The Editions de Parfums Frederic Malle boutique on Madison in New York City
I find it sweet that no matter how logical, jaded, or pessimistic we think we’ve become, the human collective manages to shed all cynicism just before the New Year. Even if you don’t subscribe to resolutions or actively believe in manifestations, there’s an underlying hope that time of year surrounding the pursuit of something new: new beginnings, new mindset, new chapter. Tabula rasa, as it were.
Typically, my New Year traditions are wholly internalized. I don’t even subscribe to the idea of buying a new outfit (a practice reserved for Lunar New Year)—but at the tail-end of 2023, I was determined to start 2024 with a fragrance I’d never so much as sampled. Scent, after all, is both maker and marker of experience; what could be more idealistic, more romantic than the notion of setting intention through one of our most intimate senses? It’s like breaking the fourth wall (for me, at least) where innermost desires meet strangers who pass me on the street.
Frederic Malle Musc Ravageur became the chosen one. How apropos it felt for the start of this year: it’s an olfactive manifestation of resolutions and mantras, a fragrant reminder that this year I devour is penned permanently, albeit a little crookedly, on the tenderest part of my inner arm. (The irony is very much intentional; it’s a personal reminder to remain soft within even in my most resolute of pursuits.) I’m taken by Musc Ravageur, but not obsessed. Hesitant even, or perhaps I’m too shy to wear such a carnal musk. There’s a healthy push and pull that makes me crave it, and want to carve out more time with it.
Yet in the little perfume parlor on Madison, I knew that this was the only Frederic Malle creation for me. Its most renowned bottles (Portrait of a Lady, Carnal Flower) I revered—but a woman of that kind of caliber, I’m not (yet). That’s the beauty of scent: even if you don’t know who you are or what you like, your nose will tell you precisely who you are and what you want. What mine pulled me toward, impulsively but also decidedly, was Musc Ravageur. A rather tinny take on an amber animalic—a surprising angle, especially since I gravitate towards creamy, lactonic, warm notes—with a touch of sugar-free vanilla sweetener. Cool, but addictive. Liquid juxtaposition of qualities that in turn, ooze detached sensuality.
A declaration of independence.
. . .
xx
Your turn. Thoughts?