Before a fragrance touches the skin, there is a moment of stillness, a quiet anticipation. For me, that moment has always held meaning. It is where emotion begins to take shape, where design meets intent.
When I was designing the perfume cap, I wanted it to do more than close a bottle. I wanted it to awaken something. Its shape is precise, its edges deliberate. If you press too firmly at the corners, you will feel a brief sting, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that you are present. That small pulse of sensation captures attention, the way ice-cold water shocks the senses, or the way a sudden touch can pull you out of thought and into feeling.
We live in a world of soft edges. Most perfume bottles are smooth, round, and safe, designed for comfort. But I have always been drawn to contrast. The cap is intentionally sharp because awareness is rarely soft. It is the spark before emotion, the quiet jolt that makes us feel.
I see it as a tactile metaphor for what I try to do with scent: to translate emotion into form. The cap is not only an object; it’s the first note in the composition. It engages your senses before the perfume even breathes.
Touch becomes the first act of emotion, a physical dialogue between you and the creation.
When someone holds one of my bottles, I want them to slow down. To feel the edges. To sense the presence of intention in every detail. Before the scent unfolds, the design already speaks, quietly, but with purpose.
This is how awareness begins.
