Since I can’t describe scent, I should definitely write a post about fragrance. And the fragrances I prefer.
I can’t stand perfume that smells like perfume (I know that’s not descriptive, but I already said I can’t describe smells), is cloyingly floral (florals make me sick, so sick), or heavy, or intense… Also, as I have mentioned before, my body chemistry turns everything sweet. Because I’m so sweet! Hahahahahaha. Jokes. Anyway. The part about everything turning sweet on me IS true. If a perfume has “notes of refreshing lime and warm vanilla”…I will smell like a vanilla sugar cookie. And nothing else. The end. If a perfume has “notes of fresh lime and…jasmine,” I will vomit (I love the smell of jasmine irl).
Also, sometimes a perfume won’t bother me. And then it suddenly makes me feel horribly nauseated. Like. After I’ve worn it for months. The end, the end.
Several years ago, Caroline got me a perfume at Young Blood called Memoirs of a Trespasser. And, proving she knows me, knows what I will love, and that it’s actually possible to buy someone perfume—it’s the fragrance I’ve worn ever since.
Imaginary Authors makes unisex perfumes, which is the first step to take in finding something that won’t smell like I’ve sprayed cake on myself or give me a sickening headache since someone decided feminine smells are overwhelmingly sweet or distressingly—and oppressingly—flowery. I’m not unpacking that one.
Memoirs of a Trespasser has notes of Madagascar vanilla, guaiac wood, myrrh, benzoin resin, ambrette seeds, and oak barrels. While the vanilla would typically be the only thing you could smell on me, this somehow doesn’t do that! That thing that all perfumes do to me. Or that I do to all perfumes. It’s a winter fragrance for sure. But I sometimes wear it in the summer since I don’t have a summer perfume (I’m searching. Will report back once I find something. And I will describe it very poorly).
Memoirs of a Trespasser smells like fall and the nostalgia of fall—when it’s just gotten crisp and in the morning it somehow smells like something has been burning—dead leaves, a campfire, woodsmoke, a pile of wood that’s not been burned, pipe tobacco, pencils…and just the faintest whiff of vanilla.
I’ve gotten loads of compliments on it, including the physical compliment of people hugging and sniffing me for a lengthy amount time.
And also some interesting comments on it. Including: “Are you wearing perfume? You smell like camping. And the city of Portland.” Which. I chose to think of that one as the campfire part. Not someone insinuating that I smell like homemade deodorant.
Or no deodorant.