Perfume Trends: 62 posts

From Agarwood to Osmanthus: Perfume Journeys through China (English)

Коли я подорожувала у В’єтнамі, я сиділа за низьким дерев’яним столиком у Хюе й навчалася мистецтва виготовлення пахощів у майстра. Надворі йшов дощ, і аромат квітучого османтуса наповнював майстерню своїм м’яким фруктовим ароматом. Майстер розтирав деревину, смоли й прянощі, а потім з’єднував їх у палички за допомогою порошку макко. Рецепт, пояснив він, мав китайське походження: агарове дерево, сандал, гвоздика, борнеол. Це були інгредієнти, які колись перевозили великими торговими шляхами, що поєднували храми, двори та домівки. Спостерігаючи за ним, я зрозуміла, наскільки історія парфумерії тримається на таких обмінах.

Китайська культура запахів величезна. Вона охоплює храмові пахощі й осінні квіти османтусу, дорогоцінне агарове дерево й пару від чашки чаю. Західна парфумерія рідко прямо втілює ці традиції, але їхній вплив залишається відчутним, формуючи деякі з найцікавіших ароматів останніх десятиліть.

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Нішеві парфуми для осені (українська версія)

As summer fades and September approaches, my perfume shelf tilts toward warmth, depth, and resonance. Autumn is the season when I crave perfumes with substance—scents that wrap like a shawl or glow like candlelight. It’s also the perfect time to discover something new, so I selected a variety of niche fragrances. Some perfumes mentioned are best-sellers in their category, others are less well-known outside the scent lover circle. They sit comfortably alongside classics and even layer well with them.

Ambers & Resins

Amber is a shape-shifter. It can glow like sunlight caught in silk, or it can brood like incense in a shadowed chapel. For autumn, I always think first of Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan, the quintessential amber. Its bold resinous profile set the modern standard, and it remains the point of reference when speaking about ambers. Around it, these newer ambers offer fresh interpretations:

Parfumerie Générale L’Ombre Fauve: the sensuality of warm fur and smoke, created out of incense, spices and patchouli.

Meo Fusciuni L’Oblio: a perfume that reads like a poem, ambered iris tinged with melancholy.

Maison Francis Kurkdjian Oud Satin Mood: a cashmere wrap of violet petals and amber, with just enough oud to make it dramatic.

What is amber in perfumery? Learn here.

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Once whispered on wrists and hidden in scarves, fragrance is back to making noise — and not in a polite way. Think clouds of tuberose in the metro, cherry-vanilla fogs in coffee shops, amber-woods ambushing you in elevators. After years of “skin scents” and “sexy clean,” the pendulum has swung. Subtlety is out. Sillage is back.

If this feels familiar, it’s because it is. The 1980s were one long olfactory rock concert. Yves Saint Laurent Opium, Dior Poison, Giorgio Beverly Hills — perfumes that didn’t so much linger as colonize the air. They came with wide shoulders, red lipstick, and the unapologetic mission to announce: I was here and you will remember me.

Today’s power scents dress differently. They may be gender-neutral like Marc-Antoine Barrois Ganymede or artisanal like Maison Francis Kurkdjian Baccarat Rouge 540. But the intent is the same: to make a statement.

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Maison Francis Kurkdjian Baccarat Rouge 540? Oh yes, it’s everywhere. You can smell it in elevators, cafés, and occasionally on buses that really shouldn’t be carrying anything so expensive. Except some people swear they smell…nothing. They sniff, they spray, they press their wrist to their nose—and all they get is disappointment. Meanwhile, the rest of us are quietly choking on what feels like a candyfloss thundercloud.

So, what’s going on? Baccarat Rouge 540 leans heavily on ambroxan (amber-woody), Veltol/maltol (cotton candy), and other woody synthetics. These are all potent materials. They’re also molecules that many people simply can’t smell.

It’s called selective anosmia. Up to 20% of the population is “blind” to certain musks, ambers, or woods. If your olfactory receptors don’t recognize ambroxan, you’ll get nothing.

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Mimosa is a winter flower that holds the promise of spring. One of my most vivid childhood memories is seeing Georgian florists in Kyiv set up their mimosa stands in the last weeks of February. My mother would buy a big bouquet whenever we passed by and bury her face in the yellow flowers. Mimosa is happiness. Mimosa is a ray of sunshine.

In Belgium, mimosa comes either from Italy or France, and when the florists receive it, just like the Georgian mimosa vendors of my youth, they also display it in the street. How can anyone resist a yellow splash of mimosa? Even more inviting than the color of this flower is its scent. It’s delicate yet surprisingly persistent, filling my entire apartment with its nuances of violets, almonds, and cucumber peels. The temptation is to look for a similar interpretation in a bottle of perfume.

One of the classical interpretations is found in Jo Malone’s Mimosa and Cardamom, where the light, creamy aroma of the mimosa flower blends with the cool freshness of cardamom, creating a bright, uplifting effect. Powdery floral notes frame the mimosa and meld into the soft musky base. While the mimosa impression is not the most natural, it’s nevertheless close.

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