Since I can remember my Granddad smoked. It was cigarillos for the longest time, but when I was about 10 he moved to the pipe. I remember one of my aunts picking up the cube of pipe tobacco from the end of the kitchen table, saying “Gosh, I love the smell of it.” I remember the corridor of the house, late in the evening, filling with the sweet, earthy, smokey scent. At the determined age of 75, he quit smoking. But my love for that end of the scent spectrum didn’t.
It’s no surprise that my preferred perfumes feature many of these qualities. Darker, more opulent, raw fragrances. Those that say more Dive Bar Diva, than Pretty in Prosecco …
