I wore this perfume to the pub and found my friends sniffing my coat—safe to say, it's already in my 2025 Hall of Fame

I have very few long-time loves when it comes to fragrance. As someone who is constantly sniffing the latest and greatest as part of my job, I'm hard to surprise; I know what I like, and rarely stray from it.

As a rule, I like smelling like a "man". By that, my preference leans towards the masculine, so your woody, leathery, tobacco and musk notes. Thus, colour me disinterested when gourmand fragrances took off last year—I prefer to eat chocolate and candy, not necessarily reek of them, you know? And then, like clockwork, I was introduced to Parfums de Marly's Valaya Exclusif.

I've worn it religiously for the past week, and have never gotten more compliments. I didn't even get this amount as a very early adoptee of Le Labo's Santal 33, back in 2011.

For years, I thought that gourmand scents couldn't possess the air of luxury I like in my perfumes. There was something about them that steered juvenile to me, even though I'm well aware of the dozens of excellent, high-end gourmands out there—so I stopped trying. In fact, I thought I was going to actively dislike Valaya Exclusif, until I sprayed it, and was proved very wrong.

Describing perfumes is the ultimate test of a beauty editor, but I'll give it a go... With the preface that Valaya Exclusif is an incredibly complex and transformative crowdpleaser.

On the first spray, I'm hit with an enveloping aroma of shaking out fresh cotton sheets; it's familiar, but surprising in its intensity. That rolls into smoked vanilla, molten and oozing wintery comforts, before the scent transitions into spring. Its powdery notes are spruced up and modernised with a juicy burst of white flowers, and the moreish richness of almonds. It's at once clean and fresh, but decidedly grown up, with woody base notes of akigalawood and sandalwood.

Parfums de Marly looked back at French court dresses from the late 18th century when developing this scent; harking to the olde worlde practice of layering precious materials. But to me, this fragrance doesn't read historical or nostalgic on the nose. It encapsulates the "true elegance" that founder and artistic director, Julien Sprecher, was aiming for, sure, but it's resoundingly optimistic, evolving into something that is more "you" and less the scent you sprayed on in the morning.

Looking at the bottle, it's not exactly the kind of perfume you toss into your handbag. It's more deserving of a prime-time spot on your vanity, but still, it is just as comfortable in a silk dress and a pair of heels as it is on a Sunday afternoon, in jeans.

I normally lose my fragrances throughout the day, save for a residual whiff on the wrist, but this is one of the few scents that lingers on my skin. In fact, I quite like being re-introduced to it each morning. In just a week, it has earned a place amongst my tight edit of everyday perfumes; and if this is what I've discovered just two months into 2025, I can't wait for what the rest of the year has to bring.

Nessa's perfume Hall of Fame