The Story
Why it exists.
The beginning
Prince arrived in 2014 as part of Lush's body spray lineup, a lighter, more casual companion to the brand's Gorilla Perfume collection. The formula leans on two oils the perfumers clearly trusted: neroli and orange. The neroli carries that unmistakable bitter orange flower character, bright and slightly metallic, with the sharp green snap you only get from a properly extracted neroli. The orange oil underneath keeps everything luminous, like zest squeezed fresh from the rind. It's a quiet citrus composition that does what oranges do best when you stop watering them down. The body spray format makes the whole thing feel effortless, a quick pass of fragrance that doesn't demand attention but rewards a second sniff.
The interesting move here is restraint. Prince lets the neroli stay green, almost metallic, and pairs it with aloe vera rather than the usual vanilla or musk softening. That aloe addition does something subtle but important. It keeps the citrus from drying out on skin, lending a watery freshness that holds the neroli's bitterness in check without smoothing it into something unrecognizable. The orange blossom in the heart adds floral weight without tipping into perfumery. White petals, a touch of indolic warmth, the faint suggestion of honey without any actual sweetness landing on the skin.
The evolution
On skin, the neroli and aloe hit cold and green, almost like snapping a stem. That sharpness is what defines the opening, the moment before anything else has a chance to settle. The orange blossom then steps forward with its white-floral warmth, softening the metallic edge without erasing it. The orange oil persists underneath, zest and pulp, giving the composition its sunlit core. As hours pass, the vetiver gradually takes over, its grassy dampness rising as the citrus recedes. The mandarin, listed as a base note, surfaces here, lending a slightly sweet, almost candied glow. By the time the citrus has faded to memory, the vetiver remains. It smells like warm dirt after rain, green and slightly mineral, the kind of close-to-skin scent that feels more like a second layer than something sprayed on top.
Cultural impact
Prince doesn't try to perform. It's the kind of body spray that earns attention through restraint rather than spectacle, a release that knows exactly what it is and never pretends to be more. The composition sits closer to a classic eau de cologne tradition than many modern citrus fragrances, which tend to pile on sweetness or synthetic brightness to extend wear time. Prince does neither. It's wearable, quietly distinctive, and refreshingly direct about its intentions. The neroli carries the kind of character that reads as grown-up without feeling austere, and the orange oil gives it an approachable warmth.
