilla here reads more like cured pods in a tannery than crème brûlée. There's a deliberate roughness to Ursa, an unwillingness to smooth away its spikier edges. The nutmeg adds a narcotic warmth that bridges the gap between the boozy opening and the resinous heart, whilst the vetiver prevents the whole affair from becoming too syrupy. This is for the wearer who appreciates their fragrances dense and uncompromising—those who find Tom Ford's Tobacco Vanille too friendly, Nasomatto's Black Afgano too obvious. Ursa demands cold weather, low light, and the confidence to smell this deliberate, this weighted, this unapologetically intense.
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3.9/5 (177)