Now, I Just Need a Name
There are times when you know what you’re going to name your craft. It feels like an inner impulse. The name itself becomes the inspiration to dive in and create it. The whole craft already exists somewhere in your mind, and everything leading to the final result feels intuitive, imaginative, yet already real. Then there are times when you’re so involved in what you’re aiming to create that you take it slowly. You don’t even have a starting point. You begin anywhere, with anything, step by step, discovering little by little, making decisions along the way, until you finally reach that place of contentment. It clicks, and the name comes to you.
In both cases, what I observe while making perfumes for my clients is that there’s nothing like the sweet click you feel when you’re about to smell the right combination. Then you do, and the scent begins to linger in the air. You smile. You laugh. You’re excited. You run outside, smell it again, and run back, saying, “This is the one!”
Throughout the session, my clients ease into the world of fragrances with me, embracing the many scents they enjoy. When they finally choose one, they often forget that there is one final step: naming their fragrance. When I remind them, there’s a moment of hesitation, as they suddenly realize the importance that small decision carries. After making perfumes for myself, I realized I was struck by the same uncertainty.
Fragrances live in an abstract space, they exist momentarily before becoming a distant memory. Because of that, their name allows the scent to leave a trace of itself behind. Over time, I have come to understand that some brands treat their names as part of the experience itself. For example, Killian Paris fascinates me with its approach to naming. Fragrances like Love, Don't Be Shy and Can’t Stop Loving You changed the way many people understand fragrance, showing how it can also be an expression of literature, not just an embodiment of the ideal man or woman. I also admire Frédéric Malle for a similar reason, with names like Portrait of a Lady and Heaven Can Wait, which feel less like labels and more like stories that were never told.
The more I worked on fragrances with different clients and encountered all types of names, the more I realized that a fragrance is not about describing who you will become when you wear it, but rather about capturing what is inherently there, yet remains unseen, allowing it to become the quiet, invisible atmosphere around the body. Sometimes, it is a memory, a confession, or a new chapter. Whenever I reach that final step in creating my own scent, I learned that the hesitation makes perfect sense. It is no longer choosing between notes or accords. It’s choosing meaning, deciding how this fleeting creation will be remembered, how it will live beyond the moment it was made.
Whether it comes to you instantly or not, in both cases, one can only trust the process. Naming is not a separate act from creation, but a continuation of it. It follows the same rhythm, whether immediate or gradual, intuitive or deliberate. Perhaps that is why the moment feels so distinct.It is not the satisfaction of finishing something, but the recognition of something that has, finally, been given a space to exist.
