I have always, always wanted to be the girl with the signature perfume. In middle school, that girl was my friend Sarah, who hoarded bottles of Marc Jacobs Daisy like they were going out of style. In high school, you could smell my friend Amy’s Miss Dior before she even rounded the corner. Then in college, it was Burberry Body worn by my sorority sister Jessica, a smell I now forever associate with Rush and therefore- unfortunately- loathe.

With such a vast fragrance market, you’d think there would be one option out there that gets me to commit to that extra 10-second step in my routine before I run out the door each morning. But the pressure! There’s so much pressure to find “the one,” and every time I think I finally nailed it, I’m over the smell just as quickly.

But let’s talk about Byredo’s Mojave Ghost for a second. I spent a lot of time outdoors in the summer when I was young, because growing up in Oregon, the few short months of June, July and August are the only times it’s pleasant to be outdoors. And you know the smell when you sit on a towel after getting out of the pool? It’s sweet and warm, with a slight tang from the combination of dampness and sunscreen. It just smells like summer, and that’s the top note of Mojave Ghost, with charming base notes of the forest at sunset- woodsy and clean, and very pacific northwest, despite the scents’ desert inspiration. Then, after about 30 minutes, the initial warmth cools into a dusk drive down a Southern, magnolia tree-lined street, like something straight out of your Nicholas Sparks’ Notebook-filled dreams.

It’s the first of all the scents I’ve tried that elicit the coveted, “What are you wearing?!” reaction I’ve always wanted from my girlfriends, nevermind the two guys who also went out of their way to compliment me on the smell, even with my post-wisdom teeth removal chipmunk cheeks that I’m sure weren’t doing me any favors. For someone highly anti-social like myself, it’s almost too much work to smell this good.  The constant compliments can be more of a curse than a blessing, definitely draining, to say the least. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.

 

Credits

Photography
Greyson Tarantino