Brand Concept

Simone Andreoli is a name that defines olfactory compositions with memories of distant lands, imprinting reflections of a travel journal into every perfume, like the canvas of a painter or the stave of a musician.

The Journal tells of the constant wandering through the streets of the world which become individual areas, where olfaction becomes history, memory and emotion.

Its pages talk to us and, together with scents, guide us into our inner archive, leading us everywhere and to every place; sensory experience extends beyond skin and becomes a travelling depiction of distances and remote corners.

Perfume is the principal character, the narrator of stories that weave between written words and reminiscences thawed into a companionship of scents, where matter blends to lead us back to that forgotten beach or to the traffic of Wallstreet.

Travel is no longer simply a path to a place, but, rather, introspection, quest and knowledge. So we sail blown by perfume to the most difficult and mysterious journey of all: the discovery of your inner self.

2. Writings in the dark

These are scents conceived during nights of introspection and sleepless wakefulness. Inspirations originating from smoke and rum, permeating clothes with strong aromas. Nights of excess and perdition, of candles lightened by wrinkled blankets and, at the same time, of reflection and inner quietness. Their minimalist structure hides the sophisticated notes from paper and unveils them only to the skin, obscured diary of experiences that radiate the environment with ponderous, seducing and erotic notes.

Night falls, my room is left stark and I get dressed with memories which guide my steps among Dubai’s roads.

Gloom’s visage upon me. Mine the face, mine this mask of odours, extract of thoughts which opens the door of my inner archive. In my stopping, I do not halt; I observe and seek; I, nomadic citizen of my wandering, errant trace of far away destinations.

Cities and deserts, palaces and sand, smoke raises and delights my memories of frankincense which brings my childhood back to the street of this middle-eastern market.

Ablaze with the heat of these fading photographs, I linger suspended in the past and I surrender to the voice of vesper, an awaited reflex which has elected to take me so far from home, leading me closer to my heart.