Among People. Not Available.

Stepping into the polished world of Mayfair’s perfume boutiques, Alla Davies craves something deceptively simple: to smell exquisite scents, feel the texture of cream and glass bottles, and simply be left alone. In this reflective debut, she captures the quiet tension of wanting beauty and atmosphere while fiercely protecting her personal space from intrusive sales pressure and emotional demands.

In this episode of The Bottle by Alla Davies, Alla explores what it feels like to be among people without being available to them. Short voice notes on style and image (the calm of unhurried perfume exploration), taste (checking whether you’re still awake inside), irritation (hovering staff and guided moisturiser journeys), dry humour (the irony that space makes you stay longer), and the age-old art of saving energy while still chasing the voltage of the city without handing yourself over.

I came into London today and all I really wanted was to smell perfume and be left alone.

That was the plan.

A simple one.

Not healing. Not shopping. Not “treating myself.”

Nothing so embarrassing.

Just London.

A few beautiful places.

Perfume.

Cream.

Glass bottles.

A bit of texture.

And nobody standing too close to me with a smile that means sales target.

I love those little beauty boutiques.

The ones in Mayfair.

All that skincare, perfume, polished glass, expensive cream, artificial calm.

I can spend ages in places like that.

Not buying.

Checking.

That’s the real point.

Sometimes I don’t go in because I need something.

I go in to check whether taste is still working.

Whether I’m still awake in there.

Perfume is good for that.

Very efficient.

One second and you know whether you’re alive — or just nicely arranged.

The problem is not people.

The problem is pressure in a nice jacket.

The second you walk into some of those little boutiques, someone is on you.

Too close.

Too quick.

Too ready.

And I know, yes, they’re doing their job.

But sometimes I do not want a guided emotional journey through moisturiser.

Sometimes I want to smell perfume and be left the hell alone.

And then today something slightly different happened.

I stopped at Amouage.

And I stayed there for about half an hour.

Partly because the perfumes were good.

Partly because I wanted to smell everything.

Partly because I was in the mood to study, not shop.

But mostly because the man there didn’t suffocate me.

Arab.

White teeth.

Maybe around fifty.

Calm.

Present, but not hovering.

He had the rarest retail skill on earth: he didn’t crawl into my nervous system.

He let me smell.

He let me think.

He let me take my time.

And because of that, I stayed.

That’s the irony.

If someone gives me space, I stay longer.

I get interested.

I actually want to explore.

If they come at me too fast, I’m gone.

Mentally first. Physically a minute later.

That’s why I usually prefer department stores.

More people. More air. Less pressure.

Nobody acts as if your presence is a legal commitment.

I remember walking into a perfume shop once just to look around quietly, and the man would not leave me alone.

One bottle.

Then another.

Then another.

As if “no” was just decorative language.

Eventually I looked at him and said, very clearly:

I want to be alone. Please leave me alone.

He hated that.

His whole face tightened, like I’d insulted the family business.

Then he went over to his colleague, said something, and the two of them stood there staring at me as if wanting silence was a social crime.

I wanted to walk over and give them a short lecture on boundaries, overstimulation, and why not every woman entering a perfume shop is there to be professionally handled.

But I didn’t.

I saved my energy.

That, actually, may be the theme of this period of my life.

Saving energy without becoming dead.

I still want the city.

I still want beauty.

I still want perfume, texture, people, style, atmosphere.

I just don’t want to be emotionally grabbed every five minutes like a handbag with legs.

And today I noticed something else.

I’m not rushing.

Usually there’s some cultural sprint involved.

An exhibition.

A gallery.

A reason.

A little intellectual alibi so the day can justify itself.

Today I just walked.

I looked at people.

I looked at buildings.

I stopped.

I made notes.

I looked at an old building with a spa inside and thought: I’d love to go in there.

And then immediately thought: absolutely not.

Because they’ll descend on me, explain things to me, offer me packages, ask me questions, and dry me out like furniture polish.

The building itself was enough.

I’m starting to understand something, I think.

Sometimes I don’t want the experience.

I just want the edge of it.

The smell.

The atmosphere.

The voltage.

The possibility.

Sometimes I don’t want to go in.

I just want to know it’s there.

And I’ve noticed something else too: I’m done with impulse decisions.

Now I look.

I wait.

I check the energy first.

I ask myself a rude question:

Do I want the thing?

Or do I just want the brief chemical flirtation of almost wanting it?

Those are not the same thing.

Maybe that’s where I am now.

Learning how to move through beautiful places without immediately handing myself over to them.

How to want beauty without becoming available to it.

How to be among people — and still belong to myself