Rewrite and translate this title So you want to smell like Catholic guilt? to Japanese between 50 and 60 characters. Do not include any introductory or extra text; return only the title in Japanese.

The moment I came across the scent Myrrhe by Headspace I was dragged back in time. I was no longer 24, browsing a concept store in Berlin with my girlfriend; instead, I was 15, on the cusp of a gay awakening, sitting in the confessional box of my local Catholic church.

It’s no secret that scent has a profound ability to transport us to particular places. Whether that’s a situationship’s perfume, a student accommodation kitchen, or the sour stench of a 100 gecs crowd, scent has the power to bring us back. In this instance, that place was the church where I spent my weekends as a teenager – standing at the altar, turning Bible pages for priests, and holding acolyte candles until my arms gave out.

The church is a well-mined source of inspiration for perfumery. Most fragrances tend to favour the more alluring characteristics of the church, blending archetypal religious scents with unconventional notes to conjure memories of altar wine in a silver chalice, incense swinging from a thurible, or rose-scented holy water. Aesop’s Hwyl features a smoky alchemy of frankincense, cypress, and vetiver, while Le Labo’s Encens 9 centres on incense, complemented by amber and clove, aiming to “inspire our souls to reach a calm state for contemplating new beginnings”.

Some perfumes are a direct muse of the church, such as Filigree & Shadow’s My Most Meaningful Relationships which is described as “A joyous hymn of light in a church long abandoned before the rains came and went,” combining petrichor, rosewood, and vetiver. However, other fragrances lean into the darker side, drawing upon the essence of cracked leather Bibles, worn pews, and an overwhelming sense of eternal damnation.

While some seek solace in religious scents, finding comfort and community in their relationship with faith, for others, the reality of religion isn’t always so ideal. This is especially true for those persecuted by its teachings, such as transgender and other LGBTQ+ individuals. The nostalgia these scents evoke often carries a familiar discomfort. “I think for many people, religious memories can be tricky to articulate – whether because they are early memories or because they involve intense, inexplicable feelings,” says Camryn, the fragrance expert behind @cammyreviews. “Scent can sometimes be the only thing that comes close to replicating or reawakening those memories and feelings.”

This tension between reverence and discomfort inspired Filigree & Shadow’s latest scent, Pieces of My Heart. James Elliot, the nose behind the fragrance house, explains: “I was baptised Roman Catholic at birth, but like my mum, I too lapsed in my faith. While I don’t miss the religion, I still hold a reverence for cathedrals and love visiting them whenever I travel.” The scent Elliot developed features top notes of osmogenesia (the Odour of Sanctity), heart notes of candles, and base notes of incense and stone church. “I always light a votive candle in the racks along the side altars and breathe in the air naturally perfumed from centuries of incense swung from the censer,” he recalls.

On a physical level, churches can often be quite dreary in their state. Picture dry-rotted beams, cobwebs, and cold, wet stone – like a Balenciaga store without the luxury. These more dilapidated aspects of churches are captured in certain fragrances, often formulated with aldehydes and powdery notes to evoke the damp, mossy stone and ceremonial materials. For instance, ARCANA’s Holy Terror channels the “sombre and fearsome spirits” said to haunt long-abandoned chapels, monasteries and abbeys. Similarly, Comme des Garçons’ Incense: Avignon captures the scent of “gothic cathedrals, their vast and high halls, gobelins and tapestries absorbing the sacred frankincense smell for centuries.”

Throughout history, scent has played a crucial role in religious rituals across cultures. Incense, aromatic oils, and other fragrances have been used to create a sacred atmosphere, purify spaces, and symbolise the divine presence. The cultural significance of these scents lies in their ability to connect the physical and spiritual worlds, making them essential to religious worship. In Catholicism, the burning of incense during Mass is a ritual that dates back centuries, symbolising prayers rising to heaven. Similarly, other religions use incense to honour deities. As Elliott explains, “Mosques burn oud, while Jewish temples use agarwood, often combined with other materials.”

Ultimately, there is no one scent that can capture everyone’s experience of church and connection to the divine. “There are so many ways to evoke that powerful, unspoken mysticism you might find in a religious space – whether with something heady and sweet like herbs and florals, or something uncannily familiar like synthetic musks,” says Camryn. And even if you aren’t religious, sometimes the fragrances itself, without any of the associations, can be enough to give you a moment of transcendence. As Elliot says, “Fragrance can be a religious and ecstatic experience. When you smell a fragrance that sends shivers down your spine, raises goosebumps on your skin, and fills your soul with joy, is that not a religious experience?”

The moment I came across the scent Myrrhe by Headspace I was dragged back in time. I was no longer 24, browsing a concept store in Berlin with my girlfriend; instead, I was 15, on the cusp of a gay awakening, sitting in the confessional box of my local Catholic church.

It’s no secret that scent has a profound ability to transport us to particular places. Whether that’s a situationship’s perfume, a student accommodation kitchen, or the sour stench of a 100 gecs crowd, scent has the power to bring us back. In this instance, that place was the church where I spent my weekends as a teenager – standing at the altar, turning Bible pages for priests, and holding acolyte candles until my arms gave out.

The church is a well-mined source of inspiration for perfumery. Most fragrances tend to favour the more alluring characteristics of the church, blending archetypal religious scents with unconventional notes to conjure memories of altar wine in a silver chalice, incense swinging from a thurible, or rose-scented holy water. Aesop’s Hwyl features a smoky alchemy of frankincense, cypress, and vetiver, while Le Labo’s Encens 9 centres on incense, complemented by amber and clove, aiming to “inspire our souls to reach a calm state for contemplating new beginnings”.

Some perfumes are a direct muse of the church, such as Filigree & Shadow’s My Most Meaningful Relationships which is described as “A joyous hymn of light in a church long abandoned before the rains came and went,” combining petrichor, rosewood, and vetiver. However, other fragrances lean into the darker side, drawing upon the essence of cracked leather Bibles, worn pews, and an overwhelming sense of eternal damnation.

While some seek solace in religious scents, finding comfort and community in their relationship with faith, for others, the reality of religion isn’t always so ideal. This is especially true for those persecuted by its teachings, such as transgender and other LGBTQ+ individuals. The nostalgia these scents evoke often carries a familiar discomfort. “I think for many people, religious memories can be tricky to articulate – whether because they are early memories or because they involve intense, inexplicable feelings,” says Camryn, the fragrance expert behind @cammyreviews. “Scent can sometimes be the only thing that comes close to replicating or reawakening those memories and feelings.”

This tension between reverence and discomfort inspired Filigree & Shadow’s latest scent, Pieces of My Heart. James Elliot, the nose behind the fragrance house, explains: “I was baptised Roman Catholic at birth, but like my mum, I too lapsed in my faith. While I don’t miss the religion, I still hold a reverence for cathedrals and love visiting them whenever I travel.” The scent Elliot developed features top notes of osmogenesia (the Odour of Sanctity), heart notes of candles, and base notes of incense and stone church. “I always light a votive candle in the racks along the side altars and breathe in the air naturally perfumed from centuries of incense swung from the censer,” he recalls.

On a physical level, churches can often be quite dreary in their state. Picture dry-rotted beams, cobwebs, and cold, wet stone – like a Balenciaga store without the luxury. These more dilapidated aspects of churches are captured in certain fragrances, often formulated with aldehydes and powdery notes to evoke the damp, mossy stone and ceremonial materials. For instance, ARCANA’s Holy Terror channels the “sombre and fearsome spirits” said to haunt long-abandoned chapels, monasteries and abbeys. Similarly, Comme des Garçons’ Incense: Avignon captures the scent of “gothic cathedrals, their vast and high halls, gobelins and tapestries absorbing the sacred frankincense smell for centuries.”

Throughout history, scent has played a crucial role in religious rituals across cultures. Incense, aromatic oils, and other fragrances have been used to create a sacred atmosphere, purify spaces, and symbolise the divine presence. The cultural significance of these scents lies in their ability to connect the physical and spiritual worlds, making them essential to religious worship. In Catholicism, the burning of incense during Mass is a ritual that dates back centuries, symbolising prayers rising to heaven. Similarly, other religions use incense to honour deities. As Elliott explains, “Mosques burn oud, while Jewish temples use agarwood, often combined with other materials.”

Ultimately, there is no one scent that can capture everyone’s experience of church and connection to the divine. “There are so many ways to evoke that powerful, unspoken mysticism you might find in a religious space – whether with something heady and sweet like herbs and florals, or something uncannily familiar like synthetic musks,” says Camryn. And even if you aren’t religious, sometimes the fragrances itself, without any of the associations, can be enough to give you a moment of transcendence. As Elliot says, “Fragrance can be a religious and ecstatic experience. When you smell a fragrance that sends shivers down your spine, raises goosebumps on your skin, and fills your soul with joy, is that not a religious experience?”