These post-pandemic perfumes are like scented self-care to carry you carefully out of lockdown
I’m really ok about lockdown lifting. I’m absolutely not ok about lockdown lifting.
I need to sit in a pub garden with a bucket of icy rosé and torn-open packets of posh crisps and have hours of soul-pumping chats with pals.
I cannot cope with the concept of crowds or commutes that burglarise my precious time and personal space. Or germs. I’m so acutely aware of germs now, it suffocates me to even visualise pressing a lift button.
I want to dance in a nightclub and sweat out pure euphoria. I love empty weekends where I don’t have to invent elaborate lies to get out of invitations.

I’m a Gemini. This is a really bad time for Geminis.
Hands up if you too are feeling completely conflicting emotions about the next few weeks? Please someone put your hand up.
Ok, so you get it. You get the absolute clusterf*ckery of how (I think) many people are feeling about “re-entering society”. In the same way that Spring 2020 was a traumatic adjustment, both for our livelihoods and mental health, we are on the same unsteady path but backwards into Spring 2021. We learnt to accept restrictions and live within perimeters; now we must relearn a life out in the wild. I firmly believe there will be a clinically-acknowledged Post Pandemic Stress Disorder that many of us, in varying degrees at different stages, will fall ill to – if we haven’t already.
Every industry is responding with compassionate ways to normalise this trepidation - from the BBC’s Headroom online toolkits to LADBible’s relaunched “UOKM8” campaign - and the fragrance world is on it too. It gets it, because it’s a wholly positive industry populated by highly emotional people who have deep insight into nostalgic serotonin triggers.
Fragrance sales staff on counters know precisely how to tap into rooted memories and unpeel layers of your character to unlock flavour preferences you established in childhood. Perfumers, like musical composers, artists or chefs, lean on textures, colours and rhythms to create sensorial balance that – if done spectacularly – can move you to tears or make you skin tingle. Fragrance marketing directors have a unique forecasting Spidey-sense to launch a specific scent at just the right time, because it reflects a communal mood. (Chanel’s Les Exclusifs Le Lion was a great example of this: a huge, protective-paw, security-blanket scent of glowing amber, spiritual resins and maternal vanilla to hug us through January’s sh*tstorm). So if there’s anyone in the beauty field who is really going to understand our current yo-yo headspace of reticence-yet-excitement, it’s perfume people.

In particular Ben Gorham, the founder of Byredo fragrances. He’s gone so literal with his newest scent, Mixed Emotions, it’s like a CBT session in a bottle. With this perfume, and the frankly epic artistic vehicle with which he is launching it, he acknowledges how our mental wellness has been pushed to a place where no one knows what to look forward to anymore, what to fear, who to dedicate time to or where to feel free. This is a perfume that says “I’m still not ok with all of this, but I kind of am too.” And it’s also a perfume that’s as polarising as those two feelings: you are either going to want it, or not at all, or flip between both within the same hour.
The only way I can describe the smell is to imagine cracking open a fresh bottle of pharmaceutical blackcurrant cough syrup, taking a sip and feeling instantly comforted. Then lighting a match, setting it on fire, watching it go up in flames and breathing in a lungful of sooty, spiritual, sticky smoke… then staggering off in drowsy bliss.
It’s light and dark, high and low, unstable and enveloping; a scented equivalent of our disturbing, tumultuous times and whichever part of the rollercoaster you’re on it’ll meet you there. I’ve sprayed it when feeling elated and hopeful, and all the juicy, glossy blackcurrants flooded me with optimism. I’ve sprayed it when utterly numb with despondence and I felt seen by the moody, dry tea leaves and smoky whispers. Perfume should do this; it should match your emotions, or at least gently ease you off a ledge to somewhere gentle and kind.
I urge you to watch the accompanying campaign as a moment of mindfulness today. A chance meeting between Ben and self-taught London-based director Fenn O’Meally sparked an idea for a short film to represent the philosophies of Mixed Emotions. The narration, written and performed by poet and trans-visibility activist Kai-Isaiah Jamal, explores identity and expression: both the fear of true expression, but also the fear of running out of time and not being able to express your whole self. It’s visually stunning; a profound modern history lesson of cultural nourishment and it does what art intends: to represent our internal chaos when we have no idea how to express it ourselves.

Perfume people get it because they listen to the world’s cries and respond with bottled compassion. There are other post-pandemic scents coming out that honour and respect this incredibly conflicting time. They’re all hopeful, but not in a forced-fun kind of way. They’re a bit strange and blend peaceful notes with flashes of flavour tantrums, and they don’t quite fit into a traditional fragrance category. I think that makes them even more beautiful and valid than anything else right now.





