Scents and Sensibilities
- Bekah Waalkes
- Apr 8
- 7 min read
Serviette, a new fragrance brand, explores the concept of good taste.
I’ve always struggled with the idea of “good taste.” I read enough Pierre Bourdieu in grad school to know that what “good taste” means at any moment in time is determined by social and cultural narratives, by power structures, by class position. But I’m still a little attached to the concept of “taste,” which gives useful language to personal preferences and idiosyncrasies. I find it hard to reconcile this individual side of taste — what I like — with the social production of taste — what I have been taught to like. When I really like something, do I like it because of my innate instinct or taste? Or because I’ve been influenced to think this way? In the world of social media and groupthink, of influencers and #ads, it can be hard to tease out what one’s own “taste” would even be.
When I read about Serviette, a new fragrance brand exploring the idea of taste through perfume, I knew I had to try. Launched in 2024 by independent perfumer Trey Taylor, Serviette’s fragrances aim to explore the ways our relationship with “good taste” is “both deeply personal and inherently social.” We want what we’ve been taught to want. And yet: we still want it. As Taylor writes, “Each handcrafted Serviette fragrance serves as a portal to explore cultural sophistication while questioning its foundations.”
It’s particularly interesting to examine taste and perfume together, since the appeal of certain fragrances is deeply personal, often dependent on an individual’s skin chemistry and preferences, even their specific memories and associations. Yet perfume is still a luxury good, one that has particular middle-class appeal in 2025. You may not be able to afford a vacation on the Italian coast or a dinner at Polo Bar but you can still smell like you do.
I admire Taylor’s artistry — he is largely self-taught, though he studied under Brooklyn perfume sensation Marissa Zappas — almost as much as his attention to perfume’s history as a commodity and class marker. Serviette’s name comes from English linguist Alan Ross’ differentiation between “U” words (those used by the upper class) and “non-U” words (those used by the upwardly mobile middle class). This differentiation was popularized by Nancy Mitford in a 1956 essay called “The English Aristocracy,” which includes a list of these words, including “Mental: non-U for U mad,” and “Wealthy: non-U for U rich.” “Napkin” is U, but the French imported term “serviette” is non-U: a term used by the aspirational middle class.
Charmingly, each discovery set comes with an embroidered serviette, a nod to perfume’s origins as a way of masking odors in public spaces. Having recently had a dire olfactory experience with a stranger’s dog in a confined space on a boat — saved only by a stray perfume sample in my bag — I am personally very ready to bring back handkerchiefs daubed with fragrance. When I brought mine (spritzed with Frisson d’Hiver) on the T to work, I felt like a doomed heroine in an Edith Wharton novel. Delicious.
Serviette is a brand for the strivers and the skeptical, for those who are interested in developing their own taste and who question the idea of taste altogether. Taylor’s own taste is certainly for contrast, pairing something classic with something bold and new. Take Serviette’s logo and motto, De gustibus disputari potest, Latin for something like, “You can argue about taste.” It’s a winking allusion and sly reversal of the classic Latin maxim, De gustibus non est disputandum, or “There is no disputing about taste.” Likewise, each fragrance in Serviette’s debut collection plays with tradition, taking expected combinations — rose and oud, for example — and adding something new, like diesel exhaust or kush or ice. There’s incredible variety and subtle tension within these four fragrances, each more surprising and intricate the more time I spent with them.
The star of the collection is definitely the rosy oud Byronic Hero. I loved Byronic Hero immediately, in part because it takes inspiration from E.M. Forster’s classic (and criminally underread!) novel Maurice, published posthumously in 1971 because of its frank depictions of homosexuality in Edwardian England. Byronic Hero opens with potent clove and saffron; I definitely get the base note of diesel exhaust here, too. The spicy opening settles into a perfectly balanced middle of fir balsam and rose, always punctuated with that trace of diesel exhaust. I can’t help but think the gasoline is a nod to Maurice’s motorbike in the novel, which offers him and his lover an escape from stuffy Cambridge into the countryside, where they can be together. The jammy rose, too, reminds me how much of Maurice takes place in gardens at dark: “Scents were everywhere that night, despite the cold, and Maurice returned via the shrubbery, that he might inhale the evening primroses.”
Byronic Hero dries down into a spicy, leathery oud swirled with pine forest breeze and the slightest hint of dirt and decay from the patchouli. It’s spicy, dark, and unapologetically intense — a friend described it as “bossy.” Imagine Byredo’s Black Saffron mixing with DS & Durga’s Bowmakers in the outdoor air of a gas station: there’s saffron, leather, pine, resin, and diesel. Wear Byronic Hero if you’re the kind of person who likes to wander art galleries alone or read in bars; there’s something mysterious and irresistible — and just a little bit striving — to the whole tableau.
Sour Diesel is a tart, juicy, very green cannabis perfume. Named for a much-beloved strain of sativa, Sour Diesel is both complex and accessible; I can imagine it appealing to fans of kush notes and the cannabis-fragrance-curious alike. The opening notes of pink pepper and rhubarb are spicy, sour, and fresh; it reminds me of the very green, very spicy opening of Pearfat Parfum’s Stomped on a Bed of Lettuce. The heart of Sour Diesel is rosy Egyptian geranium and a very mellow kush note, almost citrusy with terpenes. The geranium is fresh and green and pairs perfectly with the slightest hint of zesty juniper berry. Even as it dries down into a delicious woody patchouli, Sour Diesel stays chilly, spicy, and fresh. I genuinely have never smelled a cannabis perfume that’s so floral and tart; the closest comparison is Byredo’s limited edition Open Sky, which has a peppery, citrusy cannabis center. But Sour Diesel is wholly unique. If you could bottle up the first sunny Saturday of spring, one where everyone in the world seems to be outside enjoying the mix of warm sun, fresh air, and city streets, it would be Sour Diesel. It’s bright and playful, something totally new.
Ruche is the most subtle and delicate of Serviette’s debut collection. The opening notes of pepper and nutmeg are faintly spicy, almost indiscernible save for how they amplify and complicate the juicy raspberry middle note. The raspberry emerges right away: the first whiff of Ruche feels fruity and familiar, like a body spray from Bath & Body Works. The galbanum is unexpected and fresh, adding a beautiful, crisp green note that smells almost herbal on my skin. The sandalwood and patchouli base is warm and earthy, bringing the raspberry heart outdoors. Ruche is an impressively original addition to the “fruitchouli” family of fragrances, which juxtapose the funk of patchouli with sweet, fruity notes. I’d put Ruche closer to popular, palatable fruitchoulis like Burberry Her or Chanel Coco Mademoiselle than Mugler’s divisive Angel (the OG fruitchouli), but Taylor’s creation is crisper, greener, and woodier than any I’ve smelled. Ruche is a fragrant snapshot of a raspberry bush, fruit, leaves, thorns, dirt, and all. It’s airy and sophisticated, the kind of subtle musk that wears equally well to the office as an evening out.
My favorite of the collection is by far Frisson d’Hiver. I used the entirety of my sample bottle within weeks and I’ll be adding a full bottle to my collection ASAP. From my first blind spray, I was transfixed: I wrote “obsessed” and “have never smelled something like this??” in my Notes app. Frisson d’Hiver, French for winter chill, gets its name from Louis Charles Alfred de Musset’s sonnet “Que j'aime le premier frisson d'hiver,” a love song to the cold days of winter. Appropriately, Frisson d’Hiver’s top notes are bergamot, orange blossom, and ice; the opening is citrusy, delicately floral, and genuinely cold. I have no idea how Taylor has crafted an ice note like this without any discernible mint or menthol. I need to know!
The first icy citrus whiff unfolds into a sweet white floral, dominated by a vibrant, fresh lily of the valley note. There’s jasmine and rose here too, but they feel like part of the background, a lovely floral breeze wafting around as you bend in towards the tiny, delicate blooms of lily of the valley. The base amber accord is sweetly vanilla and a little resinous. Frisson d’Hiver smells like false spring, like finding the first crocus in your garden poking up through the melting snow on a sunny morning. It’s the opposite of Byronic Hero: bright, fresh, and cold. Frisson d’Hiver is sophisticated yet understated — Taylor’s influences for the fragrance include the Barbican Conservatory, Helmut Lang SS98, and Princess Diana’s appearance at a state dinner in Vienna in 1986, wearing a Victor Edelstein gown and her pearl-and-sapphire choker. There is something so luxe about Frisson d’Hiver, something intoxicating; when I’m not wearing it, I’m missing it. Taylor has shown incredible range with the launch of Serviette, from delicate solar blooms to tart kush notes to delicious fruitchouli to the incredible rosy oud of Byronic Hero. I look forward to seeing what juxtapositions and surprises he will formulate next, and what kind of tastes he will cater to. 🌀
Bekah Waalkes is a writer, critic, and perfume enthusiast based in Boston. When she’s not stalking eBay for Italo Calvino first editions or vintage body spray, you can find her scrolling on Twitter and updating her online reading journal
