Van Cleef & Arpels
A unique visual signature based on accords, character, and seasonality
The first quarter-hour is an assertive triptych of citrus oils, each peel glistening and practically audible as it's twisted over skin. Pink pepper fizzes at the edges like sherbet, whilst cypress injects an almost gin-like botanical sharpness that keeps this firmly in the aromatic rather than purely fruity territory. There's a greenness here that bites—nothing soft, nothing yielding.
As the citrus volatiles dissipate, the orange blossom begins its slow emergence, but this isn't the creamy, indolic version that dominates so many florals. Instead, it arrives with a honeyed, almost waxy texture, still shot through with that persistent cypress note that lends an evergreen backbone. The pink pepper's heat has mellowed into a warm hum, creating an unexpected bridge between the brightness above and the richer tones developing below.
What remains is a skin-close veil of orange blossom absolute with a subtle, slightly leathery quality—the petals pressed and dried rather than fresh-cut. The citrus has become a memory, a faint zestiness that occasionally resurfaces, whilst the whole composition takes on an almost talc-like powderiness that's more mineral than cosmetic. It's quiet, composed, and surprisingly tenacious for something that began with such volatility.
Néroli Amara is Quentin Bisch's exercise in citrus precision, a fragrance that strips away the soliflore tendency to bury neroli under white florals and instead lets it reveal its bitter, green-tinged soul. The opening is a controlled detonation of hesperidic oils—bergamot's Earl Grey tartness colliding with lemon's acidic brightness and mandarin's softer, sweeter edge—but this isn't your typical Italian cologne redux. Within minutes, pink pepper introduces a prickly, almost resinous heat that prevents the citrus from slipping into pleasant oblivion, whilst cypress brings an unexpected coniferous sharpness, all needle-green and aromatic, as if you've brushed past Mediterranean scrub on your way to the coast.
What makes this compelling is how the orange blossom absolute anchors everything without turning soapy or indolic. Instead, it lends a honeyed, slightly leathery undertone that emerges gradually, tempering the brightness without smothering it. This is neroli for those who find traditional interpretations too prim, too wedding-bouquet polite. There's a garrigue-like dustiness here, a sunbaked quality that evokes terracotta rather than clean linen.
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3.6/5 (77)