Le Labo, Madrid. While reviewing a Mini City Exclusives Set for your podcast, you’d Frankenstein’d your arm into a sublime multiverse of scents—a sleeve-layover in ten cities at once. I lingered, underdressed, with my single layer of MUSC 25 (my LA safety blanket). Let’s return to the lab and you can go to town on my arm next, in the name of content. Or contentment. Your call.
Le Labo, Wall Street, NYC. I saw you clutching a bottle like it was the last lifeboat on the Titanic. You were panic-buying three MYRRHE 55s because City Exclusives would “disappear for a year” soon. I was panic-buying two because you were. Turns out we were both a little hasty—the lab tech said they can be refilled year-round, so we left with one each. But if you fancy panicking together about something else, spritz me up.
Burbank / Hampstead Heath. I’ve been wearing London’s POIVRE 23 for a week now and feel like a tourist in my own life: sitting in traffic has become queuing politely; my adaptogenic latte now tastes like a proper cuppa; and hot yoga is sweating quietly on the Tube. Apologies to LA for going AWOL—I’ll come crawling back when the bottle runs dry.
Le Labo, Las Vegas. You told me OSMANTHUS 19 was your “reunion with Kyoto.” I asked when you had visited, and you said it was on a trip to Colorado last September. Then your phone alarm went off (perhaps “stop spending money” o’clock), and you vanished. If you’re the one who showed me how to fly without leaving the ground, meet me in Kyoto—at the lab in Denver.
Le Labo On Wheels, Yountville, California. Thank you to the kind stranger who gently informed me that the beautifully distressed shipping container I’d been tailing for several blocks was not, in fact, the Le Labo on Wheels truck. Without you, I’d probably still be idling in some sketchy loading dock, sniffing the air for SANTAL 33. Coffee sometime?
Le Labo, West Hollywood. You bought a bottle of GAIAC 10 and kept sniffing the cap like it was a portal to another life. I was behind you with nothing (classic me), frozen for 45 minutes between BAIE ROSE 26 and LIMETTE 37. “Try this,” you suggested, “it’s Tokyo telling you to stop overthinking.” If you’re the cap-sniffer, meet me at the lab before the event ends. This time I might even buy the bottle. P.S. You can name my label—I’ll only overthink it.
Le Labo, Daikanyama, Tokyo. You were sitting quietly, just… being. Not scrolling. Not posing. Not waiting for anything to happen. You seemed unbothered by time. It made me feel embarrassed for having somewhere to be. I fill my life with obligations; you’d apparently emptied yours for a moment of stillness. I’ve never seen anyone hold silence so gently. I’d love to lose track of time with you one day, if I can fit it into my schedule.
Le Labo, Barcelona. You caught me inhaling BIGARADE 18 like I was trying to download it. You laughed—beautifully—and said you only wear it during the annual event to avoid getting too emotionally attached. I was the fool who should have taken your advice and bought it there and then. I’ll get it before the bottles go rare again, but now I’m hopelessly attached to the memory of you saying it.
