For decades, mainstream perfumery was built around rigid, hierarchical structures—top, middle, and base notes unfolding in a predictable arc—designed for longevity, projection, and instant recognizability. These compositions dominated much of the 20th century, appealing to consumers who valued consistency, status, and a clear signature scent that announced itself in a room. “It’s a move away from classic perfumery toward fragrances that defy traditional structures—raw, experimental, understated,” says Geza Schoen, the Berlin-based perfumer behind Escentric Molecules.

When Schoen launched Molecule 01 in 2006, built entirely around a single synthetic molecule called Iso E Super, the fragrance was almost imperceptible at first—yet it left a warm, woody, skinlike trail that felt intimate and alive. “People want individuality,” he says. “They want to stand out without shouting. Anti-perfumes feel personal and quietly rebellious—like if you know, you know.”

With the slow shift to more subtle fragrances came new techniques of mixing perfumes. Creating a perfume that feels invisible is surprisingly technical. To build something that smells like skin or air, perfumers turn to long-lasting but gentle molecules, says Spyros Drosopoulos, founder of the Rotterdam, Netherlands–based avant-garde fragrance brand Baruti. “You need materials that smell good on their own, are safe, and last,” Drosopoulos says. “Musks like Romandolide, ambergris-like Ambroxan, sandalwood molecules such as Javanol—these are the backbone. They’re diffusive but not strong. More like an aura.”

Most anti-perfumes rely on synthetics rather than naturals. “Essential oils are too complex,” he notes. “You can’t make minimalist scents using only naturals—they’re too rich. So these perfumes depend on precise, synthetic ingredients that give clarity.”

He compares the approach to crafting these perfumes to the modern art movement. “Anti-perfume is to perfumery what Cubism was to painting,” he explains. “It’s a logical development from the opulent, layered ‘French style’—a more abstract, minimalist evolution.”

The rise in popularity of anti-perfumes comes at a time when other trends that celebrate minimalism, such as “stealth wealth” or “quiet luxury,” are becoming more sought after. Autumne West, Nordstrom’s national beauty director, defines the trend as “a scent that simply feels you.” She points to the bottles of many of the anti-fragrance brands—often in minimalist shapes with sharp lines, no ornamentation—and brands like Byredo, Jo Malone, Chris Collins, Dior, and Le Labo that embody restraint. “Quiet luxury in fragrance is about subtlety and refinement, not complexity,” West says.

Post-pandemic, she’s noticed consumers reaching for fragrances that project intimacy rather than dominance. “People are out more, in offices again, taking up space,” she says. “The scent you wear becomes part of how you express yourself—who you are or who you want to be. But now, that expression leans quieter, more personal.”

So why are we so drawn to scents that “smell like nothing”? For Schoen, it’s about fatigue—cultural, sensory, digital. “We’re overloaded in nearly every aspect of life,” he says. “Anti-perfumes offer relief. They’re calm and simple, a quiet contrast to the intensity of the world.” They also create a kind of intimacy that bold perfumes can’t. “These scents invite closeness rather than demand attention,” Schoen explains. “They’re about smelling good without overpowering yourself—like quiet confidence.”