Another Unpopular Opinion: Smell for Yourself

created with Ideogram AI

Why I Test Perfume the Way I Do

I overheard a conversation recently that made me a little sad. The speakers were all knowledgeable, talented writers and content creators who, when testing a perfume for the first time, admitted that their first thought is usually, “How can I use this in my content?” before even considering whether they personally like the fragrance. One even said they rarely think, “Do I like it? Would I wear it?” The tone implied these questions were trite, or worse, slightly problematic.

Call me shallow, but when I test a new fragrance, “Do I like it?” is the first and most important thought in my head. Unless I’ve chosen to write about a perfume, which, 99% of the time, I already own, I don’t overthink it. I don’t analyze it, study the backstory, or marvel at how gorgeous the bottle would look on my bureau. I focus on the juice itself.

Buckets of Fragrance
Sure, I ask a few follow-up questions: What do I like about it? What don’t I like? Maybe I’ll think: If I don’t like it now, could I like it in the future? (Summer is rough on sweet gourmands. Sometimes they literally make me gag. But in December? Magic.) Then the fragrance lands in one of three buckets:

• Like

• Could Like

• Hate, Get This Far Away From Me

Life’s Too Short
I’m turning 60 this year and have been seriously collecting fragrances for over 20 years. Life is too short to waste on challenging myself to like something just because it’s “classic” or trendy. I’m in this hobby for me.

And in my opinion, the only people who might reasonably challenge themselves are those who make or sell perfume for a living: perfumers and fragrance professionals. They benefit directly from the fragrances. Writers, bloggers, enthusiasts? Not so much.

The Humorous Side of Flowery Descriptions
Even when I do write about a fragrance, I rarely dive into its historical significance or the perfumer’s biography. That doesn't affect how I feel about a scent.

And I don’t indulge in flowery, over-the-top imagery like, “This fragrance smells like a young English woman in white lace, resting languorously in a hammock on vacation in Majorca.”
For someone like me who has never worn lace, never relaxed in a hammock, never been to a beach outside Ocean City, Maryland, that description means… what exactly? (Sweat and dead fish? Close enough.)

A Personal Hobby
Fragrance collecting and wearing is a personal hobby. It’s delightful if others like the same scents, fine if they don’t. But ultimately, I could not care less about other people’s opinions on what I wear.

What does matter is this: if someone is making a list of “Best Fragrances That Smell Like European Beaches,” shouldn’t they at least briefly consider whether they like the scent themselves? Otherwise, how is it “the best”? (We all know that’s just a way to project authority in a completely subjective space. Huge dislike.)

Smell First, Think Later
So yes, call me shallow. But in the world of fragrance, I smell first, think later. And I like it that way.

Because fragrance collecting is about what you love, not what everyone else tells you to.

Plain and Not-So-Plain Vanilla

created with Adobe Photoshop

Vanilla is a real crowd-pleaser, both as a flavor and a fragrance. A study a few years ago even claimed the scent of vanilla was a major turn-on for men. Women love it too, so it’s no surprise that vanilla turns up in many, if not most, perfumes. It’s warm, grounding, and beautifully neutral. Vanilla can be sweet or dry, take center stage or linger quietly in the background.

Below are a few of my favorite (and not-so-favorite) explorations of vanilla in perfume.

BDK Parfums Vanilla Leather

Violet, Pink Pepper, Tuberose, Orange Blossom, Jasmine, Vanilla, Orris, Leather, Benzoin, Oak, Patchouli

This is a lovely fragrance, but honestly, I don’t think there’s enough leather here to justify the name. Your mileage may vary, of course. On my skin, the floral notes, especially tuberose and jasmine, take the lead, slowly wrapped in a cloud of vanilla warmth. “Vanilla Tuberose” might’ve been a more accurate name, actually. It’s pretty, it’s soft, and that’s about it. Definitely tuberose, probably vanilla. The end.

Electimuss Vanilla Edesia

Bergamot, Mandarin, Bitter Almond, Heliotrope, Pink Pepper, Frankincense, Ceylon Cinnamon, Cumin, Coriander, Rose Centifolia Absolute, Gurjum Balsam, Ylang-Ylang, Creamy/Milky Notes, Vanilla Absolute, Patchouli, Cypriol, Haitian Vetiver, Sandalwood, Virginia Cedar, Amber Woods, White Musks

Vanilla Edesia is a challenging scent. It’s not gourmand at all, and it’s certainly not dominated by the vanilla in its name. Instead, it throws a lot at you—rose, citrus, cumin, coriander, pink pepper—all appearing in rapid succession. The rose and cumin linger, joined by an ashy, scratchy dryness I’m blaming on incense and woods. The result is a bit overwhelming, making it hard to find the vanilla here.

There’s a trace of warm sweetness (maybe that’s it?), but the cumin sticks around longest, thankfully without crossing into “dirty underpants” territory. It adds interest, if not comfort. I can’t decide if I like it… actually, no, I don’t. But it’s intriguing enough to include in a vanilla roundup. Worth a sniff, at least once.

Guerlain Spiritueuse Double Vanille

Incense, Pink Pepper, Bergamot, Cedar, Ylang-Ylang, Bulgarian Rose, Jasmine, Vanilla, Benzoin

This has long been my holy grail vanilla. It was love at first sniff during a breakfast presentation at Bergdorf’s one Sniffapalooza weekend. Back then, Guerlain’s L’Art et la Matière collection was pricey (~$200), but I had a generous perfume patron who’d just given me funds specifically for fragrance shopping.

For a while, SDV was the most expensive perfume I owned, and I babied it, decanting a few milliliters at a time into a travel spray so I wouldn’t risk breaking the bottle. I used maybe 30ml before tragedy struck: despite being stored properly, the box fell sideways, and about 98% of the remaining perfume leaked out. I didn’t even smell it at first, just found the bottle nearly empty and my heart utterly broken.

It’s $440 now (gulp), which is about $250 more than I’m willing to pay for a replacement. But oh, that scent… dark, rich, spicy, smoky, and sexy. Boozy and intoxicating. A vanilla for grown-ups. It's not shy, not sugary, just gloriously decadent.

Apparently it’s been reformulated, and newer reviews call it “plain vanilla” or “weak.” If true, that’s a damn shame. The original 2007 version was truly special. I haven’t dared revisit it (why torture myself with something I can’t afford?), but I’ll keep hoping the naysayers are just missing its magic.

Obvious Parfums Une Vanille

Tonka, Madagascar Vanilla, Musk

Some vanilla perfumes can be tooth-achingly sweet, but Une Vanille isn’t one of them. Like most of Obvious’s early scents, it’s quite linear. What you smell at first spray is what you get until it fades. On my skin, that’s until bath time.

It’s a lightly musky, powdery vanilla with a generous dose of tonka, warm and cozy but never cloying. It’s one of the few vanillas I can comfortably wear in warmer weather.

I also own Un Patchouli and Un Musc, and I’ll likely buy more from the brand. I love their ethics: minimal, eco-friendly packaging, recyclable glass, no unnecessary cellophane, and corks sourced from wine industry byproducts. Ostentatious packaging for no good reason drives me up the wall, and I’ll be ranting about that in an upcoming post.

-----------------------

Posted by theminx on Minxstinks