Crème de Sens

Black and white close-up photograph of a large conch sea shell lying on its side against a soft, neutral background
black and white grove of tall palm trees against the sky and green hills

Crème De Sens

[EVERYDAY]

[SENSORY]

[JOURNAL]

A journal of everyday sensations and observations, collecting moments, moods and visual impressions without instruction or performance — only presence and attention. No system, no lessons — just what was seen, heard, felt

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  • red bottle

    red bottle

    Have you ever had that feeling when you can’t remember what something looks like — its shape, its color, even its name — but if you ever see it again, you’ll know immediately that yes, that’s it? Like a melody you can’t hum and don’t know where it came from, but the moment it starts playing somewhere in the background, you recognize it within seconds.

    A long time ago I had a perfume. Probably ten years ago, maybe more. I didn’t remember the name, what the bottle looked like, or even how it smelled. But I knew for sure that I loved it. Loved it enough that sometimes, completely out of nowhere, it would just surface in my mind, and every time I’d think — damn, it’s such a pity I don’t remember what that perfume was. The only tiny clue left in my memory was a vague image of a red bottle. Over the years, I honestly gave a chance to every red bottle I ever came across.

    And then one day, during a random trip to Winners, I was walking past the fragrance section when my eye caught on one particular box. I googled the name right there and saw that exact bottle. Next thing I knew I was already opening the package, not even leaving the checkout area, spraying it on myself and… The feeling was strange. It was hard to separate the joy of the scent itself from the joy of actually having found it at all. It felt like thinking you missed your train — and then finding out it was delayed.

    This perfume is one of those I can actually feel on myself throughout the day. It doesn’t disappear after a few minutes. I can forget about it, and then suddenly catch the scent on myself again — and every single time it brings an aesthetic frisson.

    Honestly, I don’t know whether it was really that good back then, or whether memory just made it special. But the fact is, I “lost” it — and then by pure chance found it again. And it’s still one of the most pleasant accidents I’ve had in recent years.

    Amor Amor
    Cacharel

  • 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.

  • The art of doing everything but starting

    The art of doing everything but starting

    I’ve thought about it hundreds of times.

    Starting a blog, my own space where I can gather thoughts, feelings, photos. Free from all those algorithms and the hustle of Instagram. But every time, it was easier to open the notes on my phone or scroll through someone else’s websites, and tell myself, “I need to think about it more.”

    How do ideas ever turn into reality? When life is already packed with tasks, when you want everything to be perfect: from categories to design, from content ideas to visual aesthetics. The answer always seemed obvious: just start writing. But in reality, the idea stayed in my head, like a beautiful draft, a folder filled with dozens of concepts and ideas ​​that’s nice to revisit but scary to touch. I got stuck in a loop of planning, where every step demanded perfection, and doubts kept me from starting. I kept convincing myself: just a little longer, I’ll refine the details and then I’ll start.

    I imagined what the website would look like, what sections it would have, how the texts would resonate with readers. But the thought of dealing with the technical side and design, the fear that it might not work out or might work out, but not the way I pictured — turned everything into chaos. Structure, settings, styling… Honestly, all I really wanted was to write. About delight, beauty, emotions, about the things that make a day feel special.

    And the days went by. I reread drafts, edited old notes, and rewrote lists of ideas. I did everything except the one thing that mattered — hitting “Publish”.

    Was it a lack of focus? Self-discipline? Action? Persistence? Or all of it at once?

    Actually, I was missing just one thing — the first step.

    And finally, here it is — my first step

black and white grove of tall palm trees against the sky and green hills