They say smell is the most emotional of all our senses. One whiff and suddenly you’re 10 again, sneaking a spray of your mum’s Beyonce Heat perfume before the school disco, or getting to hug your crush and his hoodie that smelled like laundry detergent and boy. Fragrance isn’t just an accessory, it’s a timestamp, a feeling, a portal.
Before I ever knew people had signature scents, I had scent associations. The original Victoria’s Secret Strawberries and Champagne body mist that made me feel older. The musky cocoa butter lotion my friend wore religiously, like armour. The clean cotton of freshly changed sheets after a hard day. I didn’t know it then, but I was already forming a kind of scent language, learning how smells stitched themselves to memory and mood and specific moments in time.
Now, fragrance feels more deliberate. We talk about “scent wardrobes” and layering like we’re building emotional armour for the day. Citrus to feel refreshed and productive. Rose to feel soft and romantic. Amber and oud to feel expensive. In a world constantly moving at hyper-speed, perfume is still one of the slow, sensual ways we stay rooted. It lingers. It’s private. It touches skin and space.
Scent is also wildly intimate. It’s not just about how others perceive us, it’s about how we perceive ourselves. Do you ever notice how a certain perfume makes you sit a bit straighter? Or how applying your favorite lotion becomes a ritual, almost like a promise to yourself? That’s what I mean. Smell affects presence. Mood. Identity. There are days I wear perfume just to feel a bit better. Not because anyone will smell it, but because it helps me access a version of myself I like. One that’s focused, a little put together, slightly untouchable in a good way. One that feels like it could be me.
But the fragrance industry also reflects beauty’s biases. The “clean girl” aesthetic loves its soft musks and vanilla mists, sweet, pretty, passive. But what about the girl who wants to smell like smoke and saffron and static? The one who mixes Le Labo with Charlie body spray just because she can? We’re in an era now where fragrance is being reclaimed as art, not just allure. Indie perfumers are bottling nostalgia, weirdness, even rage. And I think that’s beautiful.
Because fragrance isn’t really about being liked. It’s about being noticed. It’s about being remembered.
So whether you’re loyal to Ariana Cloud or rotating through niche oils like mood rings, there’s something sacred in finding something that feels like you. The notes you return to when you want to feel safe. The ones that make you feel mysterious. The accidental blend that smells like the best version of a bad idea. It’s all valid.
Despite everything, I don’t think I’ve found my signature scent yet, the one that lingers like a memory and makes me feel entirely myself. There are a few over the years that have intrigued me enough to want to try them. My aesthetic changes rapidly every few months. I contain multitudes. I am indie, dark academia, cottagecore, art hoe, coquette and grunge, and it all depends on my mental health, my hyperfixations and simply just mood. Because of this, Glossier’s You collection has captured my attention. A cruelty free and vegan scent, available in different forms, Glossier promises a skin-scent enhancing formula. It’s supposed to smell a little different on everyone, and maybe that's what I need. A soft, signature scent that will remain, whether I’m wearing severely ripped jeans, or a puffy gingham dress.
You don’t need a signature scent to be a main character. But when you find one (or five) that makes you feel that little bit more alive? That’s a kind of magic on its own.
 | A guest post by
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