Hot Girl Spritz - Can a fragrance get you laid?
Science says smell is our most primal turn-on. I sprayed, dated and sniffed my way through the evidence...
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If you’ve ever been derailed mid-conversation because someone walked by smelling like a musk-drenched demi-god, you’ll know that scent is…hot.
A spritz can pull you in closer than a chiselled jawline, make you linger long after the conversation’s gone dry and lodge in your memory like that ex you still think about at 3am. Perfume is basically hot sauce for attraction; you don’t always need it, but when it’s there, it makes everything that little bit spicier.
Why is this? Some may say it’d down to pheromones, aka the love chemicals found in the animal kingdom, although scientists disagree on whether humans actively sniff them out or not. Another theory is association; a study at the Monell Chemical Senses Center found women’s faces were rated more attractive when paired with pleasant smells like rose oil versus, say, fish guts. The take away? Our brains process beauty and scent together, so in short: if you smell good, you also look better.
Honestly, it’s exhausting that most of the “scientific” research on fragrance and attractiveness is skewed toward women being studied as the objects of desire, without any kind of balance. Furthermore, smelling good is subjective. Coffee notes might smell like Sunday morning to one person and like a panic attack in liquid form to another, so can we ever truly know what ‘sexy’ smells like?
The dating scene is tough right now; app fatigue is causing dating burnout and conversations are drier than the limpest Ryan Air sandwich. Although I’m not trying to ‘win’ anyone over, I am curious to take advantage of what I can and if wearing certain scents can impact my results - in my book that’s resolutely worth a try.
What does ‘sexy’ smell like?
Picking florals over the aforementioned eau de fish guts is a no brainer, but historically the scents we found most attractive often had less to do with innate desire and more to do with how they were sold to us via word of mouth or elevated as a must have by aristocracy. In our lifetimes it’s been the mood of the era, amplified by fragrance advertising that has played a massive part in what we define as a sexy smell.
Rich fragrances of the 1970s reflected the sexual revolution and disco-era liberation in both their notes, and the way they were portrayed. Tabu by Dana (above) was originally released in the 1930s, but was reinvented and gained traction in the 1970s as sexy, alluring scent. It was exotic, heavy and ripe with civet, amber, woods and ripe florals. The gourmand boom of the 1990s (hello, Thierry Mugler’s iconic Angel) turned desire into dessert, making sugar and chocolate erotic - you became a literal snack. This switched in the 2010s as soapy ‘skin scents’ - like Glossier You - became the symbol for sexiness, but even at its most scrubbed-clean, perfume can’t quite escape its filth. That warm, salty closeness of skin, the suggestion of sweat under cotton sheets - the intimacy of nakedness is implied rather than announced.
As for now; it feels like so much is up in the air. Our concept of ‘sexy’ doesn’t feel like it’s quantifiable, in the same way it’s been in the past. So are there any scents that actually make you more quantifiably…bangable? Over the past few months of dating in London (where 41% of us are now single…) I decided to conduct my own sexy scent tests to find out, partly driven by curiosity and partly to gamify the boredom of sub par dates. A beauty experiment in real time, I’m hoping to find out which scents actually land as hot. Since I mostly date men, I tested my perfume theories on them - but as you’ll see what I learn is applicable to everyone.
Let the experiment begin…
Does animal attraction work?
The theory: For centuries the sexiest perfumes leaned on animalic notes like ambergris (whale regurgitation), musk (scraped from musk deer), and civet (yes, from anal glands). Rare and ruinously expensive - the Birkin bags of their day - they gave fragrance a sweaty, skin-on-skin intimacy. Today they’re mostly synthetic, but the animalic pulse lingers in Frederic Malle Musc Ravageur or YSL Libre Intense. It’s not subtle at all - think of it as the olfactory equivalent of Paul Rudd in Anchorman declaring: “Time to musk up.”
A very scientific test: Unbeknownst to my date (lets call him The Politico) he’s about to become a test subject. Headed to a pub in Farringdon, I start with six sprays of Phlur Cherry Stem laden with black cherry, plum, woods, and leather. It’s sweet and snackable at first, but with a dry-down that smoulders in musky leather. He notices instantly because he can’t not; I’ve really gone to town: “Wow, that perfume is amazing,” he says, going in for a lingering hug.
I take that as a win, but I’ve been strategic. I sprayed it on my jumper, not my skin, because I know a scent switch is incoming. Later on in the date I slip off the cardigan in the bathroom and spritz Vyrao’s Ludeaux directly onto my skin. It’s softer - peach skin, white florals, a hushed musk, a skin scent for intimacy and quiet confidence.
By this point, two bottles of wine in, I can’t tell the flirty vibe is from the perfume switch or just the booze. So I fess up. “I don’t mind being used,” he quips. I give him a whiff of both and test another scent on this - Eccentric Molecule 01 + Cistus - to find out which scent he thinks makes me hotter. His answer is: “You’re just hot either way.” Diplomatic, of course, given the nature his job. But between the three, the latter just edges it, he says because it’s so layered and complex. As for the date, as fun as it’s been, my brain is flagging from so much intense political chat and he’s based in Brussels so we part ways, indefinitely.
Will smelling like a snack make me hotter?
The theory: Edible, gourmand notes come in many guises, all designed to smell like you want a bite. Thierry Mugler’s Angel was the iconic gourmand: honey, caramel, praline - sweet and moreish, like demolishing an entire Colin the Caterpillar solo. But there are other ways to be snackable; more hints of sugar, like savouring a delicate petit four rather than a full on sugar binge.
The test: I have high hopes for a second date with The Architect. He’s cute, polite, and actually decent over text (a rare feat). But our first meeting was borderline platonic, which makes round two more interesting: if scent is supposed to push things from friendly to flirty, this is the perfect test case.
So, I wear Tom Ford Black Orchid Reserve (above) a new version of the 2006 original but amplified with roasted tonka and black truffle giving it a sweet, edible edge. Half way through the date, the vibe is still a little bit ‘work colleagues.’ He’s very logical and quite straight laced, so I wonder if sharing my experiment might make him chuckle and loosen up. Reader: it does not. “This isn’t a real experiment, you don’t have a control, so it‘s all anecdotal” he says, unimpressed by my half-arsed science, and I by his lack of humour. Me and this incredible perfume are wasted here, so I say goodbye early and go to meet my friends. They’re all several drinks down at a members club in Soho. As I arrive the waiter tells me I smell amazing and I look beautiful - that’s the win this scent deserves.
A week later, I’m on a park date wearing Penhaligon’s Lavandula, a curious blend of cinnamon, lavender, musk, vanilla, and tonka. I’ve chosen it deliberately; it’s the closest blend I can find to replicating an infamous 1990s study which claimed that the notes of pumpkin pie and lavender together increased blood flow in men’s penile tissue by 40%. Lavender soothes, pumpkin pie comforts and together I guess they…arouse?
As for the date, let’s call him The American. We stop for coffee en route to the park, he orders his, pays, but doesn’t even offer to get mine which is so strange. It’s not a gender thing; if I’d have gone first I’d have bought both drinks. The barista and I give each other a knowing glance, but I’m here now, so I may as well make the best of it and test some perfumes on him. We go sit in the park and chat about music, but the chasm is immediately obvious: different lives, zero spark. I even call him “pal” a few times just to hammer the point home. When we say goodbye, though, he leans in for an unsolicited kiss on the neck - no signals given from me. I’m confused as to why he thought that was ok, or why he went for the neck, but maybe the perfume worked. Or maybe he’s just delusional. Possibly both.
Are florals really that filthy?
The theory: We know florals make us hotter than fish guts (thanks science) but some innocent looking white flowers in particular contain indole, a molecule also found in chocolate, the smell of sex, faeces and decomposing bodies. At low levels, indole makes florals smell lush and luminous. Turn it up, though, and it adds a whiff of sex itself. It’s why jasmine has always been the femme fatale of fragrance: beautiful on the surface, filthy underneath.
The test: This experiment is about to dial up a notch. I’m at Antichrist, a goth fetish club night, with friends for a bit of a dance. The cocktails, the latex, the pounding goth soundtrack, the sweat-slick dance floor - that’s what my pals are here for. I, however, came with a different mission: I’m also testing whether my indole-drenched florals give me any extra pull in a club where people are literally having sex.
We head to the top floor of the club and straight into a room full of spanking and flogging. My friend wants to leave, she says it reeks in here and she’s right, it does smell of sex - sweaty, sweet and slightly gross, and not entirely unlike the indolic nature of some white florals. I sniff my wrists for some light nasal relief; I spritzed on Charlotte Tilbury’s Star Confidence with jasmine and patchouli just before I arrived, hoping its namesake might rub off on me. A few heads turn as I try to waft by dramatically so people can smell the scent, though it might just be because I look unhinged. But I fear that as pretty as this scent is, it could be a tad too polite for this crowd.
Good thing I’ve packed backup. Floral Street’s Black Lotus comes out next - a modern-day version of 1970s sexy-classic YSL Opium, dripping with jasmine, saffron, black cherry and narcotic musk. It has to fight through the aroma of latex, sweat and sex, but when a girl in the loos stops me to ask what I’m wearing (possibly with a side of flirting), I know it’s holding its own.
By 1am, I switch again, this time to LBTY 1875, thick with tuberose, one of the hottest and most iconic indole notes of all time. That, it seems, is the clincher. A few people on the dancefloor shoot me knowing looks, but I’m 12 drinks down and McDonalds beckons. But I could have stayed and made some new ‘friends’ - and I’m blaming the tuberose entirely. This scent really does smell like sex, in the very best way.
Can historic be hot?
The theory: Perfume has always been less about notes on a blotter strip and more about what society was ready for and certain scents in the past seemed to carry major sex appeal. Often, they emerged during moments when gender norms or sexuality were shifting - they were bold, rebellious and modern at the time and very identifiable which gave the wearer power and identity.
The test: When Guerlain launched Shalimar in 1925, women were smoking in public, bobbing their hair, and dancing on tables. One of the first amber-orientals: rich with vanilla and tonka bean, it smelled of luxury, decadence and sex after champagne. Mad Men’s Joan Holloway - the office embodiment of lust - famously wore it. “The perfume of temptation,” Guerlain later called it. If you wanted to smell like the woman that mothers warned their sons’ about, this was the ticket.
It’s a Saturday, and I’ve got a museum-and-coffee date with a guy who works for a record company. He’s smart and curious, so I decide test Shalimar on him, splashing it on my wrists with abandon. He notices the perfume immediately - you can’t not. “You smell… unusual,” he says. I’m unsure how to take that, but what I do know is that every time I catch a waft of it, I feel a little buzz. Maybe that’s Shalimar’s secret: it doesn’t just seduce others, it seduces you first. We look at the exhibit, I offer up some deeply awkward facts about Tudor hygiene (why am I like this?) and after a couple of hours, we part ways. Neither of us text each other again, a mutual ghost if you will - until I inevitably become folklore in his group chat: “Remember that girl who spent half a first date explaining how Tudor aristocrats wiped their arses?” SIGH.
A few nights later, another first date. He’s a menswear designer - hot, chic, and a bit cockier than I’d like. I drench myself in Robert Piguet’s 1944 classic, Bandit: a wild clash of violet root, tuberose, civet, amber, and coconut. Within minutes of our meeting, he’s intrigued. “That smells like something… I know it,” he says, nose twitching. That tells me all I need to know; Bandit was once described as smelling like a model’s lingerie and frankly, he reeks of being a shagger. But what’s truly fascinating isn’t him, it’s Bandit’s creator: Germaine Cellier. Ex-model, reputed lesbian, legendary iconoclast - and one of the very few female perfumers of her time. Back at the table, I relay the perfume’s naught past. He grins: “That perfume is quite sexy. Weird. But sexy.” And honestly - isn’t weird the best kind of hot? I couldn’t possibly say if he ended up wearing it later that night. But lets just say either way, we’re all winners here.
So, what’s the sexiest scent?
Sometimes hot smells like roses dipped in honey. Sometimes what’s most attractive is leather, sweat, and… yes, actual faeces. The truth is, perfume doesn’t just dress the body - it undresses the mind. Through all my so-called “tests,” the real constant wasn’t how others reacted, but how I did. The scents that felt most like me - right down to the bottle staring back from my shelf - were the ones that gave me the real boost that led to me being a better, and more confident version of myself. The real magic lies in a perfume that doesn’t impose desire on you, but invites you to inhabit it - to lean into your sexiest self, on your own terms.
I’ve found a few winners above, but I’d love to know what makes you feel attractive too.
Much love and sexy whiffs…
PS: Curious about the perfumes I tried? Click here to check them all out.
I want to sample every single one.