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…