If, this time last year, you’d have asked me to sum up my taste in perfume in three words, I probably would have said something along the lines of: Woody, musky and unisex. I have always liked my scents to enter a room before I do. I lean towards those heavy notes that linger on clothes until the next morning. And while these preferences might not be to everyone’s tastes, I quite like it when my perfumes divide a room. As long as some people found my fragrance distasteful, at least I knew I wasn’t smelling the same as everyone else in the room, who were no doubt doused in the latest, totally inoffensive, crowd-pleasing floral.
But then the pandemic hit, and I had no longer had anyone to fluff up my fragrance feathers in front of. Instead, I was confined to the same four walls with nothing but the intoxicating scents of perfumes to remind me of the excess and freedom of a previous life. In a time when I needed fragrance more than ever before to lift my spirits, the aromas of my trusty favourites couldn’t serve me anymore. And, on top of my love for deep, attention-grabbing scents, it’s also worth noting that I was (and still am) painfully fussy. Finding a perfume to fit my mood on any given day is no mean feat. But luckily, despite all of the above, my perfume collection is shockingly vast.
