The Sneaky Scent That Doesn't Want to "Throw" Itself

Every candle maker has one – a scent they can smell perfectly in their head but one that never actually materializes in wax. This quest sits just out of reach – close enough to keep trying, elusive enough to frustrate the fragrance out of you.

Mine started with laundry detergent.

The Beginning

Working out one morning, we'd finished 4 miles my friend next to me smelled divine – not like sweat, but fresh and floral and sexy and glamourous. It was extraordinary. And, admittedly, I was jealous I didn't smell that way, so asked her what perfume she was wearing. Laughing she said, oh it's my laundry detergent.

Armed with knowledge, I tracked the detergent down, ordered it, and promptly became the person whose friends asked "what is that amazing fragrance you're wearing?" To which I would laugh, and reply, perfectly sincerely, "my laundry detergent."

And, usually, without missing a beat, someone would say: "you should make a candle out of that."

Reader, I tried – and so far, this scent just doesn't want to "throw" itself.

The Chase

This scent has everything. A bright, clean top that opens beautifully. A base with warmth and depth. And somewhere in the middle — is the secret garden.

Jasmine. Rose. Muguet. Lavender. And pear — along with something else – something elusive that's living somewhere between the top and the heart, doing something quietly magical that ties everything together.

I thought I knew what it was – emphasis on "thought." Turns out I didn't.

The Results (plural)

Batch one: light on throw, both hot and cold. Nothing notable about it — and yes, in candle making, notable is the entire point. It smelled vaguely floral and entirely forgettable.

Batches two and three: closer. And closer again. Something good was starting to emerge. The florals were finding each other. The pear was showing up — briefly, shyly, not quite staying.

And then there was the chocolate. Everything I read said there was chocolate in this scent. Here's where I curse: because the chocolate showed up like a "bull in a china shop" – just busting and breaking apart everything delicate we had created.

The result? A candle that smelled like hot chocolate covered pears with lavender and musk – no thank you!

The Problem

Here's what nobody tells you about blending: you can get the top and you can get the base, but the heart — that secret middle where everything connects — is where candles are made or broken.

I'm missing a bridge note. Something that lives between the pear and the florals and convinces them they belong together. I know it exists. I can almost smell it. But I haven't found it yet.

And the chocolate base — too chocolate-y – words this chocolate fanatic never thought I would utter. I needed less chocolate, and more of something that to this day still eludes me.

The Almost

Close is the cruelest place to be in candle making. When you totally screw the pooch (apologies fair reader) you laugh it off and start over with a slightly different approach. But, close? Close means you can smell exactly what it should be, which makes the gap between where you are and where you want to be feel enormous.

And those who know me, know I won't put it into the collection until I'm proud of it. And, at the same time, I love my laundry detergent and I don't want to ruin a scent I genuinely adore – so I have set this one aside.

Not given up — set aside. And when that elusive note shows itself, I will be waiting.

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While this one waits in the wings, the twelve scents that did make the cut are ready for you. If you love florals and something a little unexpected, The Island or Veranda might be exactly what your nose is looking for.

Browse the full Palm Beach collection →

Breathe In What You Love