Get some cheap perfume

Eau what a joy, the perfect scent!

For those who know me, the descriptor that comes to mind may not be “high-end perfume connoisseur.” But we love what we love, and the weird and wonderful world of perfume sampling is tops among my current obsessions.

How, you may ask, does a writer and college professor afford regular infusions of Tom Ford’s Tobacco Vanille? “My god, Wilson, am I catching notes of Hermes Un Jardin Sur Le Nil as you pass by in the hallway?”

These are a few of my favorite things.

The perfume thing started with a magazine article noting the purse contents of someone famous. I can’t remember the famous person, but I was intrigued by the description of her two perfume rollers, which rivaled wine or whiskey copy in its beautiful sensory nonsense. It referenced the woods after rain, and an old library lined with leather couches and humidors with an open tumbler of gin on a side table, perhaps Venetian.

Now, I have little interest in getting wet in the woods and it’s tough to find a leathery Italian humidor-library around here, but I would like to smell these things. I followed the link to a perfume sampler site. While I could buy whole bottles and roll the dice with my hundreds, sight unsmelled, I could also try samples for $4.

What a very low bar for a high-end sensory pleasure, I thought. Add to cart!

When I was young, my mom wore Charlie or Jontu, and her well-styled bouffant would not allow the rolling down of windows in a vehicle. Trapped in a hot car with perfumes that reminded me of pencil lead and gasoline, I thought for a long time that perfume gave me headaches.

But logging in to Surrender to Chance, which could be a perfume descriptor itself, I was free to try more nuanced scents by the ampoule (I love how that’s spelled). Surrender to Chance seems to employ a fleet of freelance writers who conjure lush mix tapes of sensual imagery that are just so joyful and imaginative, written in a tone of pure adoration. Though my brand these days skews more crone-in-the-woods-dandelion-gardener than French ingenue, here I am, week after week, surrendering. To chance.

Predictably, perfuming is partly about the words for me. The titles are great. Creative, delightful, and often French! Product description copy on perfume websites is even better.

Such as this description for Byredo Gypsy Water, which I am wearing right now, in fact:

A woody aromatic, there is an almost addictive quality to the smell of this, the musk, incense, sandalwood and vanilla have a comforting smell ... like your best cashmere sweater.

I’m not much for cashmere, but I did catch this drift and I definitely hit the “add to cart” button faster than Caitlin Clark teeing up for a logo three.

Here’s another favorite, about Frederic Malle’s Carnal Flower:

Carnal Flower is the carnality of tuberose wrapped in the glorious fresh green from an opulent bouquet of flowers. Candice Bergen was the muse for Dominque Ropion in the creation of this fragrance. There was no limit put on the budget for tuberose ... it allegedly contains the highest amount of tuberose ever included in a perfume. Notes of tuberose, bergamot, melon, eucalyptus, ylang-ylang, jasmine, white musk cocktail, coconut and orange blossom absolute.

First of all, I like how you’re spelling the name, Frederic. But also? No limit on tuberose production? Even knowing nothing about tuberose scarcity, this seems impressive. Add to cart!

How could I not try the D.S. and Durga Black Magenta for $4.49, with its notes of galbanum and orris? Because I’m guessing these are passwords for a portal into a kingdom of forest gnomes and I would like to visit there.

The little vials I purchase are generally between $3 and $5. Samples last forever, too. I was on a Le Labo Santal 33 kick for a while and bought the $8 spray sample, but I don’t recommend this behavior. I’ve never had a tiny spray bottle work. The $4 sample is great for travel and will last for a month anyway, though they’re a pain to open. Don’t use your teeth; I once drank a half-ounce of Geurlain L’Heure Bleue, purchased entirely for its spelling, and I give the flavor two thumbs down.

But when you do open them! Full, chemically induced (and legal) pleasure from just a little wave under my nose—a nose so sensitive that I can smell the exact moment a mouse enters my house after first frost, by the way. I might throw on a secondhand sweater and jeans every day, but I’m a walking million bucks after dabbing unpronounceable perfume on my wrists, my temples, on the back of my neck. If I really love what I’m decanting in miniature, I’ll pat some over my hair.

And the scent changes throughout the day. Stressed out during a lecture that’s bombing? Take a noseful of Guerlain Vetiver, and life seems a little more gentil. Is your world about to collapse because you got another rejection letter? Who cares when you’ve got Diptyque Eau Rose swabbed along the inside of your elbow as you weep into it.

Surrender to Chance is, from what I can tell, run by a lady named Shirley who lives somewhere in the Midwest. When one of my orders was messed up, I got an email from Shirley, “From Our Fragrance Houses to Yours,” who wrote me an apology letter on top of fixing everything. I like to imagine Shirley in her Wichita apartment, using tiny Wonka-esque funnels to pour from big bottles into impossibly small glass vials to send to me in yellow bubble-wrap envelopes delivered by our mailman, Kevin. A good-smelling circle of life.

Perfumed Court, which has a little more crabbed interface to its website, allows you to filter by scent profiles or country, though I’m not sure about the accuracy of those filters, considering Ariana Grande’s perfume turned up in the French category. Still, as “an amber vanilla with notes of musk, plum, freesia, orris root, praline, vanilla and coconut,” for $2.99, I’d totally order that.