Fragrance is the one part of a man’s outfit (excluding his underwear, hopefully) that nobody else can see. It is, however, one of the most important, because our scent gives off an arguably greater impression than our clothes. It’s no use dressing well if you don’t also smell good, after all, and a fragrance that conveys restraint, taste, and of course, hygiene is infinitely more charming than smelling of discount washing powder, or worse: BO. But how does the average gent achieve such olfactory magnetism? Does he just douse himself in oud and bergamot, fire extinguisher-style, before leaving the house and hope for the best?

If you’re fiercely loyal to a particular fragrance, you might call it your signature scent. And, if you’re a little more… fragrantly fickle, you might have what in recent years has come to be known as “a fragrance wardrobe”, in which you dip into a scent depending on the mood of the occasion at hand. To find out how a man might find himself in one of the aforementioned camps, we asked two of the MR PORTER team’s most well-scented gents, who approach fragrance from different perspectives, to fight it out…

When I was younger, my fragrance habits were erratic. In a bid to get noticed, I doused myself in a bit of everything from my old man’s grooming cabinet (retrospective apologies to my asphyxiated friends and family). And, though he had exquisite taste, that heady concoction of neroli, musk, oud and bergamot didn’t exactly evoke the reaction one hopes for in the opposite sex during those formative adolescent years. Eager to interject, and supposedly recover her sense of smell, my mother suggested that I devoted myself to just one that I really felt defined me.

It seems quite grown up, to be so sure of one thing that could denote a sense of personality and taste. Sir Winston Churchill was fond of the sharp and assertive scent of Creed’s Tabarome Millésime, Cleopatra famously bathed in the sacred and seductive scent of nenúfar (or the blue lotus), but what would mine be?

I dabbled with one scent at a time (in moderation) until I was given TOM FORD’s Tobacco Vanille in 2007. The sweet and aromatic mix of vanilla, tonka bean and cocoa seduced me – and garnered compliments – so I shelved the others and devoted myself to it. It’s the one thing that I’ve used routinely throughout the last decade of my life – an olfactory trademark, if you will. It’s a signature scent synonymous with me that’ll often prompt people to message me whenever they get a whiff of it. How lovely is that? Plus, it’s accompanied me through so many milestone moments that it’s become almost sentimental. Here’s to another decade!

I was shocked to learn recently that Mr Ben Gorham, the founder of fragrance brand Byredo, doesn’t wear a scent. Which is not something I can say I relate to, considering at the moment the number of fragrances I have on the go amounts to, oh, about 12? I don’t want to go all Perfume: The Story Of A Murderer on you, but if there’s a single scent that can satiate this nose, I haven’t found it yet.

And perhaps it’s because I’m a Gemini, but I’m no good at making decisions when it comes to fragrance, and usually match them to whatever I’m feeling at the time. The moody autumnal warmth of Jo Malone London and Huntsman’s amber and patchouli cologne is great for an evening out, for example, and the green crispness of Cire Trudon’s Bruma or the rich floral tang of Diptyque’s L’Ombre Dans L’Eau are scents I like to wear to work because they’re unusual and fresh, but still subtle enough that no one sat next to me in a meeting will wrinkle their nose.

Staples that follow me throughout the year include Super Cedar by Byredo (it’s woody but refreshingly light), and Le Labo’s Thé Noir 29, which hits the perfect balance between being musky and sweet. I’m also currently working through an addiction to Maison Francis Kurkdjian’s Grand Soir after wearing it all year, and have become hooked on the brand’s Oud fragrance, too (they both smell kind of… regal? Which suits me just fine). I could go on.

So, as you might have guessed, I’m rather a while away from settling on just one fragrance yet, and there are a fair few more hectares of the olfactory field I intend to play before settling down with just one. Does that make me poly-aroma-rous?