What I Think About When I Choose How I Smell As A Trans Woman

Welcome to Note to Self, Refinery29’s fragrance series exploring perfume beyond the bottle. Through intimate stories and scent memories, we’re unpacking the emotions, experiences, and identities behind the fragrances we wear — and why they can become such a deeply meaningful part of who we are.

What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

When I came out as trans in 2017, this well-known Shakespeare line held a lot of meaning as I chose my name. Overlooked by so many, our names are an important part of our identity, and as a trans woman, hearing people use mine — like external acceptance of my authentic self — was incredibly affirming. But in hindsight, I missed something important in that quote: the sense of smell.

You see, the fragrances we choose are just as integral to our identities as our monikers. Patchouli, ylang-ylang, cedar, and so many other names belonging to notes of a different type from the ones I recognized as a musician now jumped out at me as I found ways to express myself.

Before I came out, the fragrances I bought were as gender neutral as possible. It was my way of avoiding masculinity and being able to secretly embrace who I really was. After coming out, an entirely different world was unlocked, and I quickly realized that changing my fragrance was just as exciting, not to mention cathartic, as updating my wardrobe.

I was on a mission to find my style and a scent that encapsulated that. Was I sweet? Perhaps floral? Or was I something bolder? The first fragrance I bought was Katy Perry’s Mad Love, sadly now discontinued. It was a light, fruity, and playful fragrance that allowed me to express my femininity in a fun way, at a time in my life when I was finding ways to show up in the world — even if that did involve some questionable outfit choices. Most importantly, it was affordable. As a trans woman, I was condensing years of “growing up” into months, on top of everyday adult life. While the cis women I knew were able to experiment and refine their style in their younger years, I was on an Instagram-fueled crash course in makeup and style; I wasn’t ready to splash out on fine fragrance just yet.

As it turns out, I wasn’t the only one who felt a need to balance cost with an existing connection. Journalist Sophie Layton, 23, tells me, “My first fragrance was a SO…? body spray; I think it was Wild Berries. I had decided I wanted to start with that brand because it was one that my best friend (and basically big sister) used herself, and she played such an important role in my transition, especially in the early days.” It was a good balance of fun but not bank-breaking, says Layton.

After coming out, Summer Healey, 37, regularly jumped at any offers of perfume samples to discover and experiment with notes she liked before settling on Prada Paradoxe Eau de Parfum — a heady bouquet of neroli, jasmine, and orange blossom. “I remember Prada being a brand I always resonated with visually, but smelling that first Paradoxe sample, I was hooked by the soft floral tones that felt like an inner home,” she recalls. Healey continues, “Early transition — even before being out socially — having my scent felt like wearing armour, and smelling it on my wrists made me feel more confident.”

In a society that demonizes us more than it tries to understand us, confidence is everything when taking those steps outside. After all, we go to work, we meet friends, and we walk our dogs just like everyone else, but with an added layer of caution. Even as someone who’s been out for nine years, I’m always looking over my shoulder when I’m out in public, always ready for abuse — or to run. It’s no surprise that how we express ourselves is also influenced by a need for safety. For me, it’s how I present and how I smell, hoping that if a passerby catches the scent of my fragrance, they don’t stop to question who just walked past. It seems Layton agrees: “Being seen to put on body spray definitely helps [with the] perception of others,” she tells me.

On my journey of expression, it’s not just my transness that I’ve learned a lot about. As someone diagnosed with autism and attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (AuDHD), I’ve discovered my sense of smell has been an unwitting co-pilot in my transness and self-expression all along. A smell is either awful and offensive, or it’s amazing and stimulates my brain. There’s no in-between, just full-on intensity. The result has been curating a careful balance of expressive scents that will also help ground me and regulate my mood and emotions.

My latest go-to fragrances are Versace Dylan Purple Eau de Parfum (think juicy pear, effervescent bergamot, and Iso E Super — a molecule that smells different on everyone), and YSL Black Opium Eau de Parfum (with sweet vanilla, bitter coffee, and airy orange blossom). Both are sweet and joyful but with more distinct, confident notes and more immediate presence. Since my first Katy Perry fragrance, a lot has changed. I’ve grown up, and these fragrances are the latest bookmark in my current chapter of life.

But here’s the thing: I can’t ignore how heavily gendered fragrances can be. We’re practically told what we can or can’t buy, and it’s all in the language brands use to market them. “Daisy, by Marc Jacobs. The fragrance for women” or “Boss Bottled. The Man of Today.” But why can’t men wear sweet, floral fragrances? The answer lies in the same box as why a man wouldn’t dream of ordering a cheeky glass of rosé when on a night out with the boys.

In unpacking my own identity, I was also unpacking the box of gender constructs. Historically, men were perceived as tough and strong, while women were delicate and nurturing, giving rise to the modern stereotypes that hold us back today. Despite concerted attempts as a society to leave these stereotypes behind, the fragrance industry still relies on gendered cues to appeal to us for one simple reason: consumerism. Douglas Little, CEO and founder of Heretic Parfum, a brand that has been pushing the boundaries and perceptions of fragrance, tells me, “For centuries, perfume wasn’t divided into ‘for him’ and ‘for her.’ Scent was ritual, medicine, seduction, power, status.” Take ancient Egypt, where fragrant oils were used in religious practices as well as worn for beauty across genders. Similarly, in ancient Rome, fragrance was often a marker of wealth and social standing.

Little adds, “The idea that a rose belongs to women or leather belongs to men is a remarkably modern invention, one born less from art than from marketing. Once fragrance became a mass-market commodity, it became easier to sell if everything was neatly divided into two aisles.” The irony, says Little, is that scent has no gender: “Vetiver doesn’t know who is wearing it; jasmine isn’t feminine; oud isn’t masculine. These are stories we’ve assigned to raw materials, and after hearing them long enough, we’ve mistaken them for truth.”

But to a certain extent, trans people do embrace gendered cues, and not just for protection. Layton says, “For a lot of people, they’ve spent a significant chunk of their lives being told, ‘You can’t do x, wear y, or use z, because it’s for girls’, so when they come out, doing all of those things that can be considerably feminizing [like] reclaiming that in a way.”

Trans advocate Robyn Newark, 39, tells me, “I’ve had past experiences of hating masculine scented products like shower gel and shaving cream, so changing those to feminine ones feels more affirming and freeing, especially when you’ve previously felt like you exist in a prison of expected gender presentation — including scent.” Certainly, clothing or the length of my hair is an obvious form of outward expression, but I feel it’s more symbolic and doesn’t fully capture just how incredibly personal that reclamation process is.

Personally, fragrance is the key — a feeling that can be applied to any outfit, giving it depth and meaning. “To me, wearing perfume is one of the most intimate acts of self-expression we have,” says Little. “It’s invisible, deeply personal, and impossible to fully explain.” Little adds, “The most heretical thing we can do isn’t create another fragrance; it’s freeing people from the idea that scent needs permission to belong to them.” A fragrance can not only add something to our outfits and to how we feel, but it can also lend itself to moments, too. “Smell is definitely a little bit more for me than for anyone else,” says Newark. “I also enjoy it when engaging in intimate play with others, sometimes choosing to spritz my lower back or lower stomach.”

While fragrance is likely to remain gendered for quite some time, our love/hate relationship with it needn’t be so toxic. After all, it’s easier to find your identity when you know who you’re not, or what you don’t like, right? What some see as preference, I see as meaning. Gendered cues are simply my starting point; non-statutory guidance that I can choose to embrace, or not. Little agrees: “I’ve always believed fragrance should express who you are, not who society expects you to be. At Heretic, we don’t compose perfumes around gender; we compose around emotion, atmosphere and desire. I want someone to choose a fragrance because it makes them feel haunted, dangerous, euphoric, nostalgic, or transformed, not because it was placed on the ‘correct’ shelf.”

As I look at my shelf and the fragrance collection I’ve accumulated over the last nine years, I see far more than something that completes an outfit. Curated by my neurodiversity and my trans identity, I see a timeline. A visual and deeply personal representation of how far I’ve come, with each one unlocking intimate emotions and core memories of my self-discovery. Every spray is a part of my journey that I choose to share with others, all while reminding myself that we are not static beings, but individuals who can redefine boundaries as we continue to grow.

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