‘An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, but individual, detached, with no suggestion of its origin.’

Finding my own Proustian madeleine.

Journalism is too opaque and misunderstood. Chills gives a behind-the-scenes look at how dangerous investigative journalism gets made.

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I’m at my desk working on news reports about journalists imprisoned, killed or censored around the world, but part of my mind is wondering what salt smells like. Salt from Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia, the largest salt desert in the world. Salt from the Pacific Ocean, which is less salinated than the Atlantic. Salt from the American Rock Salt mine, in Livingston, New York — the largest in the United States and more than 1,400 feet deep.

Does salt’s origin make it more delicate? More acrid? Does salt even have a smell at all?

No. The answer is no, pure salt does not. Whatever smell we associate with salt comes from the surrounding properties that infiltrate the sodium chloride, be it compounds from decomposing marine life or sulfur from a nearby volcano.

But what I’m really wondering about salt is what happens when you mix it with other smells, like vanilla. Does it turn the vanilla sharp? Does the vanilla turn the salt sweet? Does the combination create a feeling of eating ice cream at the beach, or does it smell more the way a chocolate bar does when it is punctuated with the zing of sea salt? And what’s the difference between vanilla extract, vanilla caviar and vanilla leaves? Vanilla bahiana?

And, besides all that, and most important, do I want to wear salt?

For the past couple of months, my days have been filled with such questions. The obsessive part of my ADHD brain has found a new hyperfocus, one I share with a whole community of similarly obsessed denizens around the world — people who immerse themselves in the intricacies, chemistry and feelings of fragrance.

For some, the immersion resembles mine: a deep, inquiring dive into a lake of notes that shift with the winds of other notes. For others, the whole thing is just a game — a chance to acquire things — and sometimes an unpleasant one at that.

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I’ve never known whether I have a good or bad sense of smell, and this new hill I’m climbing isn’t making that any clearer. Sometimes I think I’m obnoxiously sensitive to odors, one of the most intolerant people to bad smells — don’t even look at me on a crowded NYC subway platform in the height of a sodden, sweat-soaked summer, or, I beg you, wear migraine-inducing Clinique Happy to the office. Memories of miasmic clouds of Drakkar Noir surrounding adolescent boys at high school lockers pervade my nightmares.

But right now, I am on a quest, and scent is my happy place. I will find the smells that make me feel good, the ones that make ineffable sense to me, the ones I want to wear on my skin so that I can enjoy a more carefree part of myself that has awakened since I moved to this Emerald City — Seattle. With the streets lined in lavender, magnolias and roses, my nose is more alive to beauty than ever before. Between the nearby lakes and having an inflatable kayak that lives in the trunk of my car, I’ve found a kind of peace that was absent to me in New York City.

Here, there is an expansive sky that contains bald eagles and swifts, hawks and hummingbirds. Here, I don’t get anxious just by existing. Here, I can breathe.

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I am looking for the scents that will create a soundtrack to my new life.

This is when I could go on about smell and memory — of course, they are intertwined. But right now, I’m in a now moment and not interested in past associations or even in planning future ones. I want a scent that accompanies me on my kayak rides and one that sits with me at my desk as I edit copy for the Committee to Protect Journalists. Something warm and comforting to wear to sleep. (Found that one already: Fresh Cream by Philosophy.)

My fixation started when I tried a TikTok-recommended perfume called Angham by Lattafa. The gold sweetness of praline and vanilla is spiked with pink pepper and lavender, and the whole thing is ensconced in amber and musk. It was love at first try. I feel like the prettiest woman in the room when I wear it. And it replaced the one fragrance I wore for more than 10 years (usually only when I went out in the evenings): Jazz Club, by Martin Margiela. I loved how unisex and slightly dark it was with its tobacco and clary sage. It smelled like the color of a dancing shadow and nights that took unexpected turns. The funny thing about wearing only that was that I eventually realized it was meant to capture a Brooklyn jazz club in the year 2013 (it actually says that on the label)...which was right around the time I was a regular at one of the best-known jazz bars in the borough. Life…art…

I suppose at this point in my life, however, I am looking for ways to ground myself in my days, not the oblivion of drink-soaked nighttime adventures.

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Part of what I’ve been loving about my new obsession is the community I’m finding who share my passion. I’ve even made a friend through trading Diptyques in the mail! Across online groups, we all trade and sell scents like addicts — there is a rush that comes with finding the one you’ve been searching for.

The community is also part of what I hate.

One of the biggest fragrance groups I joined on Facebook is bizarrely, decidedly male, and the combative, condescending comments on some posts (e.g. laughing emojis at prices people are asking for their bottles) scratch my psyche like a screechy perfume note. Comments such as this one really bring home how grossly macho (weird, right?) this particular fragrance community is:

My new (male) friend, however, introduced me to a woman-centered fragrance group where the vibe is just…kinder. It feels like a group of friends who all want to talk about the same thing. And who really, really like vanilla.

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So what am I loving in terms of scents right now (besides Angham)?

Here’s a very partial running list (my desk is scattered with samples):

Narcotica’s Happy Dust: A fizzy, floaty, sugary cloud with a slightly heady mango tang. Makes me want to rollerblade around the city in summer even though I don’t rollerblade.

Le Labo’s Another 13: An indescribable scent that apparently smells different on everyone because of its synthetic notes of Iso E Super and ambroxan. To me, it smells salty and ever so slightly unctuous yet still fuzzy. (Unhelpful, I know.) Imbues chic badassery.

Byredo’s Bal D’Afrique: The smell of a lemon grove tempered by exotic florals and black currant blowing across a dry, woody plain. Would have been perfect for my reporting trip to Italy’s arid, rocky Lampedusa.

Vilhelm’s Poets of Berlin: A beautiful lemony blueberry anchored by green bamboo. For days wandering the farmer’s market, eyeing overpriced honey.

Maison Tahité’s Sel-Vanille: A sage-tinted vanilla floating over the sea. What I want my summer to smell like and will, as soon as the full-size bottle I ordered is off backorder.

The Harmonist’s Golden Wood: A honeyed citrus tempered with creamy vanilla grounded in balsamic guaiac wood and earthy oak. And I highly disagree with this summation on Fragrantica: (my new bible): “Well-made and bland, a middle manager could do much worse than this.” No, wearing this, I’m a ray of sunlight you catch briefly as I walk by.

Ledda’s 20 Bourbon Brûlée: Caramel, coconut, whiskey-soaked goodness tempered by rich plum, spicy bergamot and powdery tonka. For a night spread out on a blanket watching a movie under the stars.

I’ve only been doing this for a couple of months, but if you want an opinion on a fragrance, I may have smelled it already. It’s likely stored somewhere in my new mental scent library. Just ask. And share. Tell me what you’re wearing and why. And tell me, how does it make you feel?

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