In 2013 or 14, I discovered Byredo on the beauty floor at Barneys (may she rest). I was immediately drawn to 1996, a fragrance developed in partnership with Inez & Vinoodh. I’ve always loved perfume and been fascinated by the deep association between scent and memory, and this one was extraordinary, and unlike anything I’d sniffed out before (or since).
At $225 a pop on a fashion assistant’s salary, I certainly couldn’t justify purchasing a bottle at the time. I befriended the sales associates who kindly kept me stocked up on sample vials, which I held on to like talismans. I wore the fragrance almost exclusively for nearly a decade until I learned it would be discontinued, and since then have made exploring new fragrances a bit of a side hobby (much to the dismay of my tiny New York apartment). In doing so, I noticed how drawn I am to fragrances that bottle some combination of frankincense, myrrh, tobacco, sandalwood, incense, and/or cedar: church smells.
The Catholic Church may fail in a lot of ways, but I can say with my entire chest it sure knows how to succeed at a fragrance. And a free one, at that. Having been brought up in the Church, there is no scent more nostalgic for me than that of an old, woody, smokey, incense-y church. And there’s something comforting about knowing that, no matter where I am in the world, I can count on the presence of an old church to conjure up a feeling of familiarity and home.
In honor of National Fragrance Day (today), I present you with some of my favorite fragrances that delicately bottle the aroma of a church (minus the lingering guilt, shame, and penance).
Gucci A Gloaming Night
Smells like: a nun in a Catholic horror film. Dark, mystical, complex.
Aesop Ouranon
Smells like: post-Confession lightness and a Gregorian chant.
Thin Wild Mercury Girl of the Year
Smells like: smoking lipstick-stained cigarettes in the stairwell of your all girls’ school dormitory. (I wouldn’t know anything about that.)
Byredo Vanille Antique
Smells like: if you were to find a chunky Fisherman sweater in a perpetually-candleit church’s pew and wore it without washing it first (no judgment) to bake Palmiers with your grandmother.
Frederic Malle Portrait of a Lady
Smells like: if you were to toss a fresh rose in a baptismal font, with some burning incense and a splash of holy water.
Dior New Look
Smells like: your chic grandmother in her Sunday Best humming a hymn, complete with pearl earrings, red nails, and a pack of Virginia Slims in a monogrammed, antique brass case.
Margiela Fragrances By the Fireplace
Smells like: burning your sins at the stake and asking for forgiveness (not permission).
Tom Ford Myrrhe Mystère
Smells like: a Lenten Sunday mass as the sunlight filters through stained glass windows, dust flies, candles flicker, and the organist plays Toccata and Fugue in D minor (Dracula is in the house).
Byredo De Los Santos
Smells like: tendrils of holy smoke, with the added benefit of hopefully warding off Negative Nancies by wearing it (so far, so good).
Le Labo Vetiver
Smells like: the creaky, old, patinated leather kneelers in the pew, minus the subsequent knee pain.
Heeley Paris Cardinal
Smells like: the oldest, smokiest, most echo-y, mysterious, awe-inspiring cathedral in France, bottled with a hint of terror. (The brand describes it as smelling like “an immaculate young priest”, which, fine.)
Byredo 1996
Smells like: being on set at an unpaid fashion internship and a prayer to the Lord to get one’s shit together (and, perhaps, a real job).
You’re churching up to all that until you’ve stepped foot into one of the mosque’s in the middle east.
You just might find God somewhere between oudh and vetiver. Dare I say it end in prostration.