philosophers and their perfumes

Mar 14, 2025

hello.

fragrance, like philosophy, is an act of inquiry. both exist in the space between presence and absence. it shapes the intangible into something that lingers and alters perception. scent moves through memory, through identity, through the unseen forces that make us who we are. similar to fragrance, philosophy asks us the same questions— who am i? what remains when all else fades?

to wear a fragrance is to carry something of the world with you, just as reading a philosopher is to let their words alter your way of being. some scents feel like questions, others like answers. some push toward the infinite, others pull you deeper into the self. but all of them, like the greatest ideas, are alive.

both fragrance and philosophy are tied to nostalgia. scent collapses time, resurrecting moments we thought were lost, pulling the past into the present with the weight of something half-remembered. philosophy, too, has this power—reading a passage can feel like stepping into a familiar thought. an echo of something you’ve been trying to untangle in your own mind. both remind us that the past is never truly gone— only waiting to be revisited.

this is a pairing of minds and materials, of ephemeral moments and eternal thoughts. these fragrances are more than just scent—they are a reflection of the authors and philosophers who found ways to alter my brain chemistry one existential crisis (or enlightening moment) at a time. each one lingers, each one transforms.

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philosophers and their fragrances:

(bear in mind that some of these authors are what i like to call philosophy adjacent— regardless, i highly recommend diving into their work)

clarice lispector – valaya by parfums de marly

notes: aldehydes, white peach, bergamot, mandarin orange, orange blossom, lily of the valley, mynpheal, vetiver, musk, vanilla

valaya glows from within—soft but searing, a quiet radiance that lingers just beneath the skin. it is the scent of something barely spoken, an interiority so rich it shimmers at the edges, slipping between presence and absence. much like lispector’s writing, which unravels in luminous fragments, peeling back the layers of existence to reveal something raw, something unbearably intimate. the fresh, skin-like warmth of this scent mirrors the quiet epiphanies that pulse through the hour of the star, a fragrance that exists not to be worn, but to be felt.

(this is one of my favorite fragrances of all time—and clarice is one of my favorite authors)

antoine de saint-exupéry – lull by gabar

notes: black tea, orange blossom, cherry, apple, rose, sandalwood, cashmere wood, white musk

lull is the scent of something held close—a childhood dream preserved in quiet warmth, a memory suspended in time. it carries the hush of black tea steaming in a porcelain cup, the gentle sweetness of fruit and flowers, the softness of being known. much like the little prince, this fragrance speaks in whispers, in the weight of a gaze, in the simplicity of love that does not need to be explained. it is a lullaby in scent form, a gentle hand guiding you home or tucking you into bed at night.

fernando pessoa – another 13 by le labo

notes: pear, citrus, apple, musk, moss, jasmine, iso e super

a ghost of a fragrance, something that flickers just beyond reach—like a name you once knew but have since forgotten. pessoa wrote himself into multiplicity, dissolving into his heteronyms, a poet who never fully existed in one place. another 13 moves the same way, an abstraction rather than a presence, a scent that hovers just above the skin like a thought that refuses to settle. it is the perfume of absence, of distance from the self, of words written under different names but all leading back to the same echoing loneliness. the book of disquiet in fragrance form.

simone de beauvoir – portrait of a lady by frédéric malle

notes: rose, clove, raspberry, sandalwood, musk, benzoin, amber, cedar, vanilla, ambergris

this is a fragrance that does not beg to be understood—it commands attention through its depth, its restraint, its refusal to be anything but itself. beauvoir’s presence was much the same, her writing both rigorous and sensual, dissecting love and freedom with the precision of a scalpel. portrait of a lady carries the same weight: the rose is not fragile but full-bodied, layered with clove’s sharpness and sandalwood’s warmth. this is the second sex in scent form—a fragrance that lingers long after the moment has passed, asking questions you cannot ignore. portrait of a lady was the first scent that made me feel like a woman—the way the second sex made me feel the first time i read de beauvoir. both were revelations, not just in their depth but in their refusal to be anything less than fully realized.

albert camus – orphéon by diptyque

notes: juniper berries, jasmine, cedar, tonka bean

the scent of smoke curling in dim café light, of the weight of solitude that somehow feels like home. orphéon captures the paradox that camus lived within—melancholy and warmth, existentialism and rebellion. juniper cuts through the haze with sharp clarity, while cedar and tonka bean pull it deeper, grounding it in nostalgia. this is the scent of nights spent in quiet conversation, of cigarette-stained fingertips tracing the rim of a glass, of believing in nothing and yet finding meaning in the absurd. the stranger distilled into fragrance.

søren kierkegaard – ground by gabar

notes: pink pepper, saffron, ginger, coriander, orris, fig, cedar, vetiver, sandalwood, musk

kierkegaard’s world was full of tension—between faith and doubt, love and despair, the self and the infinite. ground wears like a philosopher’s restlessness, opening with the sharp brightness of spice before sinking into the deep quiet of woods and musk. it is a scent that feels both weightless and heavy, like the feeling of standing on the edge of something vast, knowing you must take the leap but hesitating all the same. this is fear and trembling bottled—the scent of wrestling with the divine.

friedrich nietzsche – falling trees by régime des fleurs

notes: oak, juniper, benzoin, myrrh, incense, moss

the scent of collapse—cathedral doors thrown open to the night, incense still burning in the air, the forest swallowing what was once sacred. falling trees is nietzsche’s world, filled with echoes of what has crumbled, the weight of something vast and irretrievable. juniper and oak root it in the earth, the scent of something ancient, something breaking. myrrh and benzoin rise like smoke, like the last remnants of faith dissolving into sky. this is the birth of tragedy, the moment before the fall, the fire before the rebirth—dionysian, prophetic, a scent that does not mourn what is lost but waits for what comes next.

simone weil – tihota by indult

notes: vanilla, musk

simplicity as devotion, warmth as renunciation. tihota is the scent of something stripped bare—pure vanilla, not indulgent but ascetic, wrapped in soft musk like the trace of a presence that refuses to disappear. weil saw hunger as both physical and spiritual, a means of touching the divine through suffering, and this fragrance feels like that same paradox. intimate, weightless, profoundly affecting—this is gravity and grace in its purest form.

aristotle – white rice by d’annam

notes: rice, orris, jasmine, musk, tonka bean, cedarwood

a scent that holds the weight of being. metaphysics asks what exists beneath existence, what remains when all else is stripped away. white rice is that essence—pure, unshaken, fundamental. the warmth of rice and jasmine hums like first principles, quiet yet undeniable, while musk and cedar stand firm, a structure that does not waver. tonka bean lingers in the background, a whisper of something softer, a reminder that even logic has its mysteries. this is a fragrance of substance, of presence, of things as they are—essential, unadorned, yet profoundly meaningful.

plato – ave maria by house of bo

notes: dewy gardenia, cashmere, jasmine, rain drops, neroli, sweet pear, oakwood, merlot wine, napa leather

love as an ascent, a movement toward the divine—this is the symposium, a dialogue where desire is never just desire but a reaching, a striving for something greater than the self. ave maria hums with that same tension, existing in the space between the sensual and the sacred. gardenia and jasmine bloom like whispered confessions, soft and luminous, while rain-drenched neroli and pear evoke the tenderness of fleeting touch. then comes the shift—oakwood and merlot wine settle in, richer, darker, weighted with the gravity of longing. napa leather lingers like the echo of a presence, something felt but never fully grasped. this is eros in perfume form, the scent of love that transforms, elevates, and always, always leaves you wanting more.

hélène cixous – angel dust by fugazzi

notes: bergamot, pepper, cashmere, white amber crystals

a scent that moves like desire—unbound, luminous, forever reaching. the book of promethea is an eruption of love, of language spilling over itself, of passion that exists beyond the body. angel dust holds that same energy, shimmering and untouchable, the feeling of hands just out of reach, of words slipping between the known and the felt. bergamot and pepper crackle like thought breaking free, electric and urgent, while white amber and cashmere soften the edges, turning heat into something weightless. this is not a perfume you wear—it wears you, it dissolves into you, it lingers like an unfinished sentence, like a love so consuming it becomes indistinguishable from the self.

jean-paul sartre – parisian musc by matière première

notes: virginia cedar, ambrette, musk, ambrettolide, ambroxan

a scent that lingers like a thought you can’t shake, like the weight of self-awareness settling in. sartre’s existentialism was about confrontation, about peeling back the layers until all that remains is radical freedom—or radical nothingness. parisian musc carries that same tension. the crisp cedar is sharp, like the edge of a difficult truth, while ambrette and musk soften it into something worn-in, intimate, familiar yet unnerving. this is nausea bottled—a presence you cannot escape, a fragrance that clings to the skin like the realization that you are irreversibly, undeniably free.

fyodor dostoevsky – the noir 29 by le labo

notes: fig, bay leaf, bergamot, cedar, vetiver, musk, tobacco, hay

a scent of guilt and grace, of suffering that searches for redemption. the brothers karamazov is a novel of excess—of faith and doubt, love and violence, reason and madness, all tangled together in fevered desperation. the noir 29 carries that same weight, that same contradiction. fig and bay leaf are bitter, restless, like alyosha’s quiet faith set against ivan’s raging intellect, like the heaviness of a father’s sins carried by his sons. cedar and vetiver pull it deeper, grounding it in the inevitability of fate, while tobacco lingers like a whispered confession in a darkened room. this is the scent of reckoning, of a soul torn apart and searching for absolution, the moment before the fall and the moment after—both existing at once.

martin heidegger – monstera by xinu

notes: monstera leaf, bitter moss, white florals, cocoa, vanilla

the scent of the forest breathing, of time pressed into soil, of existence as something you feel underfoot. heidegger’s philosophy was never just about thinking—it was about being, about the way the world reveals itself through presence. monstera hums with that same energy, wild and alive, its green, waxy leaves pulsing with being. bitter moss pulls it downward, grounding it in earth, while white florals flicker through like light filtering between trees. cocoa and vanilla hum quietly beneath it all—a reminder that even in philosophy’s heaviest thoughts, there is warmth. this is being and time in fragrance form, the scent of standing still and realizing the world has been moving all around you.

rene descartes – molecule 01 by escentric molecules

notes: iso e super

a scent that is and is not, that exists yet vanishes—just like descartes’ search for certainty in an uncertain world. molecule 01 is pure presence, an invisible force shaping perception, something you don’t notice until it’s already altered you. it is the cogito, ergo sum of fragrance, a scent that questions its own existence even as it lingers on the skin. iso e super hums like a thought forming in the back of the mind—weightless, undeniable, the trace of something that may have never been there at all. this is meditations on first philosophy, bottled—a fragrance that asks, what can we trust? what is real? and leaves only the whisper of its own answer.

(molecule 01 is another one of my all time favorite and most complimented fragrances)