Bvlgari Aqva Pour Homme. Never mind what Tania Sanchez said about it. Never mind what anyone else says about it. To any and all of my loyal "newbie" readers, those who take my reviews seriously, and actually take stock of what I say, I'd like to impart this little bit of wisdom to you: Aqva is a sporty aquatic done very well. If you think you hate aquatics, think you hate sports fragrances, think you hate hearing the words "fresh" and "clean" in the same sentence as "masculine scent," I think you should head over to the mall right now and ask for a spritz of this stuff. You'll find that a slew of reviews on this fragrance are totally misleading, and that a slew of reviewers have missed the boat on Aqva. No pun intended.
The truth about Bvlgari's signature aquatic masculine is that it's actually an aquatic white floral, with a raunchy arrangement of well-handled indoles comprising its heart. In regards to its review in The Guide, I suspect Ms. Sanchez sprayed some Aqva on her wrist, gave it an immediate sniff, wrinkled her nose at the non-existent ozonic-melon top notes, shook her head, and started typing. This scent has a truly uninspired opening, more a condensation of core elements, rather than a unique accord. I can almost understand stopping short at that stiff intro before heading for the scrub brush. Almost.
What happens two minutes later is what makes Aqva worthwhile. A delightfully skanky orange blossom and jasmine accord surfaces, all sweetness clipped away, bringing an almost-fecal indolic breath to the fore. Jacques Cavallier's careful integration of salinated green notes and bracing citruses keeps the stink at bay, balancing the heart perfectly, and sending its character into the stratosphere of inspired workmanship. For three hours on skin, Aqva is a careful tension between these earthy and salty elements, and smells like a briny sea breeze, and also like a dying bouquet. The indoles eventually calm down, and the far drydown makes way for a pleasant mist of remote fruit and cool white flowers, somewhat more polite, but still hinting at their past glory.
If this is a bare, wan, uninspired sporty aquatic, then I'm Micky Mouse.