In third grade I chose to be an alchemist.

My teacher explained that an alchemist lived at the place where science and magic meet. I didn’t need to hear anything else. I’ve been standing in that place ever since, studying what I was told not to study, questioning what I was told not to question, trying to understand things before deciding what I think of them.

I became a perfumer because of something I smelled once, in a specific moment, that I have never fully been able to explain. It was visceral. It was immediate. It was the most alive I’d felt standing still. I needed to understand how that was possible. I needed to learn how to do it.

ALCMY is where I ended up.

I don’t make fragrances to remind you of something. Memory is yours. I have no business writing it for you. What I’m trying to do is give you a new one. Something that didn’t exist before you opened this bottle. A moment that is entirely yours, written in real time, on your skin.

That’s what fragrance is to me. Not a postcard. A blank page.