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Scent is the most direct path to memory. One inhale and you’re standing in your grandmother’s kitchen, or in the first apartment you ever called your own, or catching the faint scent of a familiar cologne that stops you in your tracks. It isn’t recollection so much as time folding in on itself.
Every year as summer winds down, I start to stock up on fall and winter candles. It’s a personal little ritual that feels almost instinctual. I hoard them in a similar way a bear might prepare for hibernation – and I’m sure the image of me snuggling up to a wool blanket in my attic bedroom isn’t far off. Still, while I was restocking my fall lineup, I came across The New Savant – and it was the first time a candle actually made me feel something.
A few colleagues had mentioned the brand before, describing it less as a product and more like a feeling that reveals itself slowly. I was intrigued but skeptical. I’ve always been loyal to fragrance, drawn to the complex architecture of perfume, but I never expected a candle to have that kind of depth. All it took was five minutes of perusing their site, and I was opened up to an entirely new world.
Meet the Matchmakers
The New Savant was founded by Ingrid Nilsen and Erica Anderson, who built the brand as an ongoing intentional conversation between artistry and structure. Their company is proudly LGBTQ+–founded and led by a vision that centers experience over marketing, emotion over strategy.
Ingrid brings a sensitivity for storytelling, shaped by years of translating the personal into something universal. Erica’s background in journalism and entrepreneurship keeps everything grounded in design and discipline. Together they create something quiet but deeply considered, where each scent feels like a reflection of a moment rather than a recreation of it.
Their attention to detail shows up everywhere. The glass vessels have a sculptural weight that feels intentional rather than ornamental, while the labels stay aesthetically functional (and clean). Even the wax seems to burn with patience, releasing a candle’s scent in gradual waves. What I notice most – even more than the decadent candle notes – is that these candles don’t rush to fill a room. Instead, they settle in, unfolding slowly until the air feels lived in rather than layered on.
Girl in a Sweater is the scent of a night in with people you love. It’s the kind of evening when the weather turns gray and you finally give in to it after a day of trying to be productive, opening a bottle of wine and curling up under the same blanket as your girlfriends for a hot gossip session. It smells like that conversation that stretches past midnight, when no one’s looking at the time.
I expected this candle to be bright and sugary, but it’s actually richer – the fruit glows softly under a layer of spice and warmth. As it burns, it releases notes of mulled wine, a familiar scent with a twist. To put it more simply and less poetically: it’s cozy but grown, sweet but never cloying.
I joked to my best friend that if this scent were a person, it would be Scarlett Johansson as Black Widow – sultry and magnetic.
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Cloud Gazer smells like that field Edward and Bella always seemed to find each other in at the end of every Twilight movie. Clearly my Hulu algorithm won by making me give into the whole vampire saga, but there’s something about this scent that really does feel cinematic – warm light, soft air, a kind of peace that makes you feel like you can live for eternity. I’ll stop with the Twilight references now.
The candle’s balance of Tonka, lavender, vanilla, and earl grey fill a room, making it feel grounded and inviting. It reminds me of the stillness between sips of a lavender tea latte at my local café, or the comfort of a shortbread cookie baked just right. If you have also been victim to an overwhelming Christmas candle, you know that most winter candles lean heavy on sugar, not enough spice. Not Cloud Gazer. This one knows the ratio.
Some mornings I even light it before the day starts, accompanied by my journal and some Trader Joe’s blood orange tea. At night, I burn it while the bath runs, paired with my Alo Magnesium soak. It quite literally turns the room into my personal cocoon.
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You know that one Christmas song White Christmas? Well, I’ve never been able to relate. As an L.A. girl born-and-raised, my holidays look like palm trees wrapped in lights, the sun still warm enough to crack open a window, and winter beach sunsets with a light layer (maybe a beanie). California Christmas gets that.
This scent captures that feeling exactly. Sea salt, cognac, and caramelized sugar weave together into something coastal and comforting. It’s a blend that shouldn’t really make sense, but somehow, that’s exactly the gist of a West Coast winter. The beauty here isn’t in the heat of summer but in the quiet of winter evenings, when the sun sinks into the Pacific and everything slows for just a moment. I’m not going to lie, the scent of this one made me tear up a little when I first smelt it (in the best way).
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Library in a Forest carries the scent of stillness – crisp air, worn leather, cedar, and paper that’s turned slightly brittle from touch. It reminds me of places I’ve never been but somehow remember anyway.
I think of Forks, Washington (okay, now I’ll actually stop with the Twilight references), or somewhere the sky is always gray. I think of the forest in A Court of Thorns and Roses, where the protagonist first begins her journey. Maybe I’m referencing my favorite books because I lit this candle while reading, and halfway, but there is some old-timey reading magic to it. And to me, that’s the mark of a great fragrance – it doesn’t just dominate a room, it transports it.
To be honest, cedar isn’t usually for me, but this one knows balance. The notes of leather perfectly soften it. The air opens it, without making it too concentrated. The result is quietly effective – just enough for me to immerse myself in the setting of whatever romantasy I’m reading at any given time.
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I tried out just a small tea light sample of Architect’s Daughter, but even that was enough to understand this scent’s character. The smell opens with grapefruit and bergamot. Sort of bright, but refined – on par with this candle’s niche name. About five minutes after lighting, the scent settles into orange blossom with a hint of cedarwood. If I could paint you a visual picture, it feels like spring morning light through tall windows. There’s structure, there’s intention, and there’s a tone of calm. If the other candles are stories, this one would be space – sound and minimal.
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The Candle You’ll Want to Gift (and Maybe Keep for Yourself)
The New Savant builds memory into matter.
As I tried each candle, it felt like a self-study on emotion. There’s precision here – but I think it’s more specifically human precision. These candles manage to surpass trends, and fill space with familiarity, but never really repetition. They remind you of something personal, even when you can’t quite put your finger on what it is. It really is brilliant. We obsess over aesthetics, but forget that scent can move us in ways sight never could.
It’s refreshing to see a brand that creates for the person, not just the consumer.
Next on my list is their Mixed Feelings candle – a blend of lychee, peach, steamed rice, and toasted vanilla. Yes, steamed rice! Say less, I’m sold. Because The New Savant gets it – the best scents don’t just tell stories; they remind you of your own.
