I never counted my collection of perfumes. I’m just not ready to know my “number”. Partly because I have to admit that I went overboard and told people I have hundreds of scents when I might only be 60. But I’m also not ready to find out. that I even have 60, because having 60 bottles of the perfume seems obsessive. Still, if I had to guess, I’d say I have maybe 67 bottles – and 122 samples. Samples are essential. For commitment phobes, this is a trial period; for me they are a chance to be someone else. I started pretending to use perfume when I was 5, when I sprayed some of my parents. It was Fight. I still slip from time to time.
Aside from smelling like someone else, I’ve been used to wearing scents seasonally, for periods of about three months, since I was 18. The idea behind this is that when I’m 90, I can smell a bottle and be transported to the summer of 2014 or a particularly emotional breakup. I continued to switch scents throughout my 20s, but I fear 90-year-old Sasha will have a harder time bringing up specific chapters in her 30s, as I have already spent an entire year of that decade in wear a particular perfume. that I cannot give up: Sophia, a perfumed oil from 1509.
My friend Rachel and I have a theory that perfume wearers can be divided into two groups: those who want to walk into a room and be asked what scent they are wearing, and those who want to leave a room and people wonder what perfume they are wearing. I’m the first – I need instant validation. This is why the Sophia perfume stuck. It elicited countless compliments, including from people in masks who stopped me to ask me what I was wearing. Rather than feeling it all day on my wrist, I feel it around me. I can feel it under the covers. It permeates the spaces I occupy. He accompanies me wherever I walk. While choosing a scent, you may think that it is the opening scent that makes an impression. But it’s actually the drying out – the smell that lingers after the product sets in – that is most important, as those first notes always fade. The beauty of Sophia is that its opening and drying scent are exactly the same, which is why I like to compare wearing it to an extended honeymoon.
Everyone who bought the perfume (sometimes within minutes of smelling it on me) fell in love with it as well. The scent is incredibly alchemical: on a wrist, a perfume can smell more powdery than greedy; on another wrist, that same scent may smell more smoke than powder. Sophia thus camouflages herself to a wearer’s body chemistry, but she manages to maintain the same amber note no matter who wears it. Someone once told me it smelled like a waterfall. My boyfriend said, “It smells like you,” which relates to Sophia’s ability to enhance (but not overpower) a wearer’s natural body chemistry. The way it persists reminds me of when you borrow a sweater from a friend who smells really good on a cold night and a few days later you can still smell that sweater. Finding out about Sophia in my early 30s was actually perfect timing, as I fall in love with the decade almost as quickly as I did with the perfume.
At one point, I realized that I was becoming a Perfumer because I am a pure nostalgic. I’ll never forget when, at 18, I smelled Bond No. 9 Saks Fifth Avenue For Her on a friend. I got hooked on perfume and then started trying others, starting a collection that continues to this day. But even when I switched to new scents, I would occasionally spray some of those scents to be referred (scent?) To that first puff. Each time, I vividly remembered the pleasure of feeling it on my friend, fascinated by the fact that a nose, apparently, is all you need for time travel.
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