assorted smells through summer's last breaths

a few perfumes i've been reaching for as the thick heat of the solstice collapses in on itself

In my eyes summer is not so much a stretch of time so much as it is an atmosphere. Things feel more immediate, and there’s less room for pretense or premeditation – like a Tennessee Williams’ script, heat is the great emotional equalizer – it brings tensions to a boil and renders emotions cartoonish in their immediacy. needless to say, this summer has been defined by once again moving from my hometown in South Carolina back to the fair fields of Chicago Illinois, and transitioning from a period of financial instability into a full-time job in niche fragrance. After long days of explaining the difference between eaux de toilette and eaux de parfum to well-meaning ambiguously European women it’s been hard to find the time or the emotional energy to post about perfume as frequently on twitter as I used to, but I hope my followers know that my love for all things beautiful and perfumed hasn’t diminished in the slightest.

What will follow then, is for lack of a central theme or notes reference, some of the perfumes that have really caught my attention as the summer season drives from full force into autumn. Take them as personal recommendations, or merely a snapshot of this moment in time as portrayed by the things I smell – the decision is yours. As my favorite barely functional graphically endearing and concerningly crypto-fascist perfume database that refuses to answer me or any of my friend’s emails so proudly proclaims: you are free to choose.

Universal Flowering, Burst!

I will admit, that despite having one of the most notably poetic and beautiful fragrantica note visualizations, Universal Flowering’s ‘Burst!’ was not something I expected myself to fall in love with on paper. It genuinely takes a lot to convince me on a citrus-dominant concept, as smells like grapefruit and orange so often lean sterile and flat to my nose. Perhaps, however, my entry into appreciating the genre as a whole can be through the yuzu fruit, because a number of perfumes featuring this Japanese delicacy have won me over. Diptyque’s refreshing orange-creamsicle dalliance Oyedo, Japanese haute perfumers DI SER’s bracing herbal tonic Mizu, and Strangers Parfumerie’s self-explanatory Yuzu Soda, are some of my favorite options, but debatably the greatest among them is the yuzu note in Burst. Perhaps what entrances me with Yuzu as a citrus type is how little the smell recalls actual citrus fruit, and how much it conjures the specific simulacra of “orange flavor.” Tart rhubarb adds a neon red sort of vegetal-ness to the vibrancy of yuzu, and the resulting combination is laid atop of bed of ingenious synthetic fantasy accords to create a lighthearted vignette of what summer vacation felt like in the fifth grade. Notable secondary scents captured within the extroverted zest of Burst are light and tart apple skin, a blanched white chalk essence, and a notorious very much present metallic wood-miasma christened as a pencil shaving accord. I’ve found this perfume is very much something I wear for me. Be it spritzing it on before bed, or tucking a few sprays in the crook of my elbow, its hard to not feel happy in a stupid and unabashed sort of childhood way while wearing it.

Jorum Studio, Firewater

I am not surprised this is one of the least popular perfumes from easily accessible yet relentlessly experimental Scots Jorum Studio, but I am somewhat disappointed. This is one of those fragrances that feels like an active assault on the senses. Very similar to their equally gorgeous peat overdose Monolith, but somehow, a little less clean. I love the latter’s animalic and astringent opening, but into the drydown I am surprised by a very polite and sophisticated vetiver. Firewater gives you no such reprieve. Intense and filthy birchtar smoke through and through, this is the fragrance I would wear to star on my mom’s favorite somewhat unethical reality TV survivalist show Naked and Afraid. Hot dirt heavy breath tinny taste of blood. A primal sort of instinct, falling face first onto wet earth and looking up with a glare. Cool juniper leads to medicinal smoke. Soil tincturing at its most metallic. If oxidized pennies grew on trees, and that tree was on fire.

Mihan Aromatics, Kirra Currl

This one was also a surprise to me, as usually I find calone-based “yayyy I’m having fun at the #beach” scents to be flat, or otherwise overly simplistic. The distinctly Australian Mihan Aromatics, however, intrigued me with the promise of a surf wax accord in the heart note of Kirra Currl. I do think that ultimately, this perfume delivers the very specific thick, salty, and artificial coconut scent associated with a well-used round of surfboard wax. There is technically sandalwood and vanilla in the perfume’s drydown, but to be honest, everything here seems to blend together in the service of painting that very specific scene in which a nonchalant Aussie surfer smears a wax called something like Beach Bum Paradise Delight onto a well-worn surfboard’s grip. Perhaps there is a smidge of leather from the surfboards wrist harness? It simultaneously reminds me of falling directly onto my face trying to stand up on a children’s surfboard as a kid, and of the general atmosphere of bargain beachwear shops found in po-dunk towns along the Altanitc coast. Beach camp 2009, a mouth full of Atlantic salt water, failing to stand up for more than three seconds on a child-sized board. Rubbing coconut-flavor plasticine petroleum paraffins across the frontside of neon orange foam. Traces of leather harness - oh well, time to try again.

Pearfat, I’ll Never Learn

This perfume has been a delight to rediscover recently, as I had somehow previously missed it completely in past surveys of Alie Kiral’s whimsical oeuvre. Recently made part of the permanent collection, however, I count this among my favorite things she’s ever made. Created in collaboration with her mentor the independent perfumer Michael Nordstrand, I’ll Never Learn carries with it an inherent sophistication and complexity, without ever turning its back on the characteristic playfulness that garnered Pearfat its notoriety. Upon first spray, the suede jumps out in a powdery, almost chalk-like register, smelling like knockoff pleather handbags dusted with spilled MAC setting powder. As my own mentor and friend Matt Morris points out in his own lovely review of the scent, I’ll Never Learn epitomizes Pearfat’s characteristic celebration of the synthetic in perfume, and its nostalgic glorification of all things camp, quaint, and seemingly po-dunk about the American Midwest. Into the drydown orris, lavender, and candied violets combine to make a vaguely cosmetic cool-toned accord that feels like a deep sigh from the bottom of your chest. Sharp, cool, and profoundly fuzzy, this smells like unfocusing your eyes in the back of your rich aunts minivan. Like TV static and scratchy wool cardigans, this has lain on my wrists at Chicago concrete beach days and will continue to accompany me in comfy oversized sweaters as the weather finally begins to dip back down into the sixties.

Diptyque, L’eau Trois

I rather sheepishly and predictably admit that when i did my grand retrospective of church incense perfumes last march, there were a few entries into the genre i missed. Chiefest among them in my eyes is L’eau Trois - an unassuming deep cup from the Parisian neo-Hellenists Diptyque’s back catalog. Purportedly the third fragrance the house ever released in 1975, the maison itself seems to have forgotten (or intentionally mystified) if its name merely refers to its sequence in their standard collection roster, or if it is itself a double or even triple entendre, referring to the three wise men bearing gifts of frankincense and myrrh to the incarnate Christ, or even to the God in three persons: father, son, and holy spirit. Perhaps the most underappreciated fragrance offering from Diptyque - the enigmatic composition of L’eau Trois is at once full of pungent and contemporaneous mid-70s aromatics, and a timeless sort of divinity. The opening is a controversial blast of Mediterranean shrubs and cooking spices. For those who are not offput by the powerful culinary wisps of sun-dried rosemary, myrtle, and oregano at the head of this perfume's composition, the drydown yields to a sensitive and photorealistic Greek Orthodox thurible, swinging across well-worn icons to the Theotokos and sanctifying the air with its sharp and resinous smoke. There are stylistic comparisons here to Serge Lutens' coniferous masterpiece Fille en Aiguilles - indeed mixed with frankincense and myrrh is a sort of balsam fir, but this to me does not run seasonal or even slightly wintery. To me L’eau Trois will always be hot hot Grecian spring-turning-summer, visiting Mount Athos monastery like Desmond and Yves did, and bearing quiet witness to monks making Paschal offertories, and living in symbiotic harmony with the charred and mountainous local land. When I show someone this dark brown elixir-like perfume who soon grows to love it, I feel like I've somehow entered them into a secret devotional cult. Maybe my personal favorite incense to wear in the heat, L'eau Trois is truly an if you know you know type affair.

Clue Perfumery, The Point

I know I have a clear bias towards wunderkinds Laura Oberwetter and Caleb Vanden Boom of Chicago-based Clue Perfumery, but to be fair, I truly do think the degree of intention they put into their scents - not even just with respect to Oberwetter’s perfumery but also Vanden Boom’s design - exceeds the output of ‘trying too hard to be down to earth and cool’ recent venture capital buyouts like DS&Durga, and with a fraction of the budget of my occupationally betrothed Manzanita Capital. The first scent to be released following the brand’s three-scent debut, The Point answers the evocative and site-informed original perfumes of their launch with something far more abstract and referential. The scent profile is inspired by a psychedelic scene from the eponymous animated children’s film soundtracked by Harry Nilsson and voiced by Ringo Starr. Having attended the launch, where the perfume was smelled at the exact moment of this particular scene where jasmine tea pours from ornate cups and whale carcasses slowly melt into the bottom of the ocean, I can attest that the atmosphere of the fragrance feels perfectly suited to the cartoonish-yet-unsettling tone of the filmic referent. Oberwetter in a strange sense draws quite literally from this scene: the principal note is what she calls “jasmine tea brewed with ocean water” - here the previously referenced overly dominant 2000s-esque calone vibe is nowhere to be found. When Oberwetter does conjure the ocean, it is less sea salt and more a musky sort of ambergris wax. It is this note which fuses to a sweet pez-dispenser jasmine to form the principal accord. Underneath, however, is the intriguing one-two abstract mineral punch of a dry sand note and a chalky porcelain scent. Combined, The Point is perhaps Clue’s easiest and most accessible wear, yet a fragrance that decisively does not falter on the brand’s proven mission to render the experimental approachable and fun. Wear The Point to question the meaning of life by the poolside, or simply to rejoice in the hallucinogenic aromas of childhood.

Aesop, Virēre

The pretentious skincare house’s newest addition to their core collection line that boasts heavy hitters like Hwyl, Virēre is a bright green perfume to rival their competitors' bestsellers like Thé Noir and Philosykos. Certainly a number of very trendy ingredients here with the inclusion of fig, green tea, and bergamont, but the overall composition is actually surprisingly delicious and inviting - a complete 180 from the standard woody incense DNA that makes up 90% of their current fragrance line. I can imagine this will become quite popular in the next few years, as its tart citrus cologne opening yields to an approachable and almost gourmand milky fig-forward heart , with accents of grassy matcha and traces of wet florals. Average performance, extremely easy to wear. When you see a zoomer on the streets of San Francisco fitted in head to toe earth-toned Ekkhaus Latta, this is what they will smell like.

Naomi Goodsir, Nuit de Bakelite

The crown princess of embers Mme. Goodsir at her most tender. This is not saying much, given that the rest of her repertoire smells like the soot left over from vengefully burning your unfaithful husband's tropical vacation home to the ground. This, perhaps, is the flora growing around the outskirts of the property. Nuit de Bakélite is a tuberose soliflore so weird, the average nose would barely be able to recognize the distinctive white flower essence. A large dose of wormwood and labdanum gives the composition an herbal astringency many ascribe to plastic or gasoline, but to my nose smells more like resinous and avant-garde styrax. Less synthetic tuberose a-la Guillaume's Tubereuse Couture, and more a counterpart to the rhubarb, smoky violet leaf, and pungent incense of David Moltz's off-kilter early provocation for DS&Durga Vio Volta. Like all of her fragrances, this is a beast on skin - but this beast is camouflaged into the nearby foliage so as to catch its unsuspecting prey off-guard. Weirdly addictive and accessible to those who would never have marked themselves interested in perfumery this abrasive, Bakélite combines everything un-pretty and medicinally herbacious about tuberose, and blends it with a vegetable garden half-consumed by a nearby department of agricultural affairs controlled forest burn. Wear this to be sexually pursued by the hardcore leatherdyke at your neighborhood absinthe bar, or just to make your uber driver think his car engine is broken, while simultaneously being afraid of and somewhat endeared to you.

Chris Rusak, AEOOJ(LMB)

Once only abbreviated, now revealed to mean “after every ounce of joy leaves my body,” this a mythical scent that halfway lives up to its name. I am interested in how some people seem to ‘get’ this perfume, whereas others are left confused as to how it became his most popular and notorious offering. Boasting such appealing fantasy accords as “ melting vinyl / burning plexiglass” and “acetone, gasoline, and petroliferous byproducts,” I very much appreciate the ways in which Rusak not just claims these notes, but backs up in some cases how he actually constructs them. There is a very personal story about depressive lows and trauma built into this perfume, but he also insists it should stand and be experienced on its own. I personally find the scent interesting enough to do so, thus I will refrain from connecting these smells to his own perilous experiences. To me, this is at heart a very rustic take on a vetiver-patchouli perfume. I understand Rusak’s connection to the substances of earth, without exactly getting at something outdoorsy and pastoral. Wear this perfume like rubbing up on your uncle's friend at your small town gas station. He's lonely, he collects vinyl, he bought some cheap earthy vetiver cologne to reel in the chicks, and what do you know, the chicks aren’t reeling. He’s desperate, sweaty, his hand is dangerously close to your waist - click! - your car is full.

Diptyque, Lunamaris

I know I’m biased putting this down, and I know this is a strange edition given most people who smell this fragrance have told me they want to wait and see how it will perform in colder weather, but I simply can’t keep myself from spraying this now. Consider it a Christmas in September type of yearning for the surreal winter climate of Chicago in late January, this perfume was inspired by mother of pearl, and in turn evokes everything chalky and finely ground about seashells glistening in the midday sun. Softer than satin and lighter than snow. Rauschenberg's White Paintings 1951. Pearlescent plumes of body powder glistening like souvenir snow globes in the sun. Pellegrin's use of frankincense is perhaps closest to our UK exclusive Opsis: revealing the raw material's undersung dusty and unrepentantly powdery facets. Labdanum sets the textural atmosphere, a slightly sweet and talcum-like base upon which rests unlit incense. Those looking for powerful and modern scent profiles will undoubtedly dismiss this one the fastest of our Essences collection, for smelling like baby powder or for not lasting long enough, but those with the temperament and patience to listen will surely find Lunamaris the most nuanced and rewarding of the line. Further references could be Lutens' L'orpheline and Diptyqye alumna Olivia Giacobetti's Passage d’Enfer - both technically "oriental" incenses that speak uncharacteristically subtly of quiet musks and contemplative shrines. Easily my new signature for the upcoming autumn winter season, wear Lunamaris to intrude in Citizen Kane's impossibly snowy childhood flashback montages, or simply to get the best sleep of your adult life.

Mallo, BD

I was introduced to the work of a number of talented perfumers by intrepid friends this summer, and one of my favorites is the Spain-based Antonio Lasheras’ house Mallo. I truly think he does animalic notes like no other. Under his nose they are soft, delicate, and sultry - taking on approachable and enticing characteristics. That said, when he reaches for a skanky jasmine powerhouse, he gets there, and then some. BD is the most floral of his creations, centered around highly indolic Jasmin Grandiflora. Evoking the likes of torrid and undeniable flapper flamboyances like Caron’s 1924 Acaciosa, the white floral notes take center stage as a call to sensuality and illicit sex. Underneath, thrown fur civet boils like blood. There is also the more smoky castoreum here, but overall the urinary pungency of civet wins out as the predominant support to this jasmine soliflore. It’s a combination as old as perfume itself, but Lasheras makes it smell relevant and invigorating now. Think Lutens Sarassins at the cat cafe, or Rita Hayworth as the life-ruiningly stunning Gilda. Maybe this is delusional of me, but I truly think that if given the chance, I could convince a number of women my age with no interest in niche perfume to at least order and routinely wear a 15ml decant of this fragrance. I see so many poor lost souls oedipally afraid to smell like their mothers and even more needlessly terrified to smell like their badass grandmothers, griping over fragrances that feel boring - lamenting the skin scent industrial complex’s hold over the post-Glossier You consumer base, making everything smell like nothing and nothing smell like everything. Look no further, I want to whisper to these women, that pissy white floral will save you. Btw.

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‘Eat your Lipstick’ is a perfume blog by Audrey Robinovitz, @foldyrhands

Audrey Robinovitz is a multidisciplinary artist, scholar, and self-professed perfume critic. Her work intersects with the continued traditions of fiber and olfactory arts, post-structural feminism, and media studies. At this very moment, she is most likely either smelling perfume or taking pictures of flowers.