Every late autumn, my wardrobe, music preferences, reading rhythm, and even the way I walk quietly slow down. The leaves turn yellow, the sunlight softens, and the air carries a hint of dry chill—like an unspoken whisper in the atmosphere. During this season, I always switch to more “quiet” scents—moving away from the airy florals and fruity fragrances of spring and summer, in search of something that wraps around the body like a woolen coat: warm, textured, and full of presence.
I’ve always been demanding when it comes to perfume. Beyond the complexity of the notes, I care about whether a scent resonates emotionally with the season. The idea of “choosing the right scent for the right season” isn’t a cliché to me—it’s part of how I experience daily life. Especially in late autumn, I crave scents that are both gentle and weighty: they must sit close to the skin, offering a sense of safety, and at the same time, have depth and lasting power, like a story slowly unfolding.
The three perfumes I’m sharing today aren’t the most popular on the market, nor are they the stars of social media. But I’ve worn and savored each of them over and over again. They all have a story to tell, and their lingering sillage carries emotional warmth. These are my most intimate scent companions during late autumn—each one capable of grounding me and pulling me out of the ordinary.
1. Naomi Goodsir – Bois d’Ascèse
I first encountered this scent on a cloudy afternoon in Brussels. The air was damp, leaves piled up on the streets, and the low chime of a nearby church bell filled the window. The whole scene felt tailor-made for this fragrance.
Bois d’Ascèse (Ascetic Wood) is one of the most unique woody fragrances I’ve encountered in recent years. Its structure is full of tension: at first spray, it’s a bold blend of smoke and charred wood, like the air after a campfire has been extinguished, or the lingering warmth of a mountain cabin’s fireplace. This scent does not aim to please; in fact, it might cause a frown at first. But as it settles, sweet frankincense and amber begin to unfold—softly and slowly, enveloping the composition with a gentle warmth.
I love its evolution—from raw and abrasive to warm and intimate. It’s just like autumn itself: distant and even a little lonely at first, but the deeper you go, the more it draws you in.
It pairs beautifully with a wool coat, vintage leather boots, and a cashmere scarf—or even better, when you’re barefaced, sitting by a window with a cup of Earl Grey tea. It won’t make you the most noticeable person in the room, but it might leave behind a trail that makes people turn around.
I bought this one at a niche perfume boutique, but it’s also available on European independent fragrance websites and stores like Essenza Nobile and Luckyscent.
2. L’Artisan Parfumeur – Mon Numéro 10
If Bois d’Ascèse is a fireplace, then Mon Numéro 10 is a dark velvet sofa—substantial yet soft; understated yet elegant.
This is a highly atypical oriental fragrance. Its opening has a warm balsamic feel, blending incense, resins, and leather, reminiscent of a spice stall in a Middle Eastern bazaar, or the curling smoke of incense in a sacred ritual. As it develops, vanilla and vetiver begin to round it out, softening its edges and introducing a body-like warmth.
I wore it once to a small theater in Munich, wrapped in a charcoal wool dress. During intermission, more than one person leaned over to ask, “What perfume are you wearing?” It’s not the kind of scent that earns instant admiration, but it draws people in gradually and lingers in their memory.
What touches me most about this perfume is its “shadow quality.” It doesn’t dominate a space like many orientals do. Instead, it drifts quietly around you, like a discreet current of air. Elusive at first, but unforgettable once noticed.
I like to wear it at sunset—especially when I’m walking alone on cobbled streets or waiting for a return train at an old station. It suits calm personalities, slow-paced days, and dark-toned outfits. That quiet, enduring presence fits perfectly with the mood of late autumn.
Mon Numéro 10 is available on the brand’s official website and select perfume stores, and can be ordered online via French perfumery retailer Nose.
3. Maison Violet – Tanagra
Among the three, Tanagra is the most feminine. It doesn’t possess a strong aura or follow the traditional path of oriental perfumes, but I still see it as the perfect “late-autumn fragrance” because of its subtle skin-like intimacy—like a scent that melts into your sweater, mingling with your natural warmth.
Tanagra features iris, orange blossom, and white musk. It opens with a soft citrus peel that quickly dissolves into a midnote so clean and delicate, you could almost “see the light.” It’s refined, transparent, but never cold. What moves me most is the slightly creamy skin tone in the dry-down, blending with musk to create a wordless tenderness.
It’s not heavy, but it wears extremely well. Especially on mild autumn afternoons when the light is gentle, I’ll spray it on before heading to the flower market or curling up at a café with an old novel—dressed in camel knitwear, cream-colored trousers, and a cashmere shawl.
Tanagra has a very private scent profile—it won’t project far, and only those close to you will truly catch it. That makes it the kind of fragrance “only you understand.” Not showy, but deeply inviting.
Maison Violet is a revived French heritage house, and Tanagra can be found on several European platforms like Jovoy and La Boutique du Parfum. Its packaging, like its scent, exudes literary elegance.
Late Autumn Scents Are Emotions That Settle Over Time
Many people ask me: Why are “heavier” scents suited for late autumn? I’ve always believed it’s not about intensity, but envelopment—a scent should act like an invisible cloak, shielding you from the noise and chill of the outside world.
A perfume’s weight doesn’t equate to being overpowering or overwhelming. The ones that truly fit late autumn are layered, lingering, and emotionally nuanced. They should last long enough for you to take a walk, read a book, or experience a solitary night.
I remember sitting alone one rainy autumn evening in Lisbon, outside a small bar in the old quarter. I sipped a small glass of port, wearing Mon Numéro 10. The mood, the smoke, the scent, the memories—they all blended into the air. At that moment, I realized: perfume isn’t just something you spray onto skin. It’s a space, a feeling. It’s the most intimate way to converse with the season.
