That olfactory feeling, scent—our time machine. Smells implicate us, conjure memories: home, a kitchen, cardamom. Winter’s first snow. The linen closet, cracking open a library book, summer vacations and the briny sulfur of the sea. Smells are “sweet as oboes,” wrote Baudelaire or “corrupt, and rich.” There’s the ambushing kind, the passer-by who smells like an old love. Sandalwood, vetiver, plum. While our scent palette is a portal to the past, perfume—the cloud we spritz and walk toward, expectant—offers escape and identity. An invisible shroud that lingers like a calling card: She was just here.
Dreary late winter is the perfect time to be transported. D.S., from D.S. & Durga, offers warm saffron and gardenia, while Tory Burch’s Fou de Toi, inspired by the memory of powerful love, brings a…