Retail brands reflect the cultures that create them. Walk into Ferragamo on Michigan Avenue in Chicago, and you’ll encounter the uptight, neurotic Italian psyche—no shade, I say that as an uptight, neurotic Italian myself. The day I went searching for a new fragrance in 2019, I was met with a “What do you want?” attitude. When I inquired about one scent, the sales associate offered a scant masculine glance: “Oh, that’s up on WOMENS!”
I left.
Hermès on Oak Street was different. It was a busy Saturday afternoon, but French calm permeated the space. A woman with long dark hair—older, assured, in an effortlessly chic white wide-legged suit—approached without urgency. Her name was something confident, like Charlie. She took her time with me, as though I were buying investment jewelry rather than cologne. I suppose that’s the Hermès way.
That year, I’d lost forty pounds. I was insanely in love with someone I called Mr. Lucky—cultured, exotic, with the kindest, most gentlemanly spirit. The joke was that I was actually the lucky one. He wore a fragrance I couldn’t place, something refined and quietly commanding, and I’d come to Hermès hoping to find something similar. A scent to match the person I was becoming.
It was late July, so I thought perhaps a fresh summer fragrance would be the answer. I sampled a few—the ones I thought matched what I was looking for—but nothing landed. Charlie handed me a bottle. “How about this?”
Bang.
It resonated immediately. The top notes—grapefruit and orange—hit bright and clean, but beneath that first impression sat something earthy and grounded. Vetiver and cedar formed the base, warm and woody without sweetness. Flint and pepper added a mineral quality, almost austere. This wasn’t a crowd-pleaser. It was specific, deliberate, unapologetically itself.
It was clear—this was my choice. Terre d’Hermès.
It reminded me of what Mr. Lucky wore—I’d later learn that both fragrances shared DNA through perfumer Jean-Claude Ellena, who crafted scents for Cartier as well. But Terre d’Hermès offered more than familiarity. It felt like something I’d been reaching toward without realizing: modern but not trendy, masculine without performing, sophisticated in a way that didn’t announce itself.
It wasn’t brash. It wasn’t loud just for the hell of it. It was the scent of someone who no longer needed to prove anything.
Standing in that boutique, the bottle in my hand, I recognized what I’d been searching for. Not just a fragrance similar to what inspired me, but one that converged everything—the man who made me want to be better, the journey I’d traveled, and the person I’d finally arrived to be.
Terre d’Hermès means “earth of Hermès.” Ground. Foundation. Everyone searches for their true self—the place you stand when you stop chasing and start inhabiting.
That day, I found mine.
Photos | Hermès
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