Finding my signature scent

The moment I touch down at Istanbul Airport, my first stop will most likely be a duty-free shop. I search for the shiny red “DUTY FREE” sign right after passport control. Eventually, my eyes meet with (seemingly) infinite boxes of chocolate, bottles of liquor and cartons of tobacco, yet none of them (even discounted Valentino bags or deals on Benefit Cosmetics makeup products) distract me from my target. Instead of paying attention to such trivialities (including my back pain from a 9-hour-long flight), I drag my extra-large suitcases until I notice the fragrance section and eventually locate Yves Saint Laurent (YSL) to acquire a new bottle of perfume. I notice Black Opium’s glittery exterior and the golden logo on Libre, but neither of them is what I’m searching for.

When I tasked myself with finding a new perfume years ago (as my then-favorite, Dior’s Hypnotic Poison, had been accused of smelling like Play-Doh), my mission was shaped into something more than simply finding something that smelled good. Finding my signature scent could not have been that straightforward. While representing my vibe, it had to serve as a reminder of who I aspired to be: courageous, charismatic, confident. I desired something that defined and became whole with me — when I walked into a room, it had to announce my presence. It had to be special, un-replicable, unique.

YSL’s Babycat checked all the boxes: its redolent vanilla scent captured my soft, approachable personality, while its spicy twist and woody notes masked the sweetness — only a portion of the audience could see through the musk to reach underlying amber. When combined, it asserted an ambiguous, gray, complicated personality. One that was rich but simple, outright but reserved.

Its only downside was the jaw-dropping price, but I took the bitter with the sweet — and one spray every day is more than enough for the scent to last all day, helping me gaslight myself into thinking it’s not too awful of a purchase.

I have been loyal to Babycat for the past three years. I used it rigorously throughout my senior year of high school and freshman year of college. Although I bought the perfume with the intention of reminding myself who I wanted to be (reiterating the previous tricolon: “courageous, charismatic, confident”), it is ironic that those two years of my life were times when my self-esteem was at an all-time low.

Using a scent like Babycat to mask the truth was my way of “faking it till I made it” — an attempt at hiding my vulnerable heart because I was embarrassed by it (and getting taken advantage of because of it). In a way, I was aware of the plain, vanilla undertones of my personality, and I hated it. Like adding bitter chai to warm milk, I covered myself with spicy saffron and smoky warmth to conceal the truth. I surrounded myself with a scent that I hoped would scare the rivals away, building thick walls from fragrant clouds and hiding all my weaknesses and insecurities behind them.

To many, it might be foolish to attribute this much meaning to an overpriced smell that’s marketed toward the clientele as a promise of luxury. I am ashamed to admit this, too. But I cannot hide that putting on Babycat every single morning before I left my room to face the world provided me with a few extra drops of confidence. I rejected going anywhere without it and felt naked if I forgot to spray it on. I was concerned that if I did not wear it, the magic would go away, and I would be forced to display the person I so desperately hid from those around me.

Then, one day, I forgot to put it on again, and I was left with no choice but to face the earth naked, with no walls of fragrance to protect or conceal me. I did not radiate the smell of Babycat, but, surprisingly, the energy (the self-confidence) stayed. Then, something clicked: At the end of the day, it wasn’t the fragrance that kept me from the evil; it was all me. Babycat was simply the push I needed.

Babycat gave me the attitude that helped me keep going in life, and in a way, its scent still defines me. But nowadays, I sometimes skip spraying it on me intentionally, as I know I don’t need it anymore.

Buse Koldas is a junior from Istanbul, Turkey majoring in Chemical and Biomolecular Engineering. She is an Editor-in-Chief for The News-Letter.