Keep calm and spritz on 🇬🇧🫖👑

Scenting Ladies of London: The New Reign

According to 23andMe, I am 87.3% British, which is not something I’m particularly proud of, but I did feel some kind of ancestral calling while watching Ladies of London: The New Reign. These ladies—and gent, let’s not forget Mark-Francis—really speak to me. They drink alcohol like it’s water. They’re rude as fuck to people’s faces and become exasperated when the person they’re insulting takes offense. They repress emotions like it’s their job (which they would sooner die than have). The exceptionally chic Martha says expat Kimi has a British approach to emotions, in that “she drinks them, she doesn’t feel them.” Hearing this, I was suddenly transported to every extended family gathering on my mom’s side, where Bloody Marys are served at 11am and each year a new cousin has joined AA. Except in England, they don’t join AA. They just keep drinking.

Ladies of London: The New Reign feels like vintage Bravo—the version of the network that got us supremely hooked, back when every cast member was a functioning alcoholic, didn’t have a therapist, and had little to no plastic surgery. Sure, some of these women have Botox, but one gets the now rare sense looking at Martha Sitwell that the face we’re seeing on our TV screen is actually the one she was born with. And it’s gorgeous. She’s a billion times sweeter, but she recalls an early Bethenny Frankel in that she’s living in a tiny, shitty apartment—something we haven’t seen on a Bravo show in a very, very long time. It’s refreshing! The first season is over, but consider this post our attempt to manifest a second, then third, and so on. Because these bitches really understand the assignment. Now let’s scent them.

—Anna

Mark-Francis Vandelli // Naxos by Xerjoff

“Xerjoff” does not sound like the name of an Italian luxury fragrance house, and “Mark-Francis” does not immediately strike me as the name of a Russian-Italian nobleman. Xerjoff is indeed Italian and so is Mark-Francis Vandelli (okay, the last name helps), the gay-in-residence keeping the Ladies of London in line. Raised by a literal Russian princess-turned-model (who was a muse to Vivienne Westwood) and an aloof Italian industrialist/gambler who seemingly abandoned him as a toddler (classic), Mark-Francis is a true child of the world. On FaceTime with a housewife, he mentions that he’s just bought a place in Tuscany. A brief look at his Wikipedia tells us that his Knightsbridge townhouse once belonged to Oscar Wilde. He is posh, filthy rich, and completely unashamed of it. He has the classic cutting tongue that any gay on Bravo must possess, but his insane pedigree and British way of never really emoting whatsoever really put him a cut above the rest. I knew I had to pair him with a scent from Xerjoff, because their bottles and composition also have a way of saying “we’re better than you” without saying anything at all. I was tempted to give him Alexandria II due to its obvious nods to nobility and opulence, but its powdery bomb drydown really couldn’t do Mark-Francis justice. Instead, I see him in Naxos: a sweet crowdpleaser with a softer sillage, so it’s never too loud or gauche. A tribute to Sicily, Naxos smells like a classic al fresco breakfast there: a pastry overflowing with citrus cream, best enjoyed by an herb garden as you check your investment accounts—delicious.

Hot or cold? Warm like the Tuscan sun.
Who wears it? Someone whose cashmere collection costs more than your car.
Place? The White Lotus resort in Taormina.
Animal? Cavalier King Charles with an attitude.
Song? “A Well Respected Man” by the Kinks.
Texture? Creamy ricotta.
Signature drink? Caffè corretto.
Favorite word? “Ghastly!”
Vampire or angel? Vampire cheekbones, angel wardrobe.

—Crissy

Martha Sitwell // Libertine by Vivienne Westwood

Lady Sitwell is among the most genuinely beautiful and entertaining Bravo stars I’ve seen in a long time. Like most women made for television, she’s had a lot of horrible things happen to her. She was born into an aristocratic family but had disciplinary issues—her parents threw her out as a teenager and she was briefly homeless, before being discovered by Vivienne Westwood. She later married an aristocrat but was left with very little after the divorce, meaning she now lives in what she calls a “grottage” (garage cottage), covered in bird droppings courtesy of her pet magpie, Haggerty. We’re talking good old-fashioned eccentric here: classy, broke, heart of gold. During the season, her friends have to scold her for giving her house key to a random con artist. This breed of messy high-class Englishwoman smells like Vivienne Westwood’s Libertine, a discontinued chypre inspired by the British monarchy. With grapefruit, honeysuckle, oakmoss, and soft musk, it evokes the overgrown British garden of a crumbling estate that’s seen better days, a fabulous fur coat with ripped lining, and antique furniture covered in bird shit. Glamorous, strange, and hanging on by a thread. Like Martha, Libertine smells like rags to riches and back again.

Hot or cold? Cold like a draughty grottage.
Who wears it? Former debutants gone wild.
Place? The back of a thoroughbred in the English countryside.
Animal? A magpie, obviously.
Song? “Hounds of Love” by Kate Bush.
Texture? Ripped velvet.
Signature drink? Whatever your ex-husband left behind.
Favorite word? “Divine.”
Vampire or angel? Angel who accidentally gave her house keys to a vampire.

—Anna

Lady Emma Thynn // Mind Games by Prodigy

What perfume do you get for the woman who has everything? Lady Emma Thynn waltzes into the show with Rihanna-level posture, a million dollar smile, and the kind of demure attitude that has no place on something that streams on Peacock. But thank god she’s here! Best friend to fellow rich bitch Mark-Francis Vandelli, Lady Emma is the Marchioness of Bath, whatever that means. Born to a Nigerian oil billionaire father and English socialite mother, she became the first Black woman to marry into aristocracy when she wed Ceawlin Thynn in 2013 (before Meghan Markle joined the club, the cast notes). She runs Longleat House, a truly insane Elizabethan mansion acquired by the British in 1798—it’s officially the biggest house in the U.K., worth upwards of £200 million. They also manage the largest “safari park” outside of Africa??? They have everything from rhinos to red pandas to kangaroos. Call me basic, but I simply love when a socialite takes a special interest in wild animals and filth. Anyway! Like any good socialite, Lady Emma has oodles of brand deals: she became the face of Victoria’s Secret’s ‘Daring’ perfume in 2024, but of course, we know she doesn’t wear that shit. After a cursory bit of digging, I found this video of her applying what one genius Redditor deduced to be Mind Games by Prodigy. It’s a very large, hefty bottle: it looks like an oversized chess piece that could be used as a murder weapon. I ordered a sample instantly: it’s a creamy rose scent with plenty of vanilla, woods, and spice. Lady Emma Thynn paired it with a diamond necklace that required a bodyguard.

Hot or cold? Cold like diamonds.
Who wears it? Women who go to Cannes.
Place? A residence that people can buy tickets to see.
Animal? Red panda with an English accent.
Song? “Country House” by Blur.
Texture? Cream stirred into your cup of English breakfast.
Signature drink? Champagne alongside said teacup.
Favorite word? “Marchioness.”
Vampire or angel? Vampire sitting on many acres.

—Crissy

Kimi Murdoch // God of Fire by Stéphane Humbert Lucas

When Kimi finds out her castmate’s brother was murdered, she says “let’s not make it into some sob story.” When she finds out said castmate is upset by these remarks, Kimi says, “sorry, I didn’t realize you were so sensitive.” This is all to say, Kimi is one ruthless bitch. Every Bravo show needs a provocateur, and Kimi appears more than happy to play one. Raised in Florida and Haiti, she says she moved to London in part because “Americans can be a bit judgey when you start drinking before noon.” Now fully British in her approach to alcohol and emotions, Kimi retains her Florida/Caribbean flair in her clothes, which are often tropical-colored and patterned. Put simply: loud. Kimi therefore wears Stéphane Humbert Lucas’ God of Fire, a tropical fragrance inspired by the Aztec god of kings, warriors, and volcanoes. The flashy jewel-encrusted bottle likely caught Kimi’s eye first, but she stayed for the notes of mango, lemon, and jasmine, which reminded her of home. While Kimi emotes like a Brit (in that she doesn’t), she still smells like Florida.

Hot or cold? Hot like a Caribbean summer.
Who wears it? That friend who can drink you under the table.
Place? First class cabin from MIA to Heathrow.
Animal? Flamingo.
Song? “Murder She Wrote“ by Chaka Demus & Pliers.
Texture? Silk blouse on sweaty skin.
Signature drink? Rum punch.
Favorite word? “Boring.”
Vampire or angel? Vampire who loves a statement hat.

—Anna

📸📸📸 Camera roll 📸📸📸
👑🫖🇬🇧London edition 🇬🇧🫖👑

Julia Roberts in Notting Hill (1999) paired with Chanel Cuir de Russie.

Geri Halliwell in a Union Jack dress at the 1997 Brit Awards paired with Classique by Jean Paul Gaultier.

Cara Delevingne dropping a bag of white powder outside her London home in 2013 paired with My Burberry.

Princess Diana at the Serpentine Gallery on June 29, 1994, the day her husband announced his adultery on television, paired with 24 Faubourg by Hermes.