Itchynose

Vanilla and benzoin –the dominating combo in SDV– are a match so perfect that it should be regarded in the same category as other classics such as mint and chocolate, lime and coconut, rum and raisin or cheese and onion. The stuff great memories and clogged arteries are made of.

Here the vanilla brings warmth and sweetness while the benzoin adds smoothness and depth, resulting in an accord not too far away from caramel or golden syrup bubbling up in a pan. It's a thick and pleasant treacle-like aroma, comforting and slightly boozy like the hug of a drunken relative on New Year's Eve and with just a hint of ylang-ylang or pink pepper every now and then to keep things interesting.

All in all Spiritueuse Double Vanille is a cozy cold weather fragrance well suited for intimate and special occasions, or for any time a gourmand craving may arise; a scent that would be just criminal for any sweet-toothed vanilla lover to miss.

We all know that anyone can wear anything, that there is no seasonality, that gender and class and age are labels, marketing ploys, social constructs and all that jazz. Yet there are times when you bring a fragrance to your nose for the first time and the picture it paints is so vivid that the associations are very hard to deny. At the end of the day we are only the children of our own circumstance and many mental images speak louder than words: grandpa's aftershave, mom's purse, you catch my drift.

Kilian's Straight to Heaven has such an effect on me. From the initial blast of rum and nutmeg to the drydown full of wood and patchouli there is an unmistakeable masculine quality to it, one that evokes a particular man: a sleek and suave operator with just the right number of undone buttons in the tailor-made shirt, just the right amount of stubble on his face and just the right drink in his hand. Maybe it's the smell of the sort of fantasy character many of us men would aspire to become "when we grow up".

The scent itself may be accused of being slightly linear and quite underwhelming in the performance department –the hefty price tag can't be ignored– but ultimately this is not a fragrance for an impressionable young contender desperate for attention, it's a scent for a confident adult with plenty of tricks up his sleeve.

I haven't come across many perfumes that manage to recreate the smell of winter; and I'm not talking about sweet warm chestnuts in front of a Christmas fire but the cold blast of a massive snowball to the face.

Euphorium Brooklyn's Ume not only manages to evoke that sensation accurately but it does so with a rather unorthodox ball of snow: this one doesn't pack solid frozen water but an orange and purple concoction made of frosty apricot and plum juice. Its scent is sweet and fluffy like cotton candy, feminine and ethereal like a woodland fairy and mesmerizing like a magic spell.

Maybe not the easiest to pull off but a unique and beautiful fragrance nonetheless.

One can smell many of the listed notes in Gypsy Water right off the bat: there are sharp juniper berries mellowed down with some vanilla, plenty of pine needles and some spice to round it all off. Everything seems to blend together harmoniously and the end result is a perfectly unisex clean and aromatic scent, a light and close-to-the-skin perfume that wouldn't look out of place in a Penhaligon's or Atkinsons flacon.

However there is something inky and rubbery lingering in the background –I suspect iris is one of the culprits– and it becomes more prominent and pungent as the drydown progresses. It's a smell that somehow brings old school memories to my mind: fountain pens, erasers and permanent markers; the disconcerting sensation of sinking the nose inside a worn out pencil case.

If your classroom recollections happen to be more pleasant than mine you may get more enjoyment out of this perfume than I did.

There are no sharp edges by the old watering hole, only the gentle touch of a million fingers pouring as many drinks, sliding beveled glasses down the bar, helping tired bodies rest against the smooth lacquered wood with slow gestures repeated over the decades. In this dark, musty environment every piece of furniture has soaked the scent of countless whiskeys and now greets customers like a familiar hug after a long day of work.

Tonight though the speakeasy seems unusually loud, with more than the customary mumbled conversations and clinking tumblers. There are fresh new faces in a corner, an unexpected group of young visitors seeking refuge from the cold and rain outside. No-one at the bar pays much atention to their cheering and laughing but soon the room is filled with something that cuts through the old single malt: there is warm vanilla cake, candied fruit and spicy cinnamon, a powerful aroma that brings memories of family celebrations at home, wherever that may be.

As the party songs get going some customers finish their drinks off, grab their coats and head back to their loved ones early for once. Others try their best to ignore the happy mood and sweet scent in the air, and remain focused on the swirling bourbons under their noses; probably nowhere else to go or no better place to be on a cold lonely night.