Crème de Sens

Category: OBSERVATIONS

  • Laurel or Yanny

    Laurel or Yanny

    I suddenly remembered that audio illusion — Laurel or Yanny. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, this is the exact recording people have been arguing about for years over what they hear.

    I always hear Laurel. No matter how hard I try to hear it differently — I just can’t. And honestly, I don’t understand how anyone could hear something else. I mean, Yanny? That’s a completely different word. How is that even possible? So I went to read the comments and let my friends listen to it. And guess what…There really are people who hear Yanny. It’s kind of mind-blowing.

    It turns out there aren’t two different words in the recording. It’s the same sound, but it contains both low and high frequencies at the same time. Some ears are better at picking up higher frequencies — and then it sounds like “Yanny.” Others catch the lower ones more easily — and then it sounds like “Laurel.” 

    On top of that, headphones matter, volume matters, and even the moment when you listen matters. Your brain tries to recognize a familiar word and simply “chooses” the one that’s easier for it to hear. So people really do hear different things, even though the sound itself is exactly the same. I find that fascinating.

  • How Homes Feel

    How Homes Feel

    I’ve spent nights in many different homes — staying over at friends’ places, with acquaintances. And every time, I was struck by how different the feeling of a space can be.

    There are homes where, the moment you step inside, you feel a kind of fuss. Even if everyone is kind and welcoming, the atmosphere still feels tense. You wake up in the morning and instead of calm, you feel anxiety right away, as if you’re late for something, even though the day has just begun. Cupboards slam, pots clang, the washing machine roars at full speed, a spoon hits the metal sink with that sharp, irritating sound. You haven’t even fully opened your eyes yet, but you already feel guilty for still being in bed. You think: my God, what is going on?

    And then there are completely different homes. Everything there moves slowly and quietly. You wake up in blissful silence and think, did I wake up before everyone else? You step out of the room, and the table is already set, breakfast is ready. Someone is sitting and reading the newspaper, someone quietly makes you tea. You didn’t even hear any of it being prepared. You only feel the scent. The scent of coffee. The scent of freshly baked bread from the bakery downstairs.

    These two kinds of homes feel like two different worlds. In one, you’re pulled into stress and anxiety from the very first morning moments. In the other, everything feels as if it’s happening in slow motion — a sweet serenity, a deep, gentle calm.

    Every home has its own rhythm. And that rhythm quietly seeps into you.

  • separate the art from the artist

    separate the art from the artist

    // sometimes it’s better not to know the author to enjoy the book (c)

    There’s this idea that art should exist separately from its creator. And in theory, it makes sense. If a song, a book, or a film really hits you — why should it matter what kind of person made it? They can be a complete jerk. The work still works. Sounds logical, right? But in real life, it doesn’t always work that way.

    Sometimes you genuinely like someone. An actor, a writer, a blogger, a musician — whoever. They just click. They inspire you, spark interest, feel close somehow. And then you randomly stumble upon an interview, a tweet, a comment. You learn a bit more about them. How they think. What they say. What they believe. And at some point you catch yourself thinking: damn, I wish I didn’t know that.

    What’s interesting is that it’s often not about what they said. It’s about the mismatch. Their values, their way of thinking, their worldview just don’t line up with yours anymore. And that’s it. The magic breaks. No one owes anyone anything — but the pleasure is slightly ruined.

    There’s even that saying: if you don’t want to spoil a book, don’t google the author. And honestly, in about 80% of cases, I don’t. If a book, a film, or a track really lands for me, I leave it alone. It’s not about being naive or “not wanting to know the truth.” It’s about not killing an experience with unnecessary information. It’s just a way of keeping distance. Because sometimes an image works only as long as you don’t know too much.

    But sometimes it works the other way around. Someone exists somewhere in the background. You don’t really care. Maybe you don’t even know who they are. And then — one video, one interview, one honest answer — and suddenly you see them differently. Not with admiration. Not with awe. Just with respect. And somehow their work tastes better because of it.

    At some point you realize something simple: we almost never like people as a whole. We attach ourselves to an image. To the way someone fits into our values, mood, or needs at a specific moment in life. And when that alignment ends, the interest ends too. The taste fades. And that’s normal.

    Not everything has to last forever. And not everything that once deeply moved us is obligated to stay with us for life.

  • instagram: fast food for the eyes

    instagram: fast food for the eyes

    Over the last few years, opening Instagram honestly feels like opening a trash bin. Just a flood of identical content — not made from real life, but from the hunger for reach. Everything looks the same, sounds the same, made for the same goal. It’s like someone literally handed out a manual: visuals, captions, “authenticity,” delivery — all optimized for engagement, growth, and conversion.

    It’s exhausting to even look at.

    At this point, it no longer matters what you actually want to say. What matters is how many times it can be reshared, whether the audio is trending, whether it “hooks” fast enough. And if you just make what you genuinely love — well, you’re out of the game. You didn’t play by the rules. You didn’t stick a hook in the first 3 seconds. Didn’t build a drama. Didn’t write a headline like you’re running some kind of manipulation marathon.

    Everything is built around controlling attention. Content doesn’t really speak anymore — it pressures, it grabs, it manipulates. It doesn’t offer — it insists.
    Click. Save. Buy. Subscribe. Now. Fast. Instantly.

    It’s not really about people anymore. It’s about faking a feeling, wrapping it in a Reel, and selling it. And honestly, this isn’t creativity anymore. It’s just trigger-juggling. It’s no longer about expression — it’s about retention at any cost.

    That says enough.

  • Vanilla in the Elevator

    Vanilla in the Elevator

    Today the elevator smelled like vanilla.

    Not the cloying, synthetic kind from cheap sprays, but real vanilla — warm, creamy, with a light sweetness, as if someone had just taken a tray of fresh buns out of the oven and carried it past me. For a moment, I felt like I wasn’t in a residential building anymore, but in a small bakery, with fresh éclairs in the display window and powdered sugar hanging in the air.

    Usually, elevators smell like nothing. Sometimes like other people’s perfume, dust, or wet clothes after the rain. But today it was different. The scent of vanilla made this metal box unexpectedly cozy, almost alive. The mirrors, buttons, and steel walls stayed exactly the same, but the feeling shifted completely. I even caught myself standing there, breathing in, as if trying to figure out where the smell was coming from.

    Maybe a neighbor was riding up with a bag of pastries. Or someone spilled coffee with vanilla syrup. Or maybe it was someone’s perfume with a soft vanilla note. Honestly, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that for a few seconds, a space that usually feels completely impersonal turned into a place with atmosphere.

    I think people almost never notice things like this. Most of the time, everyone is standing there, buried in their phone or staring at their reflection in the mirror, just waiting for their floor. A silent transport from point A to point B. And yet, it’s these random, accidental details that quietly shape the mood of the day.

    It’s interesting how scent can change a space more than any decor ever could. Smell feels like a kind of magic — the quietest and least conscious of our senses, yet the one most capable of suddenly pulling up a memory, triggering a feeling, or shifting a mood before we even realize it.

    I like to think that aesthetics isn’t about beautiful objects or perfect interiors. It’s about how small details and fleeting moments suddenly come together into an image. Like today: the smell of vanilla in an elevator assembled a whole scene for me — morning, a small bakery, sunlight on a display window. All of it inside an ordinary elevator.

    The scent disappeared almost immediately after I stepped out. But a certain lightness stayed, as if the day had started a little more pleasantly.

    Who would have thought that even an elevator could set the tone for the whole day — if you simply manage to notice it.