Spring has sprung, and with it comes the anticipation of summer’s warmth and the promise of a lighter wardrobe. But as I sift through the latest trends and ponder the scents that will grace my skin in the coming months, my mind drifts back to a different summer, a long one ago. It’s a memory woven with the intoxicating aroma of a perfume that first captivated me as a wide-eyed nine-year-old.
Roccobarocco Tre, oh how I love you
Flipping through the pages of an Italian magazine called Gioia, I stumbled upon a small sample nestled amongst the glossy advertisements. A single spritz of Tre By Roccobarocco, and I was transported to a world of pure heavenly bliss. The fragrance, housed in a bottle resembling what I think is a miniature Roman column, was unlike anything I had ever encountered.
It was a meld, a cocktail of juicy passion fruit, a vibrant opening that exploded with the intensity of a tropical thirst quenched. Imagine the sun-warmed skin tingling with the first drop of a perfectly chilled passion fruit juice, its sweetness mingling with the tartness of black currant, a touch of peach adding a subtle, sun-kissed warmth.
This wasn’t your typical, sugary peachy juice scent; it was elegant, fresh, and utterly unforgettable. There are petals in there yes, but they stay in the background, giving the fruits their full right to bask in their glorious beauty. And the dry down, simply heavenly. I know I use the word heavenly a lot, but it’s truly justified. I don’t know if my love for musk started from this fragrance, because this is all about light white musk, airy as cotton sailing on a juicy river.
Years have passed, but the memory of Tre remains as vivid as ever. It’s a phantom fragrance, haunting my olfactory senses. I yearn to reacquaint myself with its magic, to see if it still holds the power to transport me back to that carefree childhood.
The most vivid memory, however, isn’t just the scent itself, but the way it unfolded. It was like falling into a well, not of water, but of pure, unadulterated fruit juice. Imagine the most intense thirst you’ve ever felt, where you crave a single drop to quench it. Moments later, you’re falling into a well overflowing with a vibrant mix of peach, passion fruit, and black currant juice. That’s the initial explosion of Tre by ROCCOBAROCCO, a juicy, intoxicating rush that lingers beautifully on the skin, slowly transforming into a whisper of clean peach and a touch of delicate musk, leaving a lingering sweetness that’s both innocent and captivating.
A Lifelong Search for Tre By Roccobarocco
Unfortunately, the search for a new bottle of Tre proves to be a challenge. My country’s import restrictions make the online acquisition a hurdle (we’re only allowed to import 50 mL of perfumes, and all the available options are offered in 100 mL), and the fragrance itself seems elusive, existing more in the realm of memory than readily available reality.
However, the quest for that scent went beyond mere desire. Back then, being a young girl in a country with limited access to such luxuries, I couldn’t simply order a new bottle online. Driven by an almost primal urge, I resorted to a rather unorthodox solution: I bought every single copy of Gioia magazine I could find that contained the Tre sample. I didn’t understand the Italian text, the pictures were already etched into my memory, and the only thing that mattered was that tiny vial holding the essence of that magical summer.
Despite the years that have passed, the yearning for Tre remains. Perhaps somewhere out there, on a forgotten shelf or tucked away in a vintage boutique, or a large beauty retail store that coveted perfume bottle awaits rediscovery. It’s a chance to revisit a simpler time, a chance to see if the magic of that long-lost summer scent still lingers, just as potent and captivating as it was all those years ago.
And when that happens, I truly hope you’ll be there, ready to take a whiff and discover for yourself the juiciest scent you never knew existed – a burst of pure, unadulterated olfactory magic. No, wait, a burst of heaven.
