Eau Parfumee au The Vert by Bvlgari

I’ll confess with a little blush that I only recently discovered this fragrance. Although it’s been on the market for years, my 18-year-old daughter found it during a recent trip and let me try it. What an exquisite scent… soft, delicate, fresh, and even seductive. I loved it so much that we ended up buying it; she adores it, and I love wearing it too.

It’s one of the most elegant fragrances I’ve ever encountered. I discovered it because the owner of a luxury resort in the Caribbean was wearing it. It’s fresh but has a special aura of green tea with a milky touch. It’s ideal for summer, though you can wear it year-round. The key is to combine it with the full range it offers: body wash, lotion, and deodorant. That way, you smell amazing. It’s clean, fresh, and has a trail. It’s not sensual, but it gives you great personal power, highly recognized among women.

So rich and pleasant!! I really liked it; it comforted me and cheered me up when I felt it on my skin. It feels distinguished and softly polished. I was ready to buy it, but it didn’t last long enough to justify the price.

I used to wear this fragrance when my mom did during my teenage years; I remember that particular green color of the glass and its distinctive cap, but above all its unmistakable scent. I think it’s very hard to capture the purity, freshness, and that sense of tranquility that inhabits nature. To create Bvlgari Au the Vert, Jean-Claude Ellena wanted to play with the ‘green tea notes’. As soon as I spray it, I feel soft muguet/jasmine tones mixed with a shy bergamot. Everything is restrained; the notes aren’t suppressed but show their delicate and subtle side. There’s a prominence of citrus, but without being sharp. Ellena twists the composition so the notes wander between powdery, fresh, and clean. It advances until one of the perfect green tea notes in perfumery emerges, with millimeter-precise touches of cardamom and coriander that are skillfully tamed here. The orange blossom is more perceptible than the rose, but neither takes the throne from the tea’s verdancy. The musk, in just the right dose, makes it more authentic. The soft woods sparkle at the end, wrapped in that creaminess of the tea and florals. It’s so well-engineered that all the notes form a perfect unity. Nothing is dominant; everything is a ‘whole’. It’s for a summer or winter day, so versatile that any gender can wear it. Projection is moderate to light and it settles quickly close to the skin, with correct longevity. Review based on a 90s miniature. Stepping out into nature with it generates suspicion among the plants, amazed that something chemical could capture their attention. A work of art.

This fragrance was the gateway to my love affair with green tea scents, seriously… I adore them! This particular one felt very elegant and rich, with that necessary freshness to make me feel comfortable, plus that simple yet beautiful bottle made it impossible to resist. I must admit it was a gift because, at least in my country, it’s extremely expensive for my tight budget. I haven’t owned it in a long time, and I truly wish I could have it back and enjoy it like that time. I have to admit its longevity was very light, but its magical blend makes me dream about it and remember it vividly.

One of my favorites for summer, very refreshing. I feel the scent doesn’t last long on me; I wish it were more enduring.

With Bvlgari’s Thé Vert, the house kicked off that successful saga which would later expand years down the line. This is a classic: back in the nineties, they figured out that familiar colognes could be given a finer touch, put in a pretty bottle to look expensive and refined. And they were. Bvlgari’s Green Tea was pricey and sophisticated, plus it lasts like those products that outlast trends and become classics. I have a love-hate relationship with it. I like it, it’s funny, but I wish I liked it more. The culprit is that impressionist, Provençal touch by Ellena, that vivid watercolor flavor that later unified his Jardins for Hermès—a line I hate. With Bvlgari, twelve years earlier, in the hard nineties, with a perfumery that wasn’t paying attention to quality colognes beyond Roger & Gallet, it seems like he was already hinting at what he’d later develop at Hermès, his master touch: a slimy, vinegary, fruity, and spiced finish. Those are exactly the chords I find in the Jardins, seeming to nest here accompanying the tea. Bvlgari’s tea actually has tea—the green, revitalizing kind that lifts your spirits and comforts you, the same tea used on demand around the millennium change that seemed to illustrate that the 21st century was already here. It’s an absolutely unisex note, and the century change was very androgynous. I can’t help but think it looks better on a man, but I’m sure I’m influenced by what comes before, and truly it’s a genderless ingredient. As I said, there’s green tea, the unoxidized kind with fresh leaf greenery, but it’s not your solitary green tea with its proper dose of coughiness and sweetness; this one comes accompanied by a super-yellow lemon in the opening, to the point where you wonder if this should be called Thé, Citronella, or Verbena. When the lemon fades, the green tea shines through, the kind we all know and have used at some point, whether in a pricey version or a supermarket body fresh. It’s a pretty tea, refined, as natural as it can get because it’s a note I always find something artificial about, same with mint and basil; it’s a tea set in fine citrus with very noticeable spice chords with a certain comfortable exoticism, coriander and cardamom. There’s also an obvious verdifloral harmony, cool and muguet-like, and a tangerine/orange that I see very low in general perception, but on my nose it sits quite high. Is it ugly? No, it’s a very pretty tea, seems inclined to be feminine, then reminds you of a man; in the end, it’s a fragrance with very rich cleanliness suitable for both sexes. Bvlgari’s tea is a summer refreshment made with tea, obviously, but also with many sparkling, sulfurous spices and seeds, varied citrus peels, and a current of freshly unpeeled white flowers. A scoop of tea with more things. At the time, it was very novel, and I perfectly understand why it sold like hotcakes: because it smelled like something new, modern, cosmopolitan, and exquisite. Plus, you could wear it daily. And now comes the reason why I don’t fully enjoy it… it disgusts me. And watch out, it’s not an absolutely cloying perfume, but it also has a very dated finish that tries to remotely associate it with a popular cologne sold by the liter in Spain, Coty’s Chanson d’Eau. When I search for green tea, in my opinion, I want green tea. And damn, I prefer the tea Dana released at the end of the nineties in their Herbissimo line for a thousand pesetas that was marvelous and exactly the kind of tea I like, one with memories of peaks and dampness, of private orchards covered in lichens and irrigation ditches, a mystical tea that made me think of something monastic, sheltered from the world and very spiritual, before this one, five times more expensive. So my appreciation of this fragrance is only influenced by my personal taste, where I already catch a glimpse of the Ellena stamp, that luminous, slimy, squeaky brushstroke I’d run away from if I had legs. I say it loud and clear: I prefer the entire Roger & Gallet line by the liter, with its rough, refreshing, revitalizing thing, a well-understood sweetness, before everything Ellena signed for Hermès, those sticky, spiced-fruity citrus waters with a horrible acidic sweetness for my taste. It definitely deserves its fame. P.S. Arden has the more affordable option, Green Tea, I don’t like it at all, I find it super artificial, and it’s not a money issue because I use colognes cheaper by the gallon. P.S. II. Long live Herbissimo’s tea, if you see it don’t hesitate, it was a green tea of exquisite austerity, the tea Santa Teresa de Jesús or any young writer could have used, an old soul who by twenty already knew this world is a mess we’re thrown into to suffer.

Clean fragrance, performs very well in hot climates or tropical environments. I love green tea, but this performs equally well with cardamomo, so in my opinion it leans towards the masculine side. Acceptable longevity and good sillage.

Cleanliness and freshness, based on green tea and lemon, and you can even feel the unmistakable scent of lime. Elegant, sophisticated, imposing, with a lot of personality, nothing scandalous, and leaves a very good trail… for me, undoubtedly the best of the Bvlgari line… Ideal for a summer teak night.

A pure delight for the nose. Subtle, elegant, fresh, and relaxing. I still remember my trip to Italy and only wore Eau du Thé Vert. Incredible.

I totally agree, it smells like green tea with lemon. It’s fresh, but in my opinion, it’s missing something. It reminds me of body mists and I don’t feel entirely comfortable wearing it… I wouldn’t buy it.

I love it! It’s fresh, clean, and wonderful. I think I’d buy it in bulk if they sold it that way. A classic that never goes out of style.

Totally agree with azuriiita’s review! Eau Parfumee au Thé Vert smells like green tea with a hint of lemon, and in my case, also woods and roses… what roses! A delight. Based on the notes, I expected something super fresh, and yes, it is, but I didn’t think it would feel so feminine on my skin. It’s the same with CK One; even though it’s unisex, I’m lucky that the floral notes really stand out on me. This Bvlgari is straight to my wishlist 🙂 Update: I wrote this review based on a sample I received, but now that I own it, I honestly perceive it differently. I barely detect the roses I loved so much. I still agree with azuriiita about the freshness, and now also about the astringent quality of the scent. Definitely unisex; I’d love to smell it on a man.