There’s a shop in my town that sells perfume oils. The shop is styled to the minimalist, folksy, yet highly curated “Kinfolk” vibe that’s so popular now: raw wood furniture, bleached ceramic bowls, a 1960s credenza, a bearded salesperson sipping a latte from a mason jar and wearing a Ramones tee shirt he bought on eBay for $80.

Uh oh. I feel Grouchy Angela coming on.

“Are these all oils?” I asked when I visited the shop.

“Yeah,” the sales guy said, glancing at me and probably assuming I limited my perfume consumption to Jo Malone and that crazy bottle of Nicki Minaj I picked up after one too many mimosas out with the girls at brunch…

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