People often ask what a candle smells like.
I understand the question, but it rarely tells the full story.
Scent isn’t something you experience in isolation. It mixes with light, with memory, with the size of a room and the time of day. The same fragrance can feel comforting in the evening and slightly sharp in the morning. Context changes everything.
When I work with scent, I think about mood first. Calm, warmth, clarity, grounding. Those words come before notes or names. Lavender can feel sleepy or clean. Citrus can feel uplifting or cold. Woody scents can be cosy or heavy, depending on how they’re blended.
There’s also the question of strength. A good candle doesn’t need to announce itself as soon as you walk into a room. Sometimes the most beautiful scents are the ones you notice only after a few minutes, when the space feels different but you can’t quite explain why.
I tend to avoid overpowering blends for that reason. Homes are lived in. People cook, talk, move around. A candle should sit alongside life, not compete with it.
Choosing a scent is also deeply personal. What feels soothing to one person might feel distracting to another. That’s why I believe there’s no such thing as a universally perfect fragrance. There are only fragrances that feel right for a moment, a place, or a mood.
When you’re choosing a candle, it can help to think less about descriptions and more about intention. Is it for winding down in the evening? For a quiet weekend morning? For making a space feel warm when guests arrive?
Scent works best when it supports those moments gently.
Not loudly. Not urgently.
Simply present.