That's mental illness, luv 💊⋆.˚🦋⋆

Four DSM-5 diagnoses and their scents

Jun 09, 2026

A few weeks ago, I dreamt that I was texting my therapist about rescheduling and then I randomly told her that she should give her patients perfume samples based on their psychiatric diagnoses. “Give the borderlines Ariana Grande’s Cloud,” I insisted. The suggestion was maybe a tad on the nose because Ariana Grande has a song called “borderline,” which is allegedly about her ex, the out-and-proud borderline personality disordered Pete Davidson. And while Ari herself has never come out as BPD, her dating history definitely has a whiff of personality disorder. But we’re not here to diagnose Ari, or the girlies who choose to wear her love bomb of a perfume (ok, maybe I just did). The bigger point is that my dream presented the perfect prompt for Sample Sluts! Because here at Sample Sluts, Crissy and I are the type of women that people write books about, and that book is the DSM-5. Now let’s pair our fave diagnoses (not necessarily ours, but also not not ours) with perfumes, because that’s what we freaking do best.
—Anna

Narcissistic Personality Disorder // Flowerbomb by Viktor&Rolf

It’s the one we all have now! Just kidding. Sort of. The term ‘narcissist’ has become vastly overused in the last five years, mostly because of self-styled experts on TikTok and Instagram who have convinced everyone that their shitty ex, dad, mom, and boss are all, in fact, certifiable narcissists. It’s tricky, though, because garden variety narcissism has become incredibly common: you can learn therapy terms on social media without ever actually stepping foot into a therapist’s office, deftly weaponizing those terms against anyone who upsets you so that you’re never meaningfully in the wrong. While I do think that narcissistic behavior is plaguing us all, I believe that actual, bona fide, diagnosable narcissists are much harder to come by. While Jax Taylors and Larsa Pippens are everywhere for those with eyes to see, those are mere impersonators—once you tango with the real thing, you’ll look at the ruins of your life and wonder what the fuck happened. Just watch Vanderpump Rules, honestly. (Side note: I found a really incredible reddit thread about how all narcissists are fragrance addicts. We’re an elite group.) I’m going a little rogue here and choosing Flowerbomb to represent all the true narcissists out there. Why? No fragrance has ever inserted itself into my life so hard. A true bomb of cloying floral notes, Flowerbomb is *the* scent of magazine inserts and Sephora samples. I feel like it has been placed into exactly 30% of my Sephora orders for the last two decades. It’s inescapable. It smells like binging in a candy store and frying all your dopamine receptors beyond repair, and isn’t that inability to feel true joy kind of the baseline problem for a narcissist? I rest my case.

Hot or cold? Cold to the core but hot to the touch.
Who wears it? People with eight hours of daily screentime.
Place? In front of any reflective surface.
Animal? Dog who gets brand deals.
Song? “Shadowboxer” by Fiona Apple.
Texture? Snakeskin.
Signature drink? Hailey Bieber Erewhon smoothie.
Favorite word? “I.”
Vampire or angel? Energy vampire x 10000.

—Crissy

Histrionic Personality Disorder // Gardenia Passion by Annick Goutal

Borderline this, narcissistic that, but not enough people talk about histrionic personality disorder, BPD’s more entertaining cousin. Both my parents and therefore extended families are from the American South, i.e. the land of histrionics. To quote Little Edie Beale in Grey Gardens. “I have a hell of a temper—it’s Southern!” Histrionics storm out of rooms and throw drinks in peoples’ faces, yes, but they’re also fantastic story tellers and very fun at cocktail parties. Annick Goutal’s sadly-discontinued Gardenia Passion is a Southern histrionic in full bloom. She’s loud, she’s seductive, she’s drenched in white flowers. She’s Scarlett O’Hara stealing her sister’s fiancé, she’s Kristen Doute slapping James Kennedy in the street, she’s Blanche DuBois screaming, “I don’t want realism, I want magic!” Wearing her makes me feel like it’s a steamy August night in Mississippi and I’ve just thrown a plate at my husband’s head. Am I overreacting? Definitely. But I made my point and I smell fabulous.

Hot or cold? Hot like a steamy summer night.
Who wears it? Former debutants with anger issues.
Place? Antebellum mansion during a thunderstorm.
Animal? White peacock.
Song? “Fever” by Peggy Lee.
Texture? Smashed porcelain.
Signature drink? Mint Julep.
Favorite word? “Heavens!”
Vampire or angel? Angel with a hell of a temper.

—Anna

Major Depressive Disorder // Iris Silver Mist by Serge Lutens

It’s me! I’ve had this diagnosis stamped on paperwork on and off since I was seventeen, not to brag. I am not going to Google how many Americans would qualify as having major depressive disorder, but I will venture to say that it is a lot. Our lifestyles are a perfect recipe for depression: car-centric suburbs, nutrient-deficient food, wild socioeconomic inequality and rogue individualism. The list goes on! All of this to say: it’s not my fault, okay? At the risk of taking it to a place of Tumblr, we must also acknowledge that there are parts of being depressed that feel beautiful and singular. The way the world moves around you like you’re in a dream. The long nights without sleep with unparalleled quiet and the even longer stretches of nonstop sleep in which your entire life surrenders to your subconscious. Wearing a black turtleneck and no makeup...and that’s about it. Anyway, while being depressed is horrid and ugly, I have to give it the sad-but-gorgeous scent it deserves, and that is undoubtedly Iris Silver Mist by Serge Lutens. If you read any of its reviews, the words “cold,” “sad,” “distant,” and “depressed” will pop up multiple times. It’s a pure iris scent, as if an evil witch stole the soul of powdery iris and cursed it to live as a perfume forever: there’s ethereal metal, cool dirt, and eventually the slightest hint of warm musk. Luca Turin deemed it one of his five-star scents, calling it appropriate to wear to a “a huge gray ostrich-feather boa to wear with purple dévoré velvet at a poet’s funeral.” Depression, but make it fashion.

Hot or cold? Anemic.
Who wears it? People who are way past lexapro.
Place? Bedroom with blackout curtains.
Animal? Eeyore.
Song? “Devil Town” by Bright Eyes.
Texture? Crunchy dead flower petals.
Signature drink? Water with wellbutrin.
Favorite word? “No.”
Vampire or angel? Angel in need of serotonin.

—Crissy

Bipolar Disorder // Angel by Mugler

While a personality disorder mostly seems like a good reason to break up with someone, bipolar disorder feels classic and chic and a sign of artistic genius. Although more people have suggested I have the former than the latter, my ex’s life coach did say I was “bipolar and incapable of love,” which I still hang onto when I’m feeling bad about myself. I also often think a lot about Layla Halabian’s iconic tweet, “I come from a long line of people in weird moods.” Girl, same. The nice thing about bipolar is the weird/dark/sad moods are followed by bouts of euphoria and mania. So I knew I needed a perfume known for its opposite extremes, for its embodiment of light and dark, and of course, artistic genius. That perfume is Angel by Mugler, a revolutionary fragrance that rocked the fragrance industry by combining the euphoric sweetness of cotton candy with dark, earthy patchouli. The result is a perfume that feels ecstatic and dark at the same time, a little unhinged, but very innovative. Like all the best perfumes and people, she’s in a weird mood, but we can’t look away.

Hot or cold? Both, always.
Who wears it? People who are either not sleeping or always sleeping.
Place? Padded cell.
Animal? Black swan.
Song? “I Am a God” by Kanye West
Texture? Glitter tears.
Signature drink? Cocaine.
Favorite word? “More.”
Vampire or angel? Half vampire, half angel.