Story
Inspired by the meeting of an iris gardener and a leather craftsman at Florence's Iris Festival, where two contrasting worlds come together: the softness of iris and the worn warmth of leather. Their encounter grows into something tender and sensual, expressed not through grand gestures but through touch, laughter, and small moments shared between them. One of those moments becomes their private ritual, a little expression of affection they name Brululu.
The full story of each scent lives inside its box. Here, only a glimpse.
“He bent close and blew a playful gust of air against her belly. She burst into laughter, her protest mingled with delight. The ticklish sound of his breath against her skin became their game, and they named it "Brululu"—after the silly noise it made, their own secret word for love.”








