When I look back, my fragrance journey is really part of a bigger life pattern for me. I’ve always started with what was accessible, but over time, I found myself wanting the real thing. When I was younger, I had a Kawasaki KZ900. It was a good bike, but I took the emblems off because, in my mind, it wasn’t a Harley. It wasn’t about the Kawasaki being bad. It was about knowing what I really wanted. The same thing happened with watches. Fake watches scratched the surface for a while, but once I finally bought the Rolex, I understood the difference. The fake could copy the look, but it could not copy the feeling, the pride, the quality, or the personal achievement behind owning the real thing. Fragrance has followed that same path. My designer journey really started with Yves Saint Laurent Kouros. That was the first designer fragrance I bought on my own in 1981, and I have always owned it. Kouros was not just another bottle to me. It represented stepping into fragrance on my own terms. It was bold, masculine, confident, and unforgettable. That one became part of my story. Then came fragrances like Drakkar Noir and a few other designers from that era. Those were the scents that shaped a lot of men’s fragrance memories. They were powerful, recognizable, and they had character. Back then, designers had identity. They were not just endless flankers chasing trends. They felt like statements. Later, when niche and artisan fragrances became more interesting to me, clones became a way to explore expensive scent profiles without jumping straight into full bottles. I still think clones have a place. They can be useful, especially when you are learning what you like or trying to understand a scent profile before spending serious money. But at one time, I owned several hundred clones, and after a while, it just was not satisfying. Seeing all of those bottles sitting on the shelf every day did not give me the same feeling as owning the real fragrance. There was no real story behind many of them. No connection to the original artist. No history with the house. No feeling that I owned the actual creation.

This is a sit-up-and-take-notice fragrance from a comparatively new niche house that knows how to do British perfumery right. The house was launched precisely to provide traditional men’s perfumery done in a slightly modern way. It succeeds. But Arezzo (as opposed to the other offerings) doesn’t smell particularly like British perfume. Rather, it is a unique blend of British, French, and Middle Eastern. There’s mandarin off the top but almost immediately the spices and leather and animalics rush in. It is difficult to compare this to any other fragrance, and I say that as a compliment. It doesn’t smell like a mixture of any other fragrances either. The closest would be Amouage King Blue, but it is much, much more elegant than that. The fruit and spices and leather and oud create a unique, striking impression. With notes like these, you can imagine how long-lasting this is. A notable cool-temperature-suitable contribution from the house of Naughton and Wilson.