My Scent Journey: Always Looking to improve.

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When I look back, my fragrance journey is really part of a bigger life pattern for me. I’ve always started with what was accessible, but over time, I found myself wanting the real thing.

When I was younger, I had a Kawasaki KZ900. It was a good bike, but I took the emblems off because, in my mind, it wasn’t a Harley. It wasn’t about the Kawasaki being bad. It was about knowing what I really wanted. The same thing happened with watches. Fake watches scratched the surface for a while, but once I finally bought the Rolex, I understood the difference. The fake could copy the look, but it could not copy the feeling, the pride, the quality, or the personal achievement behind owning the real thing.

Fragrance has followed that same path.

My designer journey really started with Yves Saint Laurent Kouros. That was the first designer fragrance I bought on my own in 1981, and I have always owned it. Kouros was not just another bottle to me. It represented stepping into fragrance on my own terms. It was bold, masculine, confident, and unforgettable. That one became part of my story.

Then came fragrances like Drakkar Noir and a few other designers from that era. Those were the scents that shaped a lot of men’s fragrance memories. They were powerful, recognizable, and they had character. Back then, designers had identity. They were not just endless flankers chasing trends. They felt like statements.

Later, when niche and artisan fragrances became more interesting to me, clones became a way to explore expensive scent profiles without jumping straight into full bottles. I still think clones have a place. They can be useful, especially when you are learning what you like or trying to understand a scent profile before spending serious money.

But at one time, I owned several hundred clones, and after a while, it just was not satisfying. Seeing all of those bottles sitting on the shelf every day did not give me the same feeling as owning the real fragrance. There was no real story behind many of them. No connection to the original artist. No history with the house. No feeling that I owned the actual creation.

It also changed how I felt when people came over and saw the collection. Instead of being able to talk about the fragrance, the house, the perfumer, or the story behind the bottle, I found myself explaining what original fragrance the clone was trying to copy. That took something away from the experience for me. It started to feel like I was always explaining the imitation instead of enjoying the real thing.

Over time, I also moved away from a lot of the Middle Eastern clones. Some were fine for what they were, but I started wanting better quality, smoother blending, and better raw materials. That led me toward better American clone houses and a few European clone houses that, to my nose, used better materials and gave a more refined experience.

But even with the better clones, I never look at them as replacing the original. The originals usually have something the copies do not fully capture: the authentic naturals, the expert blending, the small nuances, the movement, and the transitions from opening to drydown. That is where a fragrance becomes more than just a similar smell. It becomes art.

For me, American clones now serve a different purpose. They are for fragrances I kind of like but would not invest in as a full niche, artisan, or designer bottle. They are also useful when I am testing a scent profile, or as a go-between until my finances are there for the original bottle. But they are never meant to permanently replace the real thing.

As my nose developed, I started wanting more than “close enough.” I wanted the real bottles, the real houses, the real perfumers, the real materials, and the full experience. I wanted the depth, the transitions, the quality, and the artistry that often get flattened out in a clone.

That is where I am now: niche, artisan, and quality designer fragrances. Not because every clone is bad, and not because every expensive fragrance is automatically great. But because, for me, the hobby has become more personal. I want authenticity. I want the full story. I want the real thing.

Looking back, it all connects. The Kawasaki KZ900 led to wanting the Harley. The fake watches led to the Rolex. Kouros in 1981 led to Drakkar and other designers. Designers led to clones. Clones helped me learn. Better clones helped refine my nose even more. But eventually, the journey pushed me deeper into the niche, artisan, and the higher-quality side of fragrance.

That has always been my journey: start where I can, learn from it, grow through it, and eventually move up to what feels real to me.

There is no shame in starting with clones or cheaper designers. We all start somewhere, and finances, family, priorities, and other commitments all play a part. I did it myself. But I also think a lot of people, myself included at one time, can let pride get in the way. We start trying to substitute the clone or the lesser-quality thing we own for the real thing, and then we create hype around it because that is where we are in the game at that moment. When someone brought up the original, I deferred to the clone and provided justifications for why it was better.

But as I have grown in life, I have had to get honest with myself. I am always looking to improve. I want quality. I want the finer things in life, and that is what I work toward. I may not get everything right away, but I always set goals and keep striving toward them. For me, that is the journey: start where I am, be honest about where I am, keep moving toward the real thing, and I am always trying to move onward and upward.

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