Long before I knew what a niche fragrance house was, I knew the fragrance counter at the department store.
In high school, I loved stopping by those counters and discovering what was new. My tastes were firmly rooted in what I now think of, affectionately, as the Mall Hall of Fame: Azzaro Chrome, Polo Blue, and, of course, Cool Water.
Cool Water deserves a little extra recognition. It was one of the defining fragrances of that era, and for me, it will always be a legend. My tastes have traveled a long way since then, but I still have tremendous respect for the role it played in my own love of fragrance.
I can still remember Photo by Karl Lagerfeld, which my father wore. I remember the smell of it, but even more than that, I remember the impression it left. That is one of the things fragrance has always done for me. A scent can attach itself to a person, a place, or a period of your life and stay there for decades.
Fragrance could change the way you felt in the moment, too. You had a date, you chose what you were going to wear, and somehow the fragrance became part of the anticipation. It could give you confidence, change your mood, make an ordinary night feel like an occasion.
I’ve always loved that about fragrance.
Years later, when I met my wife, that interest came back in a big way. She appreciated a man who wore cologne, and that was enough encouragement for me to start exploring again.
The funny thing is, I more or less picked up where I had left off.
In my mind, no time had passed. I went looking for Polo Black, Polo Red, Polo Blue—anything Polo, apparently—along with Nautica and the other designer names I remembered. I didn’t realize some of those fragrances might now be considered dated. I just knew what I liked and what was familiar.
But the more I explored, the more I realized the fragrance world was much larger than the one I remembered.
I discovered houses I had never heard of before: Creed, Parfums de Marly, and eventually Louis Vuitton and others occupying a very different corner of perfumery. It felt like discovering an entirely new vocabulary of fragrance—more depth, more experimentation, and compositions willing to go places mainstream designer fragrances understandably approached more cautiously.
I sometimes compare it to ordering something described as “hot and spicy” at a restaurant, only to discover that the kitchen has been careful with the heat. It makes sense. If you’re trying to appeal to as many people as possible, you probably don’t want to make anything too challenging.
But sometimes, I wanted the heat.
I wanted the tobacco pushed further. I wanted the citrus brighter, the woods darker, the unexpected note that wasn’t immediately trying to please everyone. I became fascinated by fragrances with a stronger point of view.
That curiosity sent me deeper into perfumery.
At first, I was simply discovering fragrances I wanted to wear. Then I wanted to understand why I liked them. I began paying closer attention to compositions, notes, concentration, materials, and how a fragrance develops from the opening through the drydown.
And, admittedly, there was a practical consideration. I could fall in love with something like a $600 bottle of Louis Vuitton, but that didn’t mean I was eager to spend $600 every time a fragrance captured my attention.
So I started researching.
I began learning about perfume oils, sourcing, concentration, and the process of turning those materials into a finished fragrance. That search eventually took me well beyond the department-store counter, including to suppliers overseas and the fragrance traditions and materials of the Middle East.
Somewhere along the way, the question changed.
It was no longer simply, What do I want to wear?
It became, What do I think is worth exploring?
The more fragrances I experienced, the more I developed my own point of view about which compositions stayed with me, which offered something distinctive, and which I wanted to spend time understanding and working with myself.
What began as an interest in wearing fragrance became an interest in crafting and curating it.
And eventually, that journey became Maison Appalachia.
But exploring this much larger world of perfumery never diminished my affection for the fragrances that started it all.
I don’t believe discovering niche perfumery requires pretending that everything you loved before was somehow inferior. Chrome still matters to me. Polo still matters. Cool Water certainly matters. And Photo by Karl Lagerfeld matters for reasons that go beyond fragrance altogether.
They were my gateway fragrances.
Long before I blended Roi Tabac or had the vocabulary to discuss notes, concentration, or projection, those fragrances taught me something more fundamental: scent could carry memory. It could create anticipation. It could become associated with people and moments and somehow bring them back years later.
My tastes have expanded considerably since those days at the fragrance counter. But becoming more interested in perfumery has never made me less appreciative of where I started.
If anything, it has made me understand those fragrances better.
Maison Appalachia grew from that same fascination—just taken further.
From the mall to the maison, the curiosity has always been the same.