Maison Buongiorno

01 · The Office · 7:00 AM

Mattina

The scent of starting the day with intention

My first job was in a cold San Francisco office. I arrived early, stayed late, and survived almost entirely on Starbucks grande mocha frappuccinos and beef jerky — I'm not kidding. Since then, my relationship with work has changed. It has deepened, broadened, and become something closer to a calling — the stewardship of the world I will one day leave behind. There is no more important way to begin a working day than with confidence and a quiet sense of purpose. Magnolias, orange blossom, and a long dry base of iris. The kind of scent that stays with you through your most important meetings and reminds you, softly, why you're there.

The Notes

04 · First Date · 8:00 PM

Sentire

A signal that you have not just money, but taste

It has been some time since I've been on a first date — but I remember what it communicated when a man arrived carrying a Bottega Veneta intreccato wallet. Not wealth, exactly. Something more considered than that: taste. The history of perfume begins in the same place. In Grasse, in the 16th century, glovemakers began scenting their leather with flowers — tuberose above all — because bathing was, in the age of plague, a genuinely dangerous affair. Perfume was the solution. This scent returns to that original idea: leather and a white flower, very close to the skin. And yes — there is a hidden surprise.

The Notes

05 · Home · 10:00 PM

Abbraccio

The doorway to the most spectacular relationship you will ever have

Dads haven't always been present for the first moments of a newborn child's life — but if you have the chance, there's nothing more beautiful than that first hug, that first meeting between your skin and his. It's like all the lyrics of Bocelli's Incontro coming alive for one precious moment that is just the doorway to a new adventure. I think the perfect hug would include a small whiff of a fresh plumeria flower.

The Notes

03 · The Coast · 4:00 PM

Mare

The moment every cell in your body dissolves into the living, breathing ocean

Growing up in Waikiki, I was surrounded by two things: flowers and the sea. Is there anything more alive than a fresh lei of jasmine placed around your neck? The sea I knew was warm, turquoise, forgiving. But after years in San Francisco, I discovered a different kind of ocean — cold, dark, absolute. There is a moment when you plunge in and every cell in your body wakes up at once. You stop being a person with thoughts and a schedule. You become something simpler, something that belongs to the water. This scent lives in that moment.

The Notes

02 · At Home · 1:00 PM

Giardino

The delicate, unforgettable scent of Paris in April

When I think of home, I think of a garden. When I think of a garden, I cannot help but think of Paris in April — the Tuileries at dusk, the Jardin du Luxembourg on a Tuesday morning, Parc Monceau after rain, the courtyard at Le Bristol. In these gardens I see tulips and daffodils. But what I smell is something else entirely: cold mint, wet stone, the particular green of broken stems, and rising above all of it — faint, almost imagined — the first muguet of spring. There is nothing quite like it on earth.

The Notes