A gust of wind and, listlessly, a leaf flows away from the bare tree brenches, twirling like a ballerina on a twilight stage. The cold light of a November day illuminates an autumn afternoon. Nature is performing in its last solo, before the curtain of winter comes down to envelop it with surreal silences. The sound of cracking fire and the warm voice of Frank Sinatra fill the room, while Francesca examines her reflection in the mirror. Pensive, she smiles while thinking about the evening to come, absorbing the verses of that melody, chasing them in a whispered singing. Memories bring her back to another evening of November, a few years before, and to the long silk dress she had bought for the occasion, the same dress that, later on, he would have let slide from her shoulders and along her sinuous body with studied slowness. She thinks back on the room where everything took place, to be born again, in a sigh. She smiles, blushing a little.

Candles are lit. The delicate scent of a bouquet – which he made delivered to her few hours before – gently wafts in the room: iris and roses, her favorite flowers. And the image becomes more and more vivid, flowing from a secret corner of her thoughts, filling itself with odors that seem to be present now, as then, retained and preserved by the evocative power of memory… Him, his warm skin and that amber fragrance, infused with lavender and citruses, slightly spicy and balmy that would have interlaced with her perfume’s wake, so velvety and and romantically retro of iris and carnation. She could still detect traces of it on her fur’s neck, although she hasn’t been wearing it for a while. She brings it close to her face, letting the fluffy coat caress her cheeks and, like a discreet confidant, whisper in her ear of how it had welcomed them both, protected, when a shiver had surprised them, dressed in each other’s skin, in the vaguely musky warmth of the most intimate embrace. All those smells had intertwined, condensing into her memory. They were real, flowing inside her.

“Under my skin”, she repeats softly, but, this time, she doesn’t blush and a flash of shameless malice glides across her eyes, while her skin brings her back that perfume. It’s not an illusion, or maybe it is… The door opens and she runs towards him, barefooted, but still gorgeous in her pearl silk dress.

Under my Skin by Francesca Bianchi Perfumes 30 ml. spray Extrait de Parfum 25% concentration.

Starring (notes): grapefruit, lavender, black pepper, spices, Bulgarian rose, carnation, iris butter, musk, castoreum, ambergris, leather, costus, tonka bean, tulu balm, Peru balm, Mysore sandalwood, vanilla, oak moss.

Under My Skin is a envelopping fragrance, able to melt with the skin and become one with it, as if it were the skin itself to emanate it. It is an emotion in extract, where tenderness and sensuality blend, come to life from a body of iris butter (at 15% irone) married to moss, animalic and leathery notes, flowed with floral, spicy and balsamic nuances.

Fourth creation of independent perfumer Francesca Bianchi, owner of a namesake collection of perfumes where imagination and ability to dare inspire an art that, if weared, has the power to bare memories and feelings. The most precious raw materials, crafted with artisan care, become the protagonists of exciting, intense, enveloping and persistent compositions.

Based on an animal-chic fil rouge, Francesca Bianchi’s creations are surrounded by a vaguely retro allure that, with style, elegance and ease, flirts with captivating sensuality. Previewed at recent edition of Pitti Fragranze, Under My Skin is available since the end of November in selected stores and niche perfumeries.