Teint de Neige 
Lorenzo Villoresi (2000)

Average Rating:  30 User Reviews

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Teint de Neige by Lorenzo Villoresi

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About Teint de Neige by Lorenzo Villoresi

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Lorenzo Villoresi
Fragrance House

Teint de Neige is a women's perfume launched in 2000 by Lorenzo Villoresi

Fragrance notes.

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  2. Heart Notes

  3. Base Notes

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Reviews of Teint de Neige by Lorenzo Villoresi

There are 30 reviews of Teint de Neige by Lorenzo Villoresi.


l can't improve on khanada's brilliant review, but l wholeheartedly agree that this fits perfectly into that small category of what you might call "after bath" or "bedtime" scents. lt's like a soft, fluffy cloud of palest pink, redolent of old-fashioned powder compacts & talcum powder, & very retro in style. For me it's mostly a rosy musk with heliotrope, becoming more ambery two hours in , but otherwise remaining quite linear throughout its duration. lt's clean, innocent & comforting. The projection starts out strong, & it's still very present after eleven hours.
Others in this ballpark include Kohl de Bahrein by Stephane Humbert Lucas, Love's True Bluish Light & Cashmere Musk, both by Ava Luxe. l think l prefer these three as they're less aldehydic & therefore less old-fashioned in style, but this one is a worthy contender.


Like walking barefoot on fluffy clouds, surrounded by serenity.it reminds me of a cross between Johnsons baby powder and an expensive talc.a most lovely iris dipped in vanilla,then frosted with sugar and rolled in powder.it is a non changing scent,but in the dry down it become a intense skin scent, powdery and still flowery.comforting, cozy,clean but sensual scent.

On first sniff it is a sweet aldehydic baby powder scent which remains the same throughout.it is not in your face and really pretty.soon the sweetness emerges to envelop the iris,but it is a dry sweetness like some editerranean dolce. it leaves the trail and you will certainly not go unnoticed and everyone will recognize this.great for just out the bath. if you love powdery scents this is a must have.


I didn’t think there was such a thing as a perfume that was too powdery for me. I was wrong - Teint de Neige assaulted me with an atom bomb’s worth of baby powder. I found it oppressive, sweet and headache-inducing, and eventually had to wash it off.


Teint de Neige is, so I have read and heard, Lorenzo Villoresi's best selling fragrance, far and away. I also believe it is responsible for the existence of an entire genre of niche perfumery, the powdery heliotrope-rose musk. Such things have existed before, but not in such elevated form, with high quality ingredients, in three formulations including an ultra luxe oil based parfum strength, and bath and even hair care products to match. It is clearly a moneymaker for the house, and I support their decision to support and exploit its success.

Teint de Neige belongs to a larger class of Boudoir perfumery, not a formal classification, perhaps, but certainly a group of knowing-it-when-you-smell-it kinds of scents that are largely characterized by a sense of privacy and intimacy, of the scent of the boudoir as a place of both solitude and companionship, of serene solitude and sultry seduction, the dresser and the bed, nightwear being for show or for solitary pleasure and comfort.

An example of textbook boudoir fragrance is the inimitable Shalimar, which I think works beautifully for bed alone or with company, and for other occasions besides, with its famous accord including references to the most intimate anatomical regions of M. Guerlain's mistress–insinuating, yes, but also comforting, in its creamy vanilla-lemon custard and meditative incense. As with much modern niche perfumery, Teint de Neige borrows from the classics, taking only one accord from perfumes like Shalimar–their rich, powdery bases, a scent with associations that divide my memories evenly between childhood bedtime and early experimentation with my grandmother's vanity table, which always had a box of Coty Airspun powder (which I still use, and many beauty bloggers agree that its classic status is well deserved). Airspun famously smells like Coty's L'Origan, the “inspiration” for L'Heure Bleue–the other great Guerlain powder bomb from around the same era as Shalimar, and another perfume that wears beautifully at bedtime, carrying as it does the sweet melancholy of iris and heliotrope.

Niche perfumery, as I was saying, often borrows a little of this, a little of that, from classic vintage accords, often leaving out their most distinctive but also most obviously vintage references. Teint de Neige does not smell obviously modern in any obvious way, at least not because of what it smells like, but rather for what it leaves out. There are no powerful or indolic florals, no sweet amber, and no pungent spice or raunchy civet. It has an emphatic sense of cleanliness that its vintage congeners would never contain, and that is why I think modern women like it, despite their general fear of aggressively powdery scents.

Teint de Neige is unsophisticated in its celebration of what can only be described as billows and billows of fluffy whiteness. Heliotrope adds almond and cherry to its scent, just enough sweetness that it pulls a little towards the world of cherry-inflected fruitchoulis like Le Petit Robe Noir, without being in any sense a gourmand perfume. The images it flashes include Degas ballerinas and yards of tulle, plush white unicorn toys and pale macarons. It is the scent of Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette, a pastel confection of a movie with a modern New Wave soundtrack.

I shamelessly adore these perfumes. Teint de Neige was my first but it is not my only–I have quite a few of these fragrances now, in part, initially, to save my expensive Teint de Neige, and then, later, because I like variety in my bedtime scents. I am certain that it can be worn during the day, as I sometimes do when I need an extra layer of comfort for times when I feel fragile, but I prefer it for night–not evening–just before bed, and I sometimes use it to spritz the vacuum's HEPA filter before I do the Hoovering, as its scent fills the house with the same sense of domestic bliss conveyed by clean white sheets, down feather pillows (asthma be damned), and a good night's sleep.

It is not a complicated perfume, and therein lies its genius. I own the EDP formula, but I have tried them all, and they all work the same for my needs. I long for the luxe parfum–someday, I will spring for some, or at least for the body care products, because how marvelous would it be to shower and moisturize after doused in this beautiful scent, and feel like it has completely suffused one's entire being, even unto adding its inimitable pearly lustre to one's metaphysical aura, should such a thing exist? Teint de Neige makes me feel, a little, that maybe it can, just like it makes me feel like I did as a little girl, wishing Tinker Bell back to life, and graceful white horselike creatures with wings or horns to exist, out there, somewhere. I'm not ashamed to admit I love this stuff, as much as I love my vintage divas and edgy modern scents–they occupy different places in my life, and so I hope Teint de Neige or one of its powdery and ever growing family can for any lover of scent. We should all have at least one of these (and thus I can never forgive Van Cleef for taking away an excellent, more stereotypically masculine take on this idea–but that is for another review, and I will get to it).

Performance is excellent–this is mostly base materials, big musk molecules with very slow evolution and low volatility. I get 13 hours or more from an evening's application, waking up with my sheets and nightwear well scented. I can't give it 5 stars, although it is a classic, as Teint de Neige doesn't do anything terribly original or complicated. It is just the best at what it does, and that is enough for me. So, four pearly-blue-pink stars, and two matching pearlized thumbs up. See you in the morning ....


Teint de Neige, loosely translated as Sprinkling of Snow, (literally, "snowy complexion") is one of Lorenzo Villoresi's best-selling fragrances.

Snow makes me think of Russia rather than of Italy, and sure enough there are echoes here of Red Moscow, the famous Russian perfume by Brocard (1913). That perfume, the original vintage of which I recently had the opportunity to smell, brings to mind the Russia of the Tsars and the opulence of a bygone era.

Teint de Neige is also an ode to the past. It recalls a vanished world of graceful living, where ballets were more lavish than they are today, attended only by the most distinguished, refined and impeccably dressed members of high society. Go behind the scenes and you may catch the scent of the dressing rooms where the starlets are powdering their faces.

Like Red Moscow, the Italian fragrance features rose, ylang and heliotrope. It is a very "powdery" perfume. What does that mean? Perfumers use the term for woody-violet or orris (iris) notes, long lasting and reminiscent of body powder, face powder or talc. In keeping with this, Teint de Neige is available as a body powder. Like a sprinkling of snow, it suggests softness and a caressing quality, plus an overall clean feeling.

Product evaluated: Beauty Soap (box of 3, see my pic). These soaps have an elegant faceted decahedron shape. Set off by their white box, they are the colour of pale sandstone or - yes - face powder. The scent, though not excessively strong, is diffusive enough to perfume your bathroom and even beyond, lending to your house the discreet aura of a classy establishment.

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