When I was a little girl in the early ‘90s, I spent a lot of time hanging out in the home of an old woman named Alyce, a distant relative who was something of a second mother to my mom. I loved padding across her plush cream-colored carpet, admiring her knick knacks, and breathing in the trail of rich, spicy amber scent that was unmistakably “Alyce.” Her signature fragrance was Estée Lauder’s Youth Dew—a scent that, despite being a remnant of the ‘50s, played a crucial role in my future fragrance palate.
As I write this now at the wise, womanly age of 38, I’m directly facing a shelf in my home office with a selection of favorite fragrances from my collection—the ones I always keep at arm’s reach for mid-day refreshes. Sure, there are a few newbies present in there, like Lore’s passionfruit- and mezcal-inspired Disfruta and Liis’s tea-scented Ethereal Wave, but for the most part, my selection looks more like that of a glamorous senior citizen than a trendy thirty-something: old-school Chanel, Guerlain Shalimar, original men’s Stetson, Clinique Aromatics Elixir, Prada’s original (and sadly discontinued) Amber, and—you guessed it—Estée Lauder Youth Dew, resplendent in an opaque turquoise bottle just like the one I imagine Alyce used. While these scents run the gamut from floral to spicy to woodsy, they’re all bold, unforgettable, and, in my opinion, timeless.
But my admittedly old-school fragrance palate is not a popular one at this exact moment in perfumery.
Perfume TikTok has been popping since the beginning of the pandemic and continues to be a thriving community of fragrance fans who want to share their enthusiasm for all things scent… except, apparently, when it comes to classic fragrances like my beloved Chanel No. 5 and its compatriots. Everyone knows No. 5 is a legend, but the resounding conclusion—primarily among Gen Z—is that it smells “like a grandma” or an “old lady.” And they often don’t mean that as a compliment.
To be fair, I can see how No. 5 or Youth Dew may feel dated to some, the same way 2010s sandalwood scents smell very “of a time” to me. Mainstream perfume preferences fluctuate with time, ping-ponging from light and fresh to sweet and gourmand to woody and spicy and back again. Right now, we’re in an all-gourmand-everything phase, where vanilla sillage bombs are forming the fragrance palettes of our youths. But what I don’t understand is why bathing in a grand bouquet of symphonic florals automatically constitutes “grandma”—or more importantly, why people are so opposed to being perceived as one.