🚨 and 👑
There are moments when you realize a project has quietly outgrown its own rules.
This week, it happened twice.
The first happened yesterday.
I washed off a fragrance.
That probably doesn’t sound remarkable.
Except that after interviewing more than thirty fragrances, I had never done it before.
Not for Sagesse.
Not for Fleur de Lalita.
Not even for Cherry Punk, who kept me standing outside the venue breathing cigarette smoke for what felt like an entire concert before finally letting the band come on stage.
Those fragrances challenged me.
Some have exhausted me.
Some have puzzled me.
None made me stop the interview.
Then came Tonka Hysteria.
Within an hour I had a headache.
My nose was completely stuffed up.
Soap.
Water.
Advil.
Interview over.
For the first time the project needed a new symbol.
Not “<.”
Not “not my wrist.”
Something different.
🚨
Abort.
Not because the fragrance was “bad.”
Because, for the first time, my body spoke up.
There was nothing left to learn by enduring another three hours.
That felt important.
Stewardship, I realized, sometimes means taking care of the wearer before taking care of the project.
The next morning I picked up another bottle.
Almeria by Loumari.
I had only intended to interview it.
Instead . . .
I found myself saying something I had never—in my life—said before.
“Whoa.”
Not,
“That’s interesting.”
Not,
“I’ll have to think about this.”
Simply…
“Whoa.”
(Might have been, “Whoa . . . damn!?” but this is a family show.)
It opened with a woody rose.
Floral, but never pushy.
Delightful.
Black pepper.
Later the rose stepped back a bit.
Soft musk.
A hint of cinnamon.
A restrained caramel that reminded me of Jany.
Everything beautifully balanced.
It felt less like smelling individual notes than listening to an orchestra after you’ve stopped noticing the instruments.
But sniffing for the notes—or even quietly admiring how beautifully they harmonized—turned out not to be the real story.
Because somewhere during the second hour I found myself thinking:
“On a day I don’t need anything . . . this is what I’ll wear.”
That thought was new.
Until then, many fragrances I’d loved had a purpose.
Taipei steadied me.
“You’ve got this.”
Vanille Supermassive marked the end of the day.
“Today’s work has been handled.”
Jany quietly reminded me that someone cared for me.
“Feel nourished.”
They remedied something.
Many fragrances had introduced me to someone.
Bois Imperial introduced me of The Architect
(Wake Up World belonged on his wrist.)
Fleur de Lalita was The Duchess.
Rose Extatique gave me Mr. Nigel Pembroke.
With L’Eau des Immortels, Marco Polo practically bounded into the room.
Not this one.
It wasn’t trying to comfort me.
Or strengthen me.
Or change me.
There was no personage.
No Nigel.
No Duchess.
No Architect.
For the first time . . .
. . . the personage was . . .
. . . me.
Not an improved version.
Not a braver version.
Just . . .
. . . me.
That realization deserved its own symbol.
👑
Not because it was “better” than a heart.
Because it represented an entirely different relationship.
A heart says,
“I trust you and know when to go to you.”
A signature scent says,
“This is who I am.”
One is a relationship.
The other is recognition.
Somewhere during the third hour I realized something stranger.
The interview had stopped.
Instead of writing notes, I had begun unconsciously performing a ridiculous little dance.
Type.
Sniff.
Type.
Sniff.
Type.
Sniff.
Sniff.
Type.
Sniff.
Sniff.
. . .
Sniff.
Type.
At one point I caught myself reading one of Chad’s chats with my nose tucked into the crook of my elbow.
A few minutes later I walked downstairs to warm up my coffee and nearly missed a step while sniffing my wrist.
I wasn’t checking whether the fragrance was still there.
I was simply enjoying a wee visit.
That, I think, was the real interview.
The funny thing is that neither symbol is really about perfume.
🚨 means:
“My body voted.” (or, perhaps, “vetoed”)
👑 means:
“I’ve stopped trying to become someone else.”
One taught me where my boundary is.
The other taught me where home is.
They arrived twenty-four hours apart.
Maybe we only recognize home after we’ve clearly discovered where we do not belong.
(Or maybe The Great Is was saying it was sorry for yesterday . . .
. . . really, REALLY sorry . . . )
I used to think this project was about finding fragrances I loved.
Then it became understanding fragrances.
Then stewarding them.
Now I think it has quietly become something else.
It’s teaching me to recognize myself.
Only after my blind test did I visit Loumari’s own description of Almeria.
They describe a city “textured and full of contrasts,” built as a lookout over the Mediterranean—a “vantage point” overlooking the horizon—yet somehow becoming “an object of contemplation” itself.
I smiled when I read that.
I hadn’t been thinking about a city at all.
Yet somehow we’d arrived in much the same place from opposite directions.
They built a fragrance inspired by Almería.
I spent hours discovering that it wasn’t taking me somewhere else.
FIELD NOTES:
🚨 Tonka Hysteria (D’Orsay, Jordi Fernández, 2024)
Official Description: Oriental Floral.
Official Notes: Top: Olibanum, Cinnamon, Pink Pepper, Mandarin. Heart: Orris, Lily of the Valley. Base: Tonka Bean, Vanilla, Benzoin.
Sebastian’s discussion of this fragrance emphasizes modern leather. I suspect that is the throughline of this ScentClub kit. It contains Tonka Hysteria, Cherry Punk, and, as the third decant, Jasmine White Leather, noted below.
Opening
An immediate impression of something harsh, synthetic, and distinctly man-made.
Not floral.
Not woody.
Not spicy.
Certainly not tonka.
The closest comparison that emerged during the blind interview was industrial cleaner.
Nothing in nature smells like this.
The opening produced resistance rather than curiosity.
Development
As the fragrance settled, a little sweetness gradually emerged.
It softened slightly . . .
. . . but never displaced the dominant impression established during the opening.
Unlike Cherry Punk, whose promised cherry eventually appeared after hours of waiting, Tonka Hysteria never clearly revealed the rich tonka suggested by its name.
The fragrance continued to feel highly constructed.
Its world was not forests.
Not fields.
Not kitchens.
It belonged entirely to human-made environments.
Performance
Strong.
Even after washing with soap and water, traces remained in the crook of my elbow.
The fragrance proved considerably more persistent than welcome.
Library Status: 🚨 Abort.
Character
Unlike fragrances that invite conversation, Tonka Hysteria insisted upon attention.
Not through projection.
Through insistence.
Rather than becoming more natural as it evolved, it remained firmly rooted in an artificial landscape.
Laboratory.
Modern materials.
Industrial space.
That may well be artistically intentional.
It simply proved to be a world I did not enjoy inhabiting.
Atmosphere
Constructed rather than organic.
If Piano Santal (notes below) smelled like weathered wood that had quietly lived outdoors for decades . . .
. . . Tonka Hysteria smelled as though it had been assembled indoors beneath fluorescent lights.
The experience wasn’t of standing beneath trees.
It was of walking through an environment built entirely by people.
Stewardship Notes
This interview ended unusually early.
Not because the fragrance lacked interest.
Because it produced a genuine physical reaction.
Within the first hour I developed both a headache and significant nasal congestion.
The interview had already answered its question.
There was nothing further to gain by enduring another three hours.
Sometimes stewardship applies to the bottle.
Sometimes it applies to the wearer.
Today . . .
. . . it applied to the wearer.
Library Status: 🚨 Abort.
Canine Observation
Assistant Field Researcher Clementine offered one of her more memorable evaluations.
Unlike Imperial Peacock—which likely would have resulted in complete canine convergence—or even Reine de Midi‘s cautious one-foot diplomatic distance . . .
. . . Tonka Hysteria produced an entirely new response.
Clemmie positioned herself perpendicular to me on the bed, resting only her chin on my shin.
Her apparent assessment:
“I’m here.”
“I’m supportive.”
“. . . but I’m not climbing into whatever this is.”
Following soap, water, and partial decontamination, she cautiously returned to approximately a 45-degree angle, eventually licking my arm before resuming normal companionship.
Whether she objected to the fragrance itself or simply to my skin’s reaction remains unknowable.
The observation was nevertheless impossible not to record.
Atlas Discovery
This interview strengthened a growing personal observation.
I appear to react quite strongly to certain modern leather constructions.
Cherry Punk eventually rewarded persistence with an interesting story.
Tonka Hysteria did not.
The distinction matters.
Not every difficult fragrance becomes worthwhile through endurance.
Sometimes the honest answer is simply:
“Thank you. I’ve learned what I needed to learn.”
Final Observation
As mentioned above, Tonka Hysteria shared ScentClub Kit 13 with Cherry Punk and Jasmine White Leather, with an apparent “leather” throughline.
That realization didn’t change my opinion.
It explained it.
This wasn’t a failed interview.
It was a successful one.
It revealed another piece of my own olfactory landscape.
Some fragrances teach us what we love.
Others teach us where our boundaries are.
Both are lessons.
It also circles back to Edison’s observation: Discovering what doesn’t work is still a successful experiment.
Tonka Hysteria wasn’t “the bad fragrance.”
It was the fragrance that taught me something durable:
- my body gets veto power;
- certain modern leather accords may simply not be my jam; and
- interviews don’t have to last four hours to be complete.
That’s a perfectly respectable contribution to the project.
Even < fragrances have work to do . . .
. . . this one just finished its work with me quicker than most.
The first fragrance in the project to make me get up and wash it off.
👑 Almeria Loumari (Loumari, Amélie Bourgeois)
Official Description: Top: Bitter orange, Almond, Elemi. Heart: Rose, Cinnamon, Black Pepper. Base: Virginia cedar, Tobacco, Musk, Vanilla, Caramel. (Mine is the original matte-white bottle presentation; later redesigned in the current green bottle.)
Opening
The first fragrance in the project to provoke an immediate, involuntary response:
“Whoa.”
An elegant opening of woody rose touched with black pepper.
Fresh.
Composed.
Quietly confident.
Nothing oversized.
Nothing theatrical.
Simply beautiful.
Development
The rose gradually stepped aside, revealing soft musk, gentle pepper, a hint of cinnamon, and eventually a restrained caramel reminiscent of Jany, followed by some vanilla bean.
Not sweet.
Not gourmand.
Simply luscious.
The composition never became about individual notes.
It became about the whole.
Everything remained appropriately weighted.
Performance
Excellent.
By Hour Three the fragrance had settled into remarkable stability.
Nothing more needed to emerge.
Nothing overstayed its welcome.
Character:
Myself.
For the first time, the fragrance introduced no character, no place, and no mood.
The personage was simply . . . me.
Atmosphere
Composed.
Balanced.
Natural without trying to imitate nature.
Elegant without trying to impress.
The fragrance disappears into the person wearing it, rather than asking the wearer to disappear into the fragrance.
Stewardship Notes
The first fragrance in the project to need something more than a ❤️.
Not because it is the “best.”
Because it answered a question none of the others had:
What fragrance do you reach for on the days you don’t need anything?
This is the fragrance I would wear not because I need comfort, confidence, transition, or courage.
I’ll wear it simply because it feels like me.
Atlas Discovery
A signature scent isn’t the fragrance that solves the most problems.
It’s the fragrance that remains, when there are no problems left to solve.
It doesn’t ask me to become someone else.
It quietly accompanies who I already am.
Final Observation
Some fragrances ask to be analyzed.
Others ask to be understood.
Almeria simply asked . . .
. . . to be worn.
Somewhere around Hour Three I realized I had stopped interviewing it.
Instead, I found myself reading with my nose tucked into the crook of my elbow, unconsciously repeating the same absurd rhythm:
Type. Sniff. Type. Sniff. Type. Sniff. Sniff. Type. Sniff. Sniff . . . Sniff. Type.
At that point, I decided the interview was probably over.
Not because there was nothing left to learn.
Because I had stopped evaluating the fragrance . . .
. . . and simply enjoyed wearing it.
(sniff)
EXTRA FIELD NOTES:
These fragrances have already been interviewed, but they haven’t yet found the blog post where they belong. Piano Santal will definitely appear later as part of an essay that weaves together several fragrances around a single idea. Since these fragrances make a brief appearance here, it seemed only fair to let them introduce themselves.
Piano Santal (L’Orchestre Parfum, Jean-Jacques, 2019)
Official Notes: Woody; Milk, Sandalwood, Skin, Cashmeran, White Musk, Cumin, Cedar, Ambroxan, Bergamot.
Opening
A brief flash of bergamot.
Then . . .
warm milk.
Not cream.
Not vanilla.
Not dessert.
Simply warm milk.
The brightness quickly steps aside and quietly opens the door.
Development
The fragrance remains remarkably steady.
Soft milk gradually gives way to weathered sandalwood.
Not polished furniture.
Not incense.
A barn wall that has quietly stood through many seasons.
Nothing dramatic happens.
It simply becomes more itself.
Performance
Moderate.
Consistent throughout the wear.
Comfort grows quieter rather than louder.
Character
Not encouragement.
Companionship.
Unlike Taipei, which quietly says,
“You’ve got this.”
Piano Santal says,
“I’ve got you.”
Atmosphere
Warm milk.
Weathered wood.
A familiar dog leaning comfortably against your leg.
Nothing trying to impress.
Everything quietly offering reassurance.
Library Connection
Mentioned here as one example of a fragrance that remedies something.
Piano Santal represents companionship rather than confidence or completion.
Its larger story belongs to another conversation.
Library Status: ❤️
Jasmine White Leather (BohoBoco, 2022)
Official Description: Top: Clove, Lemon, Bergamot. Heart: White Flowers, Jasmine, Lavender, Violet, Rose. Base: White Leather, Ambergris, Musk, Tonka Bean, Cedar, Patchouli, Vanilla.
Opening
After Tonka Hysteria, Jasmine White Leather almost felt like an apology.
Soft white flowers.
Fresh jasmine.
Gentle.
Reassuring.
The opening suggested retreat rather than confrontation.
Development
As the florals gradually receded, a quiet white leather emerged.
Not worn leather.
Not rugged leather.
Not phenolic leather.
Simply a carefully crafted leather accord.
The composition remained elegant throughout.
Never overwhelming.
Never quite belonging on my wrist.
Performance
Moderate.
The florals gradually yielded to leather without abrupt transitions.
The fragrance remained composed from beginning to end.
Character
Sophisticated.
Reserved.
Curated.
More gallery than forest.
More design than landscape.
Atmosphere
This fragrance inhabits a carefully designed human space.
Not natural.
Not artificial.
Simply intentional.
Library Connection
Jasmine White Leather completed my exploration of ScentClub Kit 13 – begun by Cherry Punk and carried on by Tonka Hysteria.
Each explored a different expression of modern leather.
Cherry Punk explored rebellion.
Tonka Hysteria explored intensity.
Jasmine White Leather explored restraint.
Experiencing all three helped explain my own preferences more clearly than any one fragrance could have done alone.
Final Observation
Not every fragrance becomes a companion.
Not every fragrance becomes a teacher.
Some simply arrive . . .
introduce themselves . . .
and continue their journey.
We had a lovely conversation.
Jasmine White Leather is the fragrance that taught me how to say goodbye gracefully.
Travel safely.
Library Status: <
