The fragrances we encounter throughout our lives are more than fleeting sensations; they are profound markers of memory, emotion, and identity. A single whiff can summon long-forgotten moments, evoke the warmth of a cherished embrace, or transport us to places etched deep in our hearts.
For Francis Kurkdjian, fragrance goes further than just a smell—it’s a “magic” tool that does something nothing else in the world can do. “Scent is so powerful and unique in its ability to conjure images out of something you can’t see. It creates tangible memories from something totally invisible, and that never ceases to impress or excite me. It’s like magic, and something so specific to the craft. With music, you can decide not to listen or to block your ears. With scent, you can’t choose not to breathe—it’s always there.”
Here, Kurkdjian takes us on an olfactory journey through the key scents that have defined his life. From the smells that always bring comfort and solace to the family, to the smells that have shaped his creations, these are his scents of purpose.
The Scent That Saw Me Through My Teenage Years Was…
The scent of my sister, Anais. We are only three years apart, so we’re close, and the fragrance she wore for many years was Anaïs Anaïs by Cacharel. It was very popular back then. It’s very floral and juvenile—a really romantic scent with flowers and hyacinth and rose. Not so long ago, I smelled J’adore again, and it had that little Anais Anais twist to it—a very floral bouquet from the late ’70s, early ’80s. Now it smells a bit outdated, of course, but it truly marks that era for me.
The Scent That Makes Me Feel Like A Child Again Is…
Food, definitely. Oriental food, specifically. So grape leaves and hummus, stuffed mussels… things that my mother and grandmother used to cook—real comfort, family food. Also, oriental coffee, which is very reminiscent of my childhood, as my grandfather would always prepare it after lunch. It’s very specific—it doesn’t smell like espresso or anything like that. That smell instantly takes me to my grandparents’ home, so clearly. It was a tiny apartment outside of Paris and I grew up there part-time. I can see the yellow tablecloth, the bird cage with two birds in it, the clock…I see those surroundings right away, just from that smell.
The Scent of Someone I’ve Lost Is…
Femme by Rochas, which my grandmother used to wear. It was one of the most popular scents in the ’40s. I have one bottle left, which she gave me. It’s a chypre, so a blend of rose, jasmine, patchouli, and oak moss. There was also a fruity note in it, and cumin, which is very specific to this perfume. It was one of the first perfumes to launch after World War II. If I smell the perfume or see the bottle, I think about her right away.
The Scent That Got Me Addicted To Fragrance Is…
A perfume worn by my mother, L’empreinte by Courrèges. My father bought it for her when I was born. She also used to wear Madame Rochas by Rochas, which was very famous at the time—even more famous than Chanel No.5. It was a best-selling perfume in the ’70s, and it has that very chic French elegance to it. There was a series of perfumes like that in France at the time, including Rive Gauche, Madame Rochas, and Calandre by Paco Rabanne. It was an era of a very clean chypre note. Very elegant, very French. To every kid, your mum smells good and she’s beautiful, so my love of fragrance is definitely associated with that. Maybe also the fact that, at that time, perfume was still something you’d use when you got dressed up. It was that idea of mummy getting ready to go out; she’s done her hair, her makeup, put on her fur coat, and applied herperfume. It’s all part of that memory.
The Scent That Makes Me Feel Safe And Comforted Is…
The smell of home. I have lots of candles and lots of incense. But not incense sticks—I don’t like those because the scent is always on, and I like deciding what I want to smell and where and when. Instead, I use Le Papier d’Arménie, which are cute little scented papers that you burn. It looks like a little notebook, and the paper is cut in three parts. You tear one part out, light it, extinguish the flame, and the perfume works like incense. They’re super cool as they give a delicate scent and you can carry them everywhere, soI always have some in my bag or wallet. There’s an original version from 1885, and that’s the traditional scent. I actually made some 25years ago and created two new scents—one is arose-based scent, and the other, called Arménie, is more oriental, vanillic, and woody. I’m also working on a new version at the moment.
Each part of my house has its own scent, and I have a different candle for different rooms. In my bathroom I have Es Cap, which has a fig-tree note and smells a bit muddy, a bit like dry dirt. In my kitchen I have Rue des Groseilliers—a red berry candle—and in my living room and dining room I have Au17, which is the number of my former address in Paris. It’s a combination of Japanese incense and real incense. In my bedroom I have Les Tamaris. Tamaris is a tree with pink-purpleish flowers with no scent, but I created the smell as it’s reminiscent of the family house we have in the south of France.
The Scent That Transports Me To My Favourite Place In The World Is…
The smell of the food markets in Paris. Home in Paris is my favourite place, and the food markets there are nothing like what you’d find in any other major city. It’s all outside, and as you pass by there’s the cheesemaker, the bakery… tome, it’s so homey. I live in a very cosy and cool neighbourhood—the 17th arrondissement—which is full of bakeries, bistros, cheese shops, flower shops… and that combination is so specific to Paris.
There’s also something I do when I stay in hotels, like where I’m staying now, for example. They have a diffuser in my room and the smell is terrible, so I left it out on the balcony. Honestly, when the smell of a hotel is too much,I don’t want to stay there. I don’t understand why people put so much perfume in places. I know they want their olfactive identity, but this one is so old-fashioned and sickening. I was once in a hotel in Italy, and I had to call reception to make sure they didn’t bring it back to my room—I’m very sensitive to that sort of thing. That’s also why I always have my papers with me—they have just enough scent but they’re not overpowering! They make me feel home, and I love that.
The Scent That Got Me Through A Tough Time Is…
A smell I don’t like at all, which is the smell of burnt wood. That smell always stayed in my mind, because a long time ago—Christmas of 1997 or 1998—I was staying at a friend’s country house in Washington DC. We were asleep upstairs when the fire in the downstairs fireplace escaped out. We woke up in the middle of the night to the most pungent, strong smoke, and it was horrible—we almost died. If I smell the smell of a fireplace that’s too strong—that thick, heavy smoke—I freak out, even now. I don’t use perfume or wear scent myself. Instead, I wear what I’m working on when I’m creating something new, but I stop as soon as it’s validated and the formula is finished.
The Scent That I Wish I Could Bottle Forever Is…
The smell of peace. That would definitely be my wish. I don’t know what that would smell like, though. If I had the recipe, I would go to the lab and create it right away, for sure. We need to have peace; the world right now is insane.
The Scent I Want People To Associate Me With Forever Is…
A smell that is still relevant for years. One of the things I’m most proud of is not the number of fragrances I’ve created, which is over 300, but that many, like Narciso Rodriguez For Her and Jean Paul Gaultier Le Male, are still relevant over 30 years later. Also, the smell of peace, friendship, and happiness. But remembering me as a good perfumer would also be fine.
This story first appeared in the April 2026 issue of GRAZIA Singapore.
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