Venice Rococo

$205.00 USD

Original bottle not included with sample/decant purchase. Scent Split rebottles the genuine fragrance into smaller bottles.

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Venice Rococo by Arquiste is a Floral Woody Musk fragrance for Women & Men

In a hidden alley in the heart of Venice lies a small ridotto, a secret apartment for intimate affairs. A rosewood door opens to a pastel-colored room of powder pink, pale green and pearl white. Suspended in a perfumed cloud of violet, rose and iris, stucco carvings of frothy clouds, delicate garlands and mischievous cherubs appear to dance in the gentle flicker of candlelight. Amidst this sensory haven, the strains of a mandolin emanate mysteriously from behind a wall, the musician concealed from prying eyes. The subtle background melody intertwines with the hushed conversations and shared laughter of two lovers, enveloping them in the enchantment of their clandestine encounter.

Release Year: 2024

Concentration: Eau de Parfum

Nose: Rodrigo Flores-Roux

 

Notes:

A coquettish, powdery floral capturing the decadence of 18th century Venice, its rococo interiors and clandestine affairs. Black violet, blush rose, and chamomile nestled on an impossibly soft base of dusty iris and subtle, animalic amber.

Ingredients: Alcohol Denat. (Alcool), Fragrance (Parfum), Water (Eau), Coumarin, Benzyl Salicylate, Linalool, Hydroxycitronellal, Alpha-Isomethyl Ionone, Citronellol, Geraniol, Hexyl Cinnamal, Anise Alcohol, Cinnamyl Alcohol, Benzyl Benzoate, Amyl Cinnamal, Isoeugenol, Benzyl Cinnamate, Cinnamal, Citral, Benzyl Alcohol, Eugenol, Farnesol, Limonene.

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S
Sarah W.
a fairy tale gone corrupt and perverse

In Arquiste Venice Rococco, the wedding party dissolves into wolves, but their powdered costumes and countenances still hang in the air – rice-white, chalk-soft, cloud-thick, falling like snow in a fairy tale gone corrupt and perverse. Powder piles in drifts against the walls, powder floats in sheets through candlelight, powder settles like ash on abandoned masks, powder dusts every surface until the mirrors suffocate in white. The scent floats between reality and nightmare, each breath drawing in more sweet, choking powder. Underneath all those layers of white lies something wild – teeth behind the powder puff, claws stirring up fresh clouds with every step. This is what's left at the banquet table after the cursed aristocrats' lycanthropic transformations, their abandoned feast drowning in drifts of violet-white dust, confections, and silverware scattered like bones beneath a blanket of perfumed snow.