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My boyfriend and I have spent a cumulative period of slightly more than two months in each other’s company in the past year. Considering the fact that we have 9,000 miles between us, I think we’re doing pretty good.
J and I met when he was attending grad school in Singapore, and being Indian, everything about me has a melodramatic Bollywood-worthy twist. He’s now back in Los Angeles and until I can move to the US permanently, we’re left with arranging Skype dates and raking up enough frequent flyer miles on Delta that they should do a poor girl a favor and bump her up to business.
While I’ve spent much of my early 20s hopping from one house party to another meeting people I’ll never remember and seeing faces I’ll never see again, weekends in my late 20s revolve mostly around my bed. I wish there was another human being in bed with me, but I’ve found comfort in fancy-ass candles.
As a lot of fancy candles fascinations go, it started with Diptyque’s Baies that I picked up when I was in Paris a few summers ago. It was a sensual blend of black-currant leaves and Bulgarian roses; my room smelt like a French whorehouse, and I loved it.
One evening as I poured over Haruki Murakami’s "1Q84" while waiting for J to wake up on the other side of the world so we could Skype, I lit a Creme Brulee candle by Amore Essentials, and as bizarre as it sounds, the scent enveloped me, comforted me, and kept me company.
It gets better -- some soy candles, like Amore Essentials’ burn into a reflective pool of soy that’s cool to touch, and you can use it as a moisturizer, or if you have someone else in your room, you can get up to no good.
There have been instances when my bank account is weeping, and I’ve tried to substitute my lux indulgences with the IKEA variety, but it wasn’t the same. The scent of a fancy candle gets beneath your skin, between the strands of your hair, making sure you’re hooked. And I am, for sure.
I turn to different candles for different purposes -- Jo Malone’s Lime Basil & Mandarin when I need to feel inspired to write, Miller Harris’ Figue Amere when I’m getting ready, or Loveless by Byredo, when I am melancholy and being a drama queen. It’s kinda like essential oils, really, which is what goes into candles anyway, but with a soft, warm glow that keeps you company on the loneliest nights.
Sometimes the scent lingers for a bit too long and you crawl back home after a long day at work thinking that you actually have creme brulee hiding somewhere but of course you don’t. Only those times my fancy candles suck.