There is a line from NCIS: New Orleans that has quietly followed me around for years.
Resident Agent in Charge Dwayne Pride is talking to someone younger. They’re eager to prove themselves, eager to become an expert, eager to arrive.
He simply says,
“Go. Learn things.”
Great line.
It contains no urgency.
No finish line.
Just permission to remain a student.
When I began this fragrance project, I thought I was going to discover favorite perfumes.
Instead, I learned things.
Oddly enough, the fragrances that taught me the most were rarely the ones I loved the best.
The first teacher was Orange x Santal.
I adored the opening.
Bright orange peel.
Freshness.
Promise.
Then . . .
almost immediately . . .
the orange ran offstage and sandalwood took over.
For days I thought I disliked the fragrance.
Eventually I realized that wasn’t quite it.
The sandalwood wasn’t the problem.
The orange’s disappearance was.
That became one of the first pieces of vocabulary this project gave me.
I don’t mind a fragrance evolving.
I mind it changing the subject.
Those aren’t the same thing.
It also taught me something even more important.
As the fragrance changed, my instinct was simply to say,
“I don’t like it.”
Orange x Santal made me stop instead to ask a better question.
What actually happened?
That single question turned out to be the beginning of this entire project.
Not,
“Do I like it?”
Not,
“Is it good?”
Instead:
“What happened?”
That shift changed everything.
I started joking that buying Orange x Santal felt like buying an album because I loved the radio single.
The single was Classical.
The album was Emo.
Neither genre is better.
They simply weren’t the same emotional contract.
Its permanent place in my memory is now this:
“HEY!”
(I turn around.)
“HAHAHA! MADEJA LOOK!”
And off Orange runs, giggling.
Orange x Santal wasn’t a failure.
It taught me to slow down.
To wait.
To observe before deciding.
Your first impression may be completely—and honestly—wrong.
So perhaps don’t make snap judgments.
Or $100 purchases based on a 10 second whiff.
Blue Whisky on the Rock, in an Old-Fashioned Glass taught a completely different lesson.
On paper, it sounded like something I’d love.
The official notes promised whisky, yuzu, eucalyptus, mint, rose, oak and cedar.
Instead…
my first impression wasn’t whisky at all.
It was RC Cola.
Then vanilla drifted in.
A few minutes later they melded into . . .
root beer float.
Remarkably . . .
it stayed there.
It didn’t evolve much.
It didn’t surprise me.
It didn’t ask to be figured out.
At first I wondered whether that meant it lacked complexity.
Eventually I realized it was teaching me something else entirely.
Not every fragrance has to keep revealing hidden chapters.
Sometimes the greatest gift isn’t excitement.
It’s companionability.
My notes eventually became:
“A game room at a friend’s house.”
Wood paneling.
Comfortable chairs.
A pool table waiting for the next game.
Someone looks up as you walk in.
“Good to see ya.”
The evening has no agenda.
Nobody is entertaining.
Nobody is trying to impress anyone.
Nothing remarkable happens.
Which, somehow, becomes the whole point.
That lesson made me smile.
Not every fragrance has to become a soulmate.
Sometimes it’s enough that it smiles and says,
“Pull up a chair.”
Then came Sagesse de Salomon (The Wisdom of Solomon).
This is an expensive fragrance.
A prestigious fragrance.
A beautifully bottled fragrance.
People whose noses I genuinely respect may absolutely adore it.
I sprayed it on.
My first thought?
A cedar plank wrapped in Band-Aids.
Not a cedar forest.
Not sacred woods.
Not ancient temples.
The kind of cedar plank sold specifically to keep moths out of cashmere sweaters.
The longer I wore it, the more convinced I became.
Hour one.
More cedar.
Hour two.
MORE cedar.
Hour three.
A little powder—perhaps iris—appeared somewhere in the distance.
King Solomon remained completely unmoved.
Naturally, Chad and I immediately imagined King Solomon standing upon the battlements beneath the enormous golden crown on the bottle, calmly defending the kingdom against approaching VisiMoths. (If you don’t get my terrible pun—and Chad didn’t at first either—you may wish to look up the Visigoths. Or – maybe not.)
“ARCHERS.”
“Release the Band-Aids.”
fwump.
Thousands of cedar-wrapped adhesive strips sailed gracefully toward the invading moth hordes.
His kingdom’s knitwear would survive.
The King protects all.
Including cashmere.
Ridiculous?
Absolutely.
But underneath the laughter was something important.
If every time I spray that beautifully bottled fragrance my brain says,
“Cedar closet.”
. . . . then that’s where I must begin.
Not because it’s objectively “correct.”
Because it’s honestly observed.
Not The Truth.
My truth.
And that distinction matters to me.
Maybe someone else smells wisdom.
Maybe someone else smells sacred forests.
I smell the Guardian of Sweaters.
Neither observation invalidates the other.
The fragrance simply isn’t telling me a story I want to stay with.
That realization changed something much larger than perfume.
I used to think collecting meant acquiring.
Now I think it means recognizing.
Sometimes an object has finished its work with us.
That isn’t failure.
It isn’t decluttering.
It certainly isn’t minimalism.
It’s simply acknowledging that the relationship has reached its natural conclusion.
Perhaps the fragrance’s next best use is with someone whose story it fits perfectly.
That thought felt liberating.
Then I realized something else.
Somewhere along the way, I had quietly stopped thinking like a collector.
Collectors ask,
“Should I own this?”
Curators ask,
“Does this belong in the collection?”
Those aren’t the same question.
A collector is trying to acquire.
A curator is trying to represent the truth as they see it.
Increasingly, I think curation is really an act of recognition.
Not every beautiful object belongs in my collection.
Some belong in someone else’s.
And that’s perfectly okay.
Looking back, if these fragrances had a raison d’être, I don’t think it was to become my buddies.
Instead, they made me a better observer.
Orange x Santal taught me the difference between evolution and replacement.
More importantly, it taught me to slow down.
To wait.
To observe before deciding.
Whisky taught me that not every relationship has to be exciting.
Sometimes quiet companionship is enough.
Sagesse de Salomon taught me the difference between prestige and perception.
None of those lessons required me to keep the fragrance forever.
They simply required me to pay attention.
The fragrance is rarely the destination.
Sometimes it quietly says,
“Go. Learn things.”
Which makes me wonder if Dwayne Pride was talking about far more than investigation.
Not everything you learn will stay with you.
Some lessons arrive inside bottles you’ll eventually gift to a friend who loves them.
Some lessons arrive inside books you’ll leave in the coffee shop’s lending library.
Some arrive while standing in your bathroom, laughing because a $330 bottle of perfume has somehow become Commander of the Royal Anti-Moth Brigade.
Looking back, I don’t think this project was ever really about perfume.
Perfume just happened to be the classroom.
The real subject turned out to be attention.
Learning how to notice.
Learning how to describe.
Learning how to tell myself the truth.
Go.
Learn things.
Fragrance Field Notes
Orange x Santal
Fragrantica Notes: Orange x Santal by Essential Parfums (Natalie Gracia-Cetto, 2018). Citrus Aromatic. Bitter Orange, Australian Sandalwood, Cypress, Basil and Oakmoss.
My Field Notes
Opening: Radiant orange peel. Bright. Fresh. Optimistic. The fragrance immediately promises sunshine.
Drydown (begins almost immediately — within about 20 seconds): Orange runs out the back door, giggling. Sandalwood struts confidently onto center stage. The transition isn’t gradual enough to feel like evolution. It feels like replacement or – to be less charitable, “Bait and Switch.” Mood: The One Hit Wonder.
Lesson: Evolution vs. Replacement. I don’t mind a fragrance changing. I mind it changing the subject. Orange x Santal also became the first fragrance that made me stop asking, “Do I like it?” and instead ask, “What happened here?” That single question quietly became the foundation of this entire project.
Running Field Note
Orange: “HEY!”
(I turn around)
“HAHAHA! MADEJA LOOK!”
(giggling, runs away)
Blue Whisky on the Rock, in an Old-Fashioned Glass
Fragrantica Notes: Blue Whisky on the Rock, in an Old-Fashioned Glass by Proad (Olivier Pescheux, 2023). Woody Aromatic. Top: Whiskey, Yuzu, Eucalyptus, Mint. Heart: Anise, Lavender, Rose. Base: Oak, Musk, Cedar, Patchouli, Vetiver
My Field Notes
Immediate Impression: RC Cola. A little later . . . vanilla joins in. Then . . . Root beer float. Casual, comfortable. No dramatic evolution.
Observation: The official notes promised whisky, eucalyptus, anise and mint. Believe me, living in a eucalyptus forest with rampant mint and anise in my vegetable garden, I know how to recognize even a whisper of those two. Nope. My nose never found them. Instead, the fragrance settled into exactly what it wanted to be and stayed there.
Mood: A game room at a friend’s house. Wood paneling. A pool table waiting for the next game. Comfortable chairs that have held years of conversation. Nobody is entertaining; nobody needs to. Someone simply looks up, smiles, and says, “Good to see ya.” The evening has no agenda beyond spending time together. Nothing remarkable happens. Which becomes the whole point.
Lesson: Companionability Doesn’t Have to Perform. Sometimes the story isn’t about excitement. Sometimes it isn’t being comforted. Sometimes it’s simply, “Let’s hang out.” Not every fragrance has to become a forever friend. Some simply create a room I’m happy to spend a little time in.
Sagesse de Salomon
Fragrantica Notes: Sagesse de Salomon by Reine de Saba (Carlos Benaïm, 2022). Oriental Fougère. Top: Red Berries, Juniper Berries, Mandarin Orange. Heart: Iris, Lavender, Labdanum. Base: Amber Xtreme, Suede, Cashmeran
My Field Notes
Opening: A freshly planed cedar closet plank wrapped in Band-Aids. Not forest. Not temple. Closet cedar. The kind sold to protect wool sweaters.
Development (Hour 3)
- Cedar continues to strengthen.
- Powder (possibly iris) quietly emerges in the far background; never overtakes the cedar.
- Dry.
- Serious.
- Unwavering.
Emotional Impression: Dignified. Resolute. Entirely committed to defending expensive knitwear from imaginary VisiMoths. The King protects all. Including cashmere.
Lesson: Prestige vs. Perception. Listening carefully to my own experience matters more than assuming something beautiful, prestigious, or expensive must therefore be right for me. Or, put another way: Not The Truth. My truth. At the beginning, there is always a gravitational pull: expensive = best. Now the hierarchy is almost inverted. A bottle stays because it contributes something unique to my life. If it doesn’t…its price is historically interesting, but irrelevant. That’s a curator’s mindset instead of a collector’s.
