A few weeks ago I was at the driving range.
I go there often enough that I know most of the staff by sight.
As I was paying for a bucket of balls, the young lady behind the counter smiled and said:
“You always smell nice.”
We chatted for a minute or two.
I mentioned that I own an online fragrance business.
Her eyes immediately lit up.
“Oh, I love perfumes.”
Then she quickly added:
“But I don’t really know much about them.”
That made me smile.
Over the years I’ve met plenty of people who know a great deal about fragrance.
People who can identify notes, discuss performance, compare compositions and debate whether one scent is better than another.
I suppose after more than 10 years in this business I’ve become one of those people too.
I told her that next time I was at the range I’d bring her a few samples to try.
A week or so later I remembered and dropped off a small handful of 2ml samples.
Nothing particularly rare.
Nothing particularly expensive.
Just a few fragrances that I thought she might enjoy exploring.
The reaction was quite humbling.
You would have thought I’d handed her a winning lottery ticket.
She opened each one carefully.
Smelled it.
Smiled.
Smelled the next one.
Went back to the first.
Changed her mind.
Then changed it again.
She asked questions.
Compared them.
Laughed at some of her own observations.
And seemed completely delighted by the whole experience.
There was something wonderfully uncomplicated about it.
She wasn’t evaluating them.
She wasn’t analysing them.
She wasn’t trying to decide whether they were niche enough, sophisticated enough or unique enough.
She was simply enjoying them.
And if I’m honest, watching her reminded me of something.
Something I hadn’t noticed I’d been missing.
The longer we spend around anything, the more knowledgeable we become.
That can be a good thing.
Knowledge helps us appreciate nuance.
It helps us understand why things work the way they do.
But expertise has a hidden cost.
Sometimes familiarity quietly replaces wonder.
When we’re new to something, we ask:
“Do I love this?”
Years later we ask:
“How does this compare?”
When we’re new, we explore.
When we’re experienced, we evaluate.
Neither is wrong.
But one of them is a lot more fun.
Watching her smell those samples reminded me of what fragrance felt like when I first discovered it.
Back when I wasn’t thinking about notes, performance, longevity or fragrance families.
Back when something either made me smile or it didn’t.
I think that’s where most of us started.
Not because we wanted to become fragrance experts.
But because something smelled wonderful.
Perhaps every now and then it’s worth returning to that feeling.
To stop comparing.
To stop analysing.
To stop trying to find the perfect fragrance.
And simply enjoy what you’re smelling.
One of the joys of fragrance is that there is always something new to discover.
Not because you’re searching for perfection.
But because exploration itself is enjoyable.
A scent that surprises you.
A scent that reminds you of something.
A scent that simply makes you smile.
That’s why we encourage exploration.
Not to become an expert.
But to remain curious.
You can start small:
Or, if you’ve already discovered a few favourites:
Sometimes the greatest pleasure isn’t finding something new.
It’s rediscovering the sense of wonder you had when you first started looking.
Until next time
Rob
"A good perfume is one that you recognize immediately, one that you distinguish among all others."
Dominique Ropion