For Mixtape #3, we asked some friends, writers, and readers: What do you look for in a fragrance? Do you have signature scent notes? What makes a fragrance “good”?
Alexia Alkadi-Barbaro, PhD candidate in political theory: I look for mystery, romance, and innocence bottled up: something that evokes the image of a 1990s Tom Ford silk set laid out to rest in an open field of flowers. For that, I often find myself drawn to white florals and dark vanillas with wisps of tobacco or sandalwood at the base. My favorite pairings are Maison Louis No. 04 (or, for a more expensive and potent version, Carnal Flower by Frederic Malle) for a rich bouquet of jasmine, tuberose, and orange blossom, with Vanilla Antique by Byredo (or Tom Ford’s Vanilla and Tobacco). I love a nice wrist roll-on perfume oil, so for all of the aforementioned scents collected in a single bottle, my go-to is Olivine Atelier’s Gold Moon, which I originally stumbled upon in Joshua Tree’s infamous vintage shop Desert’s Edge.
Annie Berke, Film/TV Editor at LA Review of Books: While I love sniffing all the perfume samples at the department store, and I grew up on the classic millennial Gap scents (Grass 4eva), I’ve come to believe the best fragrances are more subtle and emphasize how people can actually smell. For that, I like C.O. Bigelow’s musk fragrance oil or Paddywax Sea Salt & Plumeria (possibly discontinued?); musk and salt…potentially sexy, right? Bottom line, you want people to wonder if you’re wearing perfume, not ask you what perfume you’re wearing.
Samuel Catlin, sometimes a writer and barely a professor: In a fragrance, I look for something that smells the way a campy, grotesque caricature of masculinity looks. Lumberjacks, Tom of Finland, motorcycles, smoke smoke smoke and more smoke: if it’s a horny masc cliche I think it’s funny, and if I think it’s funny, I will try wearing it! Fragrance to me is about performing an aspirational version of yourself and the tone of my particular performance is “gender parody.”
Faith S. Harden, professor of renaissance Spanish literature: For me, a good perfume is warm and intimate, with low projection and low sillage (functions of the formulation that you can’t achieve just by applying sparingly), so that it’s mostly undetectable unless you’re going in for a hug. I like unisex scents that sit between sweetness and spice, and amber accords—vanilla, ginger, resins—either juiced up with a fizzy hit of citrus or smudged with a trace of smoke.
Arah Ko, poet: Is it cliché as a writer to say that I love a fragrance that tells a story? More than any other sense, smell has a direct line to memory—not only that, studies suggest our noses can detect a trillion distinct scents. So when I pick up a bottle of Tamburins Late Autumn perfume, I’m locked into sweet cane grass and musk in rice paddies; Jo Malone’s Poppy & Barley cologne takes me to a library after spring rain; Versace Bright Crystal smells like falling in love.
Sheila Liming, Associate Professor, Champlain College: I look for layers of real smell—as in, I’m drawn to scents that go beyond conventional understandings of “what smells good” (i.e. flowers) and instead try to express something complex about reality, about the aromas that imbue real life. I rotate my scents by season, but my winter scent is Serge Lutens’ “Jeux de Peau.” It smells like bread and chocolate mixed with woodsy spice, except its name translates to “skin games” and there is a definite, underlying layer of salt and sweat. It borders on impolite, and that’s why I love it.
P.S. A book I really like on the subject of scent is Fluid States by Heidi Czerwiec.
Olivia Stowell, MTC Film & TV Editor: I’m a fragrance novice, but I have a convert’s zeal about it. I recently claimed jasmine as my own personal signature scent note. Something about jasmine conjures the kind of rom-com protagonist aura that tweenaged me hoped to embody someday as an adult. I’m drawn to scents that are light and girly, to the point of cliche—floral, fresh, maybe a hint of citrus. As a graduate student of little means, I also go feral for quality dupes or bang-for-your-buck perfumes. So in my everyday life, you can often find me wearing Oakcha’s Jasmine Blossom or Sunkissed, or Anatomy of a Fragrance’s Gardenia Blanc. And…I am a total apologist for Britney Spears’s Curious, and not only because the bottle looks like a prop from a shitty made-for-TV fantasy movie.
Rachel Tay, who “does not drive and grew up in a perennially tropical country”: I’m a creature of habit and an even more sentimental person, so I haven’t strayed too far from the soft, warm scents of Chanel’s Coco Mademoiselle—which I’ve been regularly using since one of my earliest celebrity crushes, Keira Knightley, fronted its campaign in 2007. The perfume’s bright and citrusy top notes suited me well in my teenage years anyway, just as its subtler, floral middle notes appeal to me now. In particular, its jasmine and ylang-ylang blend is quite reminiscent of home for me. These days, though, for variety and adventure, I find myself trying out deeper, smokier scents on occasion. I like the slight but noticeable hint of patchouli in Coco Mademoiselle, and would love to know if anyone has any other recommendations for me.
Bekah Waalkes, MTC Books Editor: My favorite perfumes last all day, giving different notes and scents as the day progresses. For late summer and fall, I personally love a jasmine perfume that fades into something else: Gucci Flora Gorgeous Jasmine is a tried-and-true Sephora basic that starts kind of peppery and floral and later ends up smelling kind of like grape soda (complimentary). My current favorite is Clue Perfumery’s The Point, which has a strong ‘cartoonish’ jasmine top scent that fades beautifully into a mellow, salty, beachy scent, akin to another summery fav, Replica’s Sailing Day. But it’s getting cold out…next on my list to try will definitely be Jouissance Perfume‘s new collection, all three scents inspired by “elemental erotic writers.”
Korey Williams, poet: A whiff and I was gone—far gone—but not yet lost. Above my head were almond blossoms singed in the sun. Then, as if by seawind, Was this all that shame could amount to? It wasn’t my question, but I was the only good answer.
MTC Mixtapes: asks our editors, writers, and readers to share their responses to a particular question about something they’re loving, hating, fascinated by, or curious about right now.