Rania Khoury (a fictional perfumer created for this demonstration) works from a small studio with a long table, a few hundred bottles and a window that opens onto a courtyard. We talked about how a scent begins.
Where does a new perfume start for you?
Almost always with a place. Not a picture of it, but the smell of a particular moment: my grandmother’s linen cupboard, the spice market as the shutters come down, wet stone after the first rain.
How do you turn a memory into a formula?
Slowly. I write down everything I can remember, then I try to find each part in raw materials. Most of the work is taking things away. A memory is simpler than you think.
A memory is simpler than you think. Most of the work is taking things away.
What does the region teach a perfumer?
Generosity. People here wear scent seriously, every day, in layers. They know oud and rose and amber the way others know coffee. You cannot be timid with that audience.
What do you wish more people understood?
That a good perfume changes over the day, and that the end is as important as the beginning. Wear it for a whole day before you decide.