“Is there any material you don’t like and won’t ever use?”

It’s a question I got at a maker’s market recently, and it stopped me for a second.

As a natural perfumer, I know that every material has its place, even the ones I don’t personally love. So the short answer is no, I probably won’t *never* use something. But the longer answer is a lot more interesting. Because yes, there are materials that make me wrinkle my nose. And for me, the biggest one was lavender.

Lavender is one of those ingredients that seems to be everywhere: soaps, lotions, bath bombs, laundry detergents, sleepy-time sprays. It’s practically synonymous with “calm” in the public imagination. And yet, to me, it always read as sharp, metallic, and borderline screechy. It didn’t smell floral so much as soapy, camphoraceous, and oddly sweet in a cloying way. Think Yardley lavender lotion, found in just about every childhood bathroom in the ‘70s and ‘80s. Not something I remember fondly.

So when I got into perfumery, I knew lavender and I weren’t going to be best friends. But I also knew enough to realize that not all lavenders are created equal.

I remembered, for example, a lovely hostess gift I’d received from some Quebecois cousins who brought me locally made lavender bath products. I didn’t just tolerate them; I actually liked them. That planted the seed. Maybe there was hope for lavender after all.

Still, the reality is this: in natural perfumery, you can’t afford to write off a material just because it’s not your favorite. Our palette is smaller than what mixed-media perfumers work with. We don’t have synthetic musks, synthetic floral enhancers, or the whole suite of designer aroma molecules that can bridge or smooth over challenging combinations. If you’re working naturally and a material plays a central role in a classic fragrance structure, such as lavender in a fougère, you need to find a way to work with it.

Here’s how I approached it.

1. Dilute Until You Can Tolerate It

My first step was to see if I could reduce my reaction to lavender by diluting it. This is a useful strategy with any material that feels overwhelming: start low and slow. I took the two lavender essential oils from my Institute for Art and Olfaction starter kit (Bulgarian and Maillette) and diluted them to 10 percent. They were still harsh and didn’t sit right on my skin or my strip. So I went further and tried them at 1 percent.

At that concentration, they were less jarring. More like a background hum than a front-and-center megaphone. It helped, but only a little. I could see how they might play a supporting role, but I couldn’t imagine building a fougère or lavender-forward fragrance around them.

2. Try a Different Format

Another thing I always recommend when you're struggling with a material is to try it in another format. For example, I had a similar experience with galbanum essential oil. It felt too sharp and bitter for my taste. But the CO2 and resinoid versions were much smoother, earthier, and pleasant to work with.

Lavender is available in multiple formats too: essential oil, absolute, concrete, and even CO2 extract. So, I gave most of those a try. Lavender absolute turned out to be much more agreeable. It pushed the material deeper into the base and drydown, rounding out the high-pitched sparkle with warmth and complexity. Lavender concrete gave me similar results. Less of that “cleaning aisle” sharpness, more depth and subtlety.

This is one of the joys of natural perfumery. The same plant can express itself in completely different ways depending on the extraction. Sometimes you just need the material to whisper instead of shout.

3. Explore Different Varieties and Sources

At this point, I was starting to understand that “lavender” isn’t a single thing. There are dozens of cultivars and subspecies out there, and they don’t all smell the same. So I started sourcing lavender essential oils from different producers, regions, and elevations.

Altitude, for example, makes a huge difference. High Altitude lavender, often grown in the Alps or other cool climates, tends to be more refined. It’s softer, sweeter, and less camphoraceous. I found it easier to work with than the Maillette or Bulgarian oils I’d started with.

I also had positive experiences with South African lavender and Wild lavender. Each one had its own character. Some leaned more floral, others more herbal. But all of them gave me new ways to approach a note I’d previously dismissed.

And then I met Lavender Seville.

Finding the Right Fit

Lavender Seville (Lavandula stoechas subsp. luisieri) is an outlier. It’s a completely different species from the lavandins and angustifolias we typically encounter in perfumery. No camphor. No metallic bite. To my nose, it smelled fruity, like a cross between stone fruits and blueberries, with floral and resinous undertones.

I did a double take the first time I smelled it, because it was just so unusual and multi-faceted.

Needless to say, I fell for it. Lavender Seville reminded me that sometimes the way into a material isn’t direct. You might need to come at it sideways and find a version that bypasses all your usual objections.

And while I haven’t tried every lavender on the market yet, I now have a handful that I can confidently reach for when the formula calls for it. My favorites right now include:

- Lavender Seville (fruity, floral, unique)

- High Altitude Lavender (soft, elegant, versatile)

- Wild and South African Lavenders (more herbal, less screechy)

- Lavender Absolute (coumarinic & beautiful in the base)

- Lavender Concrete (similar to the absolute & long-wearing)

It’s also entirely possible that I’d enjoy Maillette or Diva lavender if I tried them again from a different supplier or in a different harvest year. Seasonal and regional variation is a real factor in natural materials. Something that smells unworkable one year might smell amazing the next.

So, Will I Ever Love Lavender?

Possibly. I don’t think I’ll ever be someone who gravitates toward traditional lavender-forward fragrances. But I’ve definitely come to respect lavender’s versatility. I’ve also learned how to work with it rather than against it. And I’m currently creating a fougère fragrance for 2026 release. That’s proof that you can learn to appreciate the materials you don’t love right out of the gate!

To circle back to that original question: I don’t think there are any materials I’ll never use. But there are definitely some I’ve had to get to know on their own terms. Lavender taught me that personal preference is just the starting point. The rest comes down to curiosity, persistence, and a willingness to be surprised.

And in perfumery, that’s often where the magic begins.