Feeling Rather Vanilla, in Fragrance & in Mood

These days I am feeling rather vanilla, in fragrance and in mood. There’s a quietness to me lately — a soft, muted version of myself. I’ve been calling it feeling very vanilla. Not boring, not bland… just simple. Quiet and subdued.

The fragrance equivalent of sitting in your own silence. It’s that feeling when your routines become pared down to the essentials, when “good enough” becomes the goal, when your mind doesn’t want fireworks, it wants familiarity. I guess I have vanilla grief — not explosive, not dramatic, not cinematic. Just there. Reliable. Ever-present. A constant hum of missing and remembering.

Vanilla has become the emotional temperature of my days.

The Aroma of Absence

There’s a concept I’ve fallen in love with: the aroma of absence. The scent that fills the space where someone once existed.

Lately, the fragrances I’ve reached for reflect exactly where I am. Not the sugary, gourmand vanillas of summertime. Not the cupcake, bakery, spun-sugar sweetness that makes you want to lick your wrist.

I’ve been leaning toward vanilla absolute — the richer, deeper, more concentrated form of the note. The one with spine. The one that doesn’t pretend to be cheerful. The one that smells like memory itself.

This vanilla is stable, strong, grounded. It doesn’t demand attention; it simply stays.

And right now, I long to stay. Stay with my mom, my stepdad, my home, and yet, they've all been ripped from me. So I rely on fragrance to stay put— vanilla blended with grief, the scent that can hold you upright when you feel like collapsing. A scent that feels like both mourning and celebration — like commemoration.

Why This Vanilla Hits Different

Vanilla absolute has layers that synthetic vanillas just don’t. It’s darker, resinous, more complex. Just like grief — not one-note, not linear, not something you can figure out in a single inhale.

It’s comforting in an elemental way. Warm, familiar, steadying. Like an angelic hug from my mom. Like my stepdad’s grounding presence. Like memories that hold you, even when they hurt.

I recently read: “The right composition won’t cure grief but will help you acknowledge and commemorate, perhaps even celebrate. It has base notes of sadness, sure. But there are top notes of nostalgia and remembrance too.”

That’s exactly it. Vanilla has become my emotional companion — not to numb anything, not to distract, but to witness.

Scent as a Path Through Grief

There’s a quote I love (not mine): “Perfumes are a portal for awakening the spiritual realm that lives inside all of us.”

And the science backs it. Neuroscientists from Harvard found that scent-triggered memories are more subconscious and emotionally intense than ones sparked by photos or music. They bypass logic and go straight to the place where your real feelings live.

Perfume doesn’t mask your emotions or chemically alter them. It holds your hand through them. It reminds you of your humanity. It helps disentangle the ache of missing someone from the beauty of remembering them.

It makes grief feel less like falling and more like floating, if only for a moment.

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My Vanilla Grief Scents

Here are the fragrances that have been grounding, comforting, steady companions in this sad season:

• Gulf Orchid — Vanilla Aura

Creamy, radiant, soothing. A warm, enveloping vanilla that feels like an exhale.

• Guerlain — Shalimar L’Essence

A deeper, modern echo of an icon. Vanilla woven with elegant resins and memory. Refined, nostalgic, quietly powerful.

• Parfums de Marly — Althair

A vanilla with a backbone. Sweetness anchored by woods and spice. Comforting in the most grounded way — like the reassuring hand of your mother on your shoulder.

• Goldfield & Banks — Silky Woods

Smoky, golden, sensual vanilla resting in a haze of saffron and oud. Soft but strong, luminous but grounded — grief and grace in the same breath.

• Serge Lutens — Un Bois Vanille

One of the most tender vanillas ever created. Woodsy, creamy, slightly smoky.

Feels like holding a memory close to your chest — warm, intimate, impossible to rush.

• Obvious Parfums — Une Vanille

Minimalist, modern, and honest. A simple vanilla with surprising emotional depth.

The scent equivalent of telling the truth.

• Navitus — Lost in a Dream

A soft, dreamy vanilla that blurs memory and emotion. Hazy, creamy, tender —

the scent of love and grief, trying to make sense of it all.

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Grief has a way of stripping life down to its essentials — what’s real, what’s steady, what’s comforting enough to carry you when nothing else can. Vanilla has been that anchor for me. Not loud, not showy… just present. Soft. Honest. A reminder that even in the quietest moments and the loudest of emotions, there are notes of warmth and connection still available to us.

Maybe that’s why I’m reaching for these scents. Not to erase the ache, but to honor it. To let memory exist without overwhelming me. To feel held by something small when everything else feels impossibly big.

And maybe that’s the most human part of all this — letting simple things hold you when you can’t hold yourself.

So for now, I’ll keep wearing my quiet vanillas, letting them comfort me, steady me, remind me. Letting them be companions in this season of tears, slower breaths, and simplified routines.

Even the softest scents can hold the heaviest of emotions.

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References:

What The Nose Knows, The Harvard Gazette; Colleen Walsh, February 29, 2020

How Perfume Helps Us Grieve, Dazed Club; Marjolijn Oostermeijer, April 15, 2024