Perfume 101: 517 posts

Summer is the season of movement. As many of us travel, whether across countries or just to the next neighborhood, I’d like to offer a different way to mark the journey: not with photos or souvenirs, but with scent.

For years, I’ve made it a habit to map a place by its smells. This practice has changed how I travel. It slows me down. It sharpens my attention. And later, when memory fades, recalling scents brings everything back with astonishing clarity. I only have to imagine the honeyed aroma of orange blossoms to transport myself to Marrakesh. This memory then pulls on another one, and I delve into the fragrances of sun-warmed clay in a small oasis town, stone-roasted bread, and effervescent Moroccan cumin. In my mind, I travel again, going further and further.

Scent is the most ephemeral souvenir, but also the most faithful. Here’s how to begin building your own olfactory map.

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Can scent be tied to national identity? I received this question during a recent interview and the question stayed with me long after the conversation ended. It made me think about how we define ourselves, not only through language or landscape, but through something as invisible and visceral as smell.

My own story is layered. I was born into a family marked by complexity: Ukrainian, yes, but woven with many diasporic threads, braided through decades of dislocation, migration, and return. I didn’t fully grasp just how intricate this tapestry was until I began researching my family history for The Rooster House. Even after the book was already on shelves, I uncovered new archives and met relatives I hadn’t known existed. That’s how I learned that my mother’s side of the family had Roma and Jewish roots, and that my father’s lineage traced back to Tatarstan.

Since moving from Ukraine to the United States at the age of fifteen, I’ve lived in many places. Brussels has been my home for more than a decade. And yet, the place I return to is always Ukraine. That’s where the smells of my childhood reside. And that’s where scent has always felt like a language I understood instinctively.

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This spring, I’m drawn to perfumes that feel like sunlight on skin, crushed petals underfoot, and the air just after rain. Whether you’re looking for a small indulgence or a new signature, here’s a bouquet of fragrances across different budgets—each one capturing a facet of spring’s beauty.

Budget-Friendly Beauties (Under $50 / €45)

Zara Waterlily Tea Dress (Zara Emotions)
Sheer chiffon in pistachio green. Neroli and bergamot give it sparkle, while waterlily floats just out of reach. It promises afternoon tea but wears more like morning dew. Still, it’s pretty and uplifting while it lasts.
Price: ~€30 for 100ml

Yves Rocher Green Tea
Crisp as a pressed shirt and twice as clean. Citrus and tea leaves open with a brisk snap, then glide into sheer musk and water-light florals. No bitterness, no fuss—just the scent of being freshly rinsed. Minimalism in a bottle and that’s exactly what I crave sometimes.
Price: ~€19,99 for 100ml

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Цієї весни мене тягне до парфумів, що пахнуть сонячним світлом на шкірі, розчавленими пелюстками під ногами та повітрям одразу після дощу. Якщо ви шукаєте невелику розкіш чи новий підписний аромат, ось букет весняних парфумів на будь-який бюджет — кожен із них передає окрему грань весняної краси.

Zara Waterlily Tea Dress (Zara Emotions)
Шифон у фісташково-зеленому кольорі. Неролі й бергамот іскряться у вступі, тоді як водяна лілія ледь вловима, немов примара. Обіцяє післяобідній чай, а звучить як ранкова роса. Красива й піднесена — поки триває.
Ціна: ~€30 за 100 мл

Yves Rocher Thé Vert (Зелений чай)
Свіжий, як щойно випрасувана сорочка, і вдвічі чистіший. Цитрус і чайні листки звучать дзвінко, а потім розчиняються в прозорому мускусі й легких квітах. Жодної гіркоти, жодного ускладнення — лише аромат свіжості. Мінімалізм у флаконі, саме те, чого іноді так хочеться.
Ціна: ~€19,99 за 100 мл

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The first time I smelled White Peony by Dolna Sofiya, I had the sensation of stepping into a memory I hadn’t lived yet—a sunlit room, lace curtains swaying, petals scattered on a linen tablecloth. The perfume didn’t just unfold, it breathed, as if it had been waiting to be noticed: a gauzy blend of rose buds, green leaves, and the faintest trace of nectar. But what stayed with me wasn’t only the scent, it was the sense of intent. This was no imitation. It was a statement: delicate, yes, but deliberate.

Its creator, Sofiya Dolna, is part of a quiet, brave movement blooming in Ukraine, one where scent becomes not just personal expression, but a cultural declaration. In the lingering wake of White Peony, I sensed something larger stirring, a new kind of perfumery, rooted in emotion, resilience, and place. And today I want to tell you about Sofiya and about what it means to make something beautiful in a time of rupture.

Perfume

White Peony opens like a page in spring light, soft, yet vivid. The initial impression is the brightness of green tea and crushed flower petals, fresh and dewy. The green facets are pronounced, which initially gives the fragrance sharpness. Yet as the composition evolves, the verdant notes soften into a sweet, creamy floral accord. There’s something restrained about the sweetness, as though Sofia didn’t want to romanticize the flower but instead to show it in its quiet strength as well as a fantasy of a blossom. Think a Monet painting of a peony, rather than a high-resolution photograph.

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