on chanel, olivier polge, and the quiet power of perfume

hello.

i’ve always believed that scent is one of the most intimate forms of self-expression. it doesn’t just tell people how you want to be perceived—it tells you something about who you are. it marks time, holds memory, and lingers after words fade.

recently, i was generously gifted three fragrances from the les exclusifs de chanel line: le lion de chanel, coromandel, and 1957—alongside a chance to learn more about olivier polge, the perfumer behind them. i want to dedicate this letter to mapping my personal experience with these scents, and to explore the creative mind behind some of chanel’s most iconic compositions.

anyone who loves fragrances as much as i do will tell you to follow the perfumer. notes can be repeated, bottles can be redesigned, but the nose behind it all is where the real story is. every perfumer has a fingerprint and certain tension they return to again and again. you begin to learn their language, you start to recognize them not just by scent, but by feeling. olivier polge’s work, for me, has always been about finding the balance between presence and restraint, elegance and emotion. you don’t wear his perfumes to become someone else. you wear them to step more fully into yourself.

polge isn’t just a perfumer. he’s a composer, an archivist of emotion, a craftsman of the stories that fragrance provides us. he speaks in notes and accords, drawing inspiration from classical music and raw materials. trained in grasse, with a background in art history and a lifelong relationship with scent, olivier stepped into the role in 2015—not to reinvent chanel, but to carry its legacy forward with quiet precision.

music and perfume share the same language, he once said. and this is something you feel in his creations. they unfold slowly, like the second movement of a piano concerto—layered, unexpected, and felt deeply. each scent holds an emotional architecture. there’s the sensual minimalism of 1957, the gothic opulence of coromandel, the regal warmth of le lion de chanel. together, they form the holy trinity of the chanel woman—elegant but unruly, restrained but unforgettable.

i’ve never been someone who wears the same fragrance every day. i’m a mood wearer who chooses a perfume the way you'd choose a coat or a book—based on the weather, the mood, the softness i want to carry into the world. some mornings, i want something with presence. other days, i want to be comforted by my fragrance. scent has always been part of how i get ready—not just to leave the house, but to become someone. to choose who i’m going to be that day.

when these three fragrances arrived, each one felt like an invitation. and what struck me was how immediate yet complex they were. le lion de chanel felt like standing in your own power. coromandel felt like solo trips to an art museum. 1957 felt soft and intimate—a slow sunday morning reading a book and sipping coffee in bed.

they found a way to slip into my life, one ritual at a time. so let me tell you about each one…

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le lion de chanel
it’s the kind of fragrance you wear when you want to be remembered—smoky amber and warm patchouli woven with something animalic and alive. it has the gravity of a fire lit room in an old stone building, or a velvet coat slipped over bare skin. it’s not harsh or heavy. there’s softness here too, like the flicker of a candlelight on bare wood on a stormy night. it makes you feel majestic without trying. le lion de chanel doesn’t ask for attention—it already has it. this is worn by someone magnetic and unbothered. the kind of person who makes you want to listen to what they have to say.
notes: bergamot, lemon, labdanum, amber, patchouli, madagascar vanilla, musk, sandalwood.

coromandel
this scent feels like walking into a dream. it’s rich, mysterious, and oddly tender—like reading love letters in an old library while rain taps against the windowsill. the patchouli and white chocolate, rose and resin give this fragrance atmosphere. a kind of opulence that feels earned. this is the scent of someone who knows too much and says very little. sharp, deliberate, unforgettable. coromandel wearers adorn their necks vintage silk scarves and carry multiple books in their bags. they’re either on their way to a gallery opening or art museum filled with renaissance paintings or to disappear for the weekend without telling a soul.
notes: bitter orange, citruses, neroli, patchouli, orris root, rose, jasmine, white chocolate, benzoin, amber, olibanum, incense, woody notes, musk.

1957
soft in the way silk is soft and cool at first touch, then warm against the skin. a skin scent—quiet, but confident in its stillness. a creamy halo of musk and honey that feels like a deep sigh of relief. it smells like good posture, like clean sheets, like knowing yourself unapologetically. it’s the kind of perfume that doesn’t transform, but reveals you. it’s understated in a way that makes people lean in, 1957 wearers are thoughtful, composed, a little hard to read. they’re the last one to speak in a conversation—but always the one you remember.
notes: white musk, aldehydes, bergamot, pink pepper, coriander, orange blossom, jasmine, orris, cashmeran, cedar, honey, vanilla.

like writing, perfumery is all about restraint. it’s not always what you include, but rather, the things you leave out. it’s about knowing when something is done, when a note is just right, when silence—or simplicity—says more than anything else.

olivier polge’s work feels like that: structured but emotional, minimalist but rich. you feel the weight of every choice. there’s a precision in his compositions, but also a softness—an understanding that a fragrance, like a sentence, is never just a technical exercise. it’s a feeling. a gesture. an offering.

i think the most powerful fragrances are the ones that feel like they’ve always belonged to you—even if you only just met. olivier polge doesn’t just create perfumes. he creates memory. presence. mood. he understands that scent isn’t just about smelling good—it’s about being known, by others and by yourself.

each of these chanel fragrances carries its own story, but what i love is how they let you write your own into them. they become part of your routine, your rituals, your signature. worn not to impress, but to remember who you are.

okay, that’s all for today.

a special thank you to chanel for inviting me into their world of scent—and for the chance to reflect on it through my own lens.

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i love you.

bye.

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