itsShar.com

Let’s all be grown and honest for a second…My perfume addiction?Yeah… it didn’t happen by accident.This was not “Oh, I enjoy nice scents.”

No baby.

This was emotional damage, boredom, hormones, stress, and dopamine working together like a toxic girl group.

People look at my shelf, sorry, my fragrance museum, and ask:

“Shar… why do you have over 200 bottles?”

Because life is hard, Karen.

That’s why.

Because I like to smell like an entire department store that had a spiritual baby with a bakery.

Because when my anxiety is having a concert in my chest, at least my neck smells expensive.

Because men may disappoint me, but my vanilla oud combo never will.

Perfume is my emotional support system.

My coping mechanism.

My “I’m stressed but still cute” routine.

My “don’t talk to me until this dries down” therapy.

Some people drink.

Some people do drugs.

Some people scream.

I spray.

Honestly, I should be sponsored at this point.And let me tell you: I’ve been switching addictions like outfits.There was my shoe era, my bag era, my skincare era, my “why do I have 27 lip glosses that all look the same” era.

Now I’m in my fragrance era, and baby, I am not coming out.Perfume became my emotional language.

Sad? Sweet vanilla.

Stressed? Dark oud

Feel like blocking someone? Woody musk.

Feel like being a rich auntie who doesn’t answer texts? Anything with amber and a little attitude.

Perfume gave me an identity for every version of me: the healed me, the tired me, the dramatic me, the feminine me, the “don’t stress me” the “I’m too grown for this” me.

Because when you’ve been through anxiety, heartbreak, motherhood, perimenopause, work stress, childhood trauma, and people who drain your soul like a phone battery, sometimes your brain just wants a little treat.

And my treat? Smelling like money and emotional stability, even when I have neither.

Let’s be honest: buying perfume gave me dopamine, comfort, a moment of joy, and something beautiful to look at instead of staring at my stress.

Yes, I emotionally shop sometimes.Yes, I tell myself “this scent will change my life.”Yes, I justify it by saying, “This is the new me in a bottle.”And you know what? Half the time it works.

Perfume reminds me who I am, or at least who I’m trying to be that day.

Soft.

Feminine.

Aligned.

Protected.

Delulu in the best way.And smelling like a luxurious miracle.So no, I’m not addicted to perfume.I’m addicted to feeling like the version of myself who deserves everything she never got.

And if I need 200 bottles to do that?

Baby… make it 201.

And don’t judge me. Judge your own shopping cart.

Love Shar