It’s always been Stella, since I first smelled it. But it’s also other things, like the way Jason Geistweidt smelled in high school — like clothes washed in regular Tide and softened with original Downy — that I catch a whiff of on the subway now and again. Or the crown of a newborn baby’s head, damp sheets after sex, Humectress lather, Neutrogena body oil, potatoes frying, a pumpkin pie baking.
It’s easiest to take a photo of my perfume shelf than attempt to capture any of the above. Smells are fleeting but the deepest forms of memory, said to be the last things lost before death.
So: Stella it is.