Commodore’s Gin is not fancy or a myth, it’s a true story of bravery and about how strong a man’s heart can be who has the sea for his home, refuge, and fortress.

Proudly made in Croatia, with a meticulous, and exhaustively refined formula, with loads of juniper, like walking through a pine wood forest, subtle hints of citrus linger in the background, this is not a gin for the faint-of-hearted.

Inspired by the nautical universe, the product design and identity use straight lines and some enigmatic symbols, like the Commodore’s rank seal and the nautical flags on the neck label to compose the elegant and inviting look leading us to the sea and avoid using burlesque elements. Nautical flags aim to provide ways and means of communication in situations related to the safety of navigation and persons, being an international code system used for a boat to signal to shore or for two boats to signal to each other.

The design amplifies the sensory experience using several different finishings, like embossing, copper foil, and high-gloss UV varnish, to complete the eye-catching product visuals.

“The sea is calm tonight. The tide is full, the moon lies fair, upon the straits; on the French coast the light. Gleams and is gone; the cliffs stand, glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. Come to the window, sweet is the night air!

Only, from the long line of spray, where the sea meets the moon-blanched land, listen! You hear the grating roar of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, at their return, up the high strand. Begin, and cease, and then again begin. With tremulous cadence slow, and bring the eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago heard it on the Ægean, and it brought into his mind the turbid ebb and flow of human misery; We find also in the sound a thought. Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The sea of faith, was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. But now I only hear its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, retreating, to the breath of the night wind, down the vast edges of drear and naked shingles of the world.”

by Matthew Arnold


omgsogd omgsogd