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co
nte
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 5 candles and queer culture, explained

25
millenial must-have

17 19 am I addicted to
scented candles?

12
candles and grief

6 ways to remove
candle wax
 candles and
queer culture,
explained.
by Sam Manzella

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I
I can’t pinpoint when my obsession
with fancy candles began, but I do
remember the exact moment I real-
ized it was common knowledge. For
my birthday this past May, not one,
not two, but three of my friends and
family gifted me beautiful, luxuriously
scented candles. My girlfriend selected
a particularly personal one emblazoned
with my birth date. I was touched but
surprised. “You’re the only queer per-
son I know who doesn’t burn candles
24/7,” I told her.
  It was a joke, but as I lay in bed a few
nights later with my new candle flick-
ering on my bedside table, I couldn’t
stop thinking about the truth in what I’d
said: So many LGBTQ+ people I know
love fancy candles. We burn them; we
recommend them; we make them. They
adorn our walls and workspaces, round
out our self-care rituals. We’re drawn to
them like, well, moths to a flame.
  To me, burning a candle is a tangible
form of taking up space, something I’ve
had to teach myself how to do as a queer
woman navigating a sexist, heteronor-
mative world. It’s no wonder candles
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are key fixtures in many religious rituals
or solo spiritual practices: When I strike a “To me, b
somethin
match and light a candle of my choosing,
the scent permeates my surroundings
and helps ground me in that moment. I’m
exercising agency over whatever space I’m
in, literally and energetically. I believe the
navigati
kids these days call it “creating a vibe.”
  Fran Tirado, a queer writer and orga-
nizer based in Los Angeles, can relate. “As
someone who is in the activist space and
in the media space and feels a day-to-day
emotional tax on my psyche, it is hard to
maintain a vibe and to get excited to go
to work every day at my desk,” they tell
Apartment Therapy. Enter fancy can-
dles, which Tirado collects and burns to
help create a work-living space that feels
comfortable, relaxing, and aesthetically
pleasing. (They’re a Taurus, shocking
absolutely no one.)
  Part of the reason I can collect fancy
candles is their accessibility. Barring
luxury home-fragrance brands like Dipty-
que, many fancy candles are priced in the
$20–$40 range, which feels extravagant,
but isn’t prohibitively expensive. It’s
a “treat yourself” purchase I can afford
with the added bonus of enhancing my
home. Tirado agrees: “The really nice
ones can feel like a splurge, but I’ve
started to take that into account as a
necessary part of [creating a space] I find
enjoyable,” they note.
  Now that my home is also my workplace
due to the COVID-19 pandemic, fash-
ioning it into a beautiful, inspiring space
burning a candle is a tangible form of taking up space,
ng I’ve had to teach myself how to do as a queer woman
ing a sexist, heteronormative world.”

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 I actually enjoy inhabiting is more
important than ever. My fancy candles
encourage me to proudly, fully inhabit
whatever space I’m in.
  This sense of personal power isn’t
something I take for granted. Histori-
cally, queer people have been shamed
or ostracized for being out. Relegated
to the shadows, we congregated away
from mainstream society in spaces like
gay bars or concealed our authentic
selves entirely. Being able to channel
my queer sensibilities into my physical
surroundings—and share that with peo-
ple who visit my home or see pictures of
my space on social media—is a privi-
lege, and a form of power.
“By firmly establishing a sense of space,
I’m reinforcing that I don’t have to hide.”
By firmly establishing a sense of space,
I’m reinforcing that I don’t have to hide
what (or whom) I love, my sage-scented
Stevie Nicks votive included.
  Matthew Herman of the popular
home-fragrance brand Boy Smells—
which he co-founded with his real-life
partner, David Kien, in 2016—also
views candles as more than just decor.
“I went to art school, so that level of
creativity and how it manifests in ob-
jects you use every day has always been
something I was super interested in,”
he tells Apartment Therapy.
  Herman personally enjoys burning
different candles for shorter durations
throughout the day as a way of creating
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natural stops and starts, and adding a
little variety. This approach, which he
calls “chaptering,” is fun and playful,
but for Herman—who loves a good pair
of “super f*cking high platform boots”—
it also parallels a larger cultural shift in
how people are conceptualizing gender,
gender presentation, and sexuality. He
recalls attending high-pressure meet-
ings at his previous job and spritzing on
La Tulipe by Byredo, a perfume tradi-
tionally coded as being “feminine,” for
an instant boost of confidence. Mean-
while, the women in his office would
wear more “masculine” scents (think
Tom Ford’s Tuscan Leather) for that
same boost.
  “Everyone was feeling more powerful
by olfactorily taking up more space in a
way that is also gender-expansive,” he
remembers. That freedom to explore
can extend to home fragrances, too, as
LGBTQ people decorate their spaces
in ways that celebrate and affirm every
part of them.
  Though plenty of queer people still
grapple with the pressures of society’s
ultra-gendered norms, many queer
circles celebrate and affirm fluidity
and self-expression. Whether through
clothes, perfumes, home fragrances, or
something else entirely, this freedom
is dependent on a sense of security,
both in oneself and in one’s literal
surroundings. This is a relatively new
phenomenon, Herman explains: “I
feel like for a long time, queerness was
about sanctuary from the rest of the
world. There is just the right amount
of breathing room [now] for discovery,
embracing new things, and expressing
them back into the world. Queer people
don’t have to arrive fully armored.”
  There’s also the aesthetic appeal of
home fragrance, which ties into what
Tirado notes is a mainstream stereo-
type that queer people, and particularly
cisgender gay men, have a propensity
for interior design à la “Queer Eye”’s
Bobby Berk. Does this mean every
LGBTQ+ person out there is predis-
posed to hoard shiny, fancy candles,
or that someone’s identity is less-than
for not ticking every box imposed on
us? Of course not. But Tirado thinks
there is some “sociocultural truth” in
the stereotype. In fact, doing what we
want and claiming space in ways that
feel true to us, with no regard to ste-
reotypes, is fundamental to debunking
them.
  “I think it’s just a fact that gay people
and queer people have better taste in
general,” Tirado adds with a laugh.
“And that includes candles.”
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6 clever
tricks
for removing

candle
leftover

wax by Angelika Pokovba

 1
microwave
Fill your candle with water and microwave it for a minute and
a half, maximum two. This will cause the wax to melt and rise
above the water. Let the glass and wax cool, then swiftly pop

2
out the remaining wax with a spoon or butter knife. Import-
ant note: Keep an eye on the candle while it’s in the microwave
as some wicks have a metal wick holder that could pose a fire
hazard.

freezer
Probably the easiest and cleanest method on this list, this tip
only works if there is not too much wax left (about an inch and
a half). Wax shrinks when it is frozen, allowing it to separate
from the walls of its container. After leaving your candle in the
freezer overnight, simply flip it upside down and scrape off the
wax with a spoon or butter knife.

3
boiling water
This method works best with wide-mouth candles. Add boiling
water into your candle—leaving an inch of space at the top—and
let it rest. (Oh, and make sure to protect the surface you set
your candle down on because it will be very hot.) You’ll see the
wax rise to the top, similar to the microwave method, but at a
slower pace. Finish by straining the water (being careful not to
pour the wax down the drain as it can clog) and remove the wax
separately.

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4
double boiler
For softer candles like soy and coconut, the microwave might
be too intense, so the double boiler method will likely work
better (think of it like the bain-marie of candles). Place your
candle into a large empty pot or bowl, and pour the hot water

5
into the container around the candle. The wax will start to soft-
en around the edges, making it easy to pop out with a knife.

heat gun
If you have a heat gun in your house, you’re probably already a
DIY pro and don’t need much advice. But in case you weren’t
aware, a heat gun (or alternatively, a hairdryer) is a great way to
melt the remaining wax inside a candle. Just be careful not to
burn the tag and make sure the candle is on a safe, heat-proof

6
surface. When it is liquefied, you can use a paper towel to re-
move the excess wax.

oven
This method is good if you have multiple candles to handle
at once. Begin by preheating your oven to 150 to 200 degrees
Fahrenheit. Place your candle(s) upside down on a sheet of
aluminum foil on a baking pan. The wax should steadily melt
and pool on the foil within 15 minutes. Carefully remove the
pan from the oven, and take the glasses off the pan using an
oven mitt. Once the leftover wax has dried on the baking sheet,
you can remove it from the aluminum foil to use in the future or
throw it out.

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candles
& grief
Lighting a candle is one way to show that you remember some-
one. It is a way to show that you want to honor that person.
Whether you do so at home, in a church, or through a virtual
candle website, the goal is the same. Making this small gesture
can be quite a life changing statement both for you and for the
others you hope to support during your time of loss. Most
people don’t see the value of what seems like such an insig-
nificant gesture. Why do it? What does it really mean to light a
candle after a person’s loss?

It Does Not Have To Be Spiritual

While many religious beliefs center around candle lighting,
the act itself is not necessarily that. In fact, it can be done for
many reasons. Candles, such as one placed on your mantle
after you’ve lost someone, can help you to think about that
loved one. Placed in a church, it can help you and others pray
for that individual. Virtual candles can help you to show sup-
port to loved ones who are suffering this loss along with you.
  The lighting of a virtual candle is a significant step towards
showing respect for the lost loved one. If, for example, you’ve
lost a family member, you may not have a lot of words to say
to the immediate family but you want them to know you are
thinking of them and honoring the lost individual. A virtual
candle helps to do that. When the number of these candles
increases, it can help family to see just how much this person
meant to others.
  Don’t overlook the value of such a gesture. You cannot do
much after someone dies to support your loved ones or to
honor the life that was lost. What you can do, though, is to
show simply that you are there, thinking of them and sending
them good thoughts.

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A“Am I addicted to scented candles?
Perhaps. I’ll try anything to fight the
darkness of 2020.”
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by Mary McNamara
H ere’s how bad it’s gotten: I just
ordered a scented-candle-making kit.
  I know, I know; I am way behind
the curve, to which the wickless, fra-
grance-free, picked-over shelves of my lo-
cal Michaels can attest. (Not much I can do
with a five-pound bag of soy wax without
wicks, is there, Michaels?) So I was forced
to turn once again to Amazon, thereby
draining any potential “pioneer” spirit
from the enterprise. (It’s hard to think of
yourself as “getting back to basics” while
ordering something online.)
  In this case, however, DIY pride is not a
factor. I actually know how to make can-
dles, and churn butter, and sew (if graded
on a generous curve) a fine seam, because
I am old enough to have had several years’
worth of Home Ec, as well as wood and
metal shop, thrust upon me by the benefi-
cence of the Maryland State Department of
Education.
  Nor am I attempting to distract my fam-
ily with yet another pandemic project. My
new hobby is simply a matter of econom-
ics: I will be trying to make my own scent-
ed candles because I need to stop spending
so much damn money on scented candles
and I refuse to accomplish this by burning
fewer of them.
  Before the pandemic, I had an uneasy
relationship with the turn-of-the century
boom in the home fragrance industry.
  Certainly it is lovely to walk into a fig-
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or balsam- or hyacinth-scented room
(apologies to those who are allergic or
bothered by scent). But all those candles
and diffusers cost money, often quite a bit,
and their growing popularity seemed to be
a tell of the new faux-cozy consumerism,
a mark of a system that encouraged the no-
tion that money was there to burn. In Los
Angeles anyway, the fault lines of gentri-
fication always seemed to lead to a coffee
bar and a shop selling $40 candles, often
with names like Cashmere.
  The furor over Meghan Markle’s pen-
chant for Dyptique, revealed during her
recent remote appearance on “America’s
Got Talent,” was solid evidence in support
of my long-held belief that scented can-
dles were part of the luxury economy, ap-
propriate for holidays, gift-giving and the
side tables of the very rich.So does crisis
make moral cowards of us all.
  I started burning candles at the begin-
ning of the shutdown in order to make the
house seem more festive. March was cold,
if you remember, and often overcast —
even rainy — and my newly re-congregated
family needed a lift that did not involve
consuming 2,000 extra calories per day in
baked goods. And it was just for a month
or two, right?
  Seven months later, scented candles
are now a staple; I buy them with the same
regularity I buy milk, turkey burgers and
toilet paper. There are used candle jars
stashed in every cupboard like the empty
bottles of a secret drunk and ashtrays not
seen in decades are scattered through-
out the house as receptacles for all those
burned matches.
  And I’m not the only one. My older
daughter’s bedroom is awash in apple
cinnamon scent in an attempt to keep
pace with her Temple University education
seasonally as well as academically. She has
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“Scented candles are now
a staple; I buy them with
the same regularity I
buy milk, turkey burgers
and toilet paper.”
learned how to trim a wick and uses terms
like “a good throw” (referring to the ability
of a candle to spread scent).
  Whatever prejudice I had against un-
likely formulations and absurd names is
long gone. Home Sweet Home, Sweater
Weather, Autumn Oak and Charred Juni-
per blaze away in every room and, yes, my
younger daughter was one of those who
caused Target to sell out of its Cashmere
Vanilla candle after someone on TikTok
mentioned that it smelled like the Tom
Ford scent favored by Harry Styles.
  “When you come home with one that
says ‘Live, Laugh, Love,’” my son said
recently, “I am going to have to stage
an intervention.”
  Honestly, if Yankee Candle, Bath &
Body Works or Target had any sense of
honor, they would name a fragrance after
me. Although I’m not sure “earthy anxiety
combined with salty hints of sorrow and
spicy top notes of fury and fear” would be
a bestseller.
  Especially since the whole point of all
these candles is to create an alternate me,
one who lives serenely, in a calmer, saner,
more hopeful place and time. A time when
how my home smells doesn’t matter so
much because I am not in it 24/7.
  As I informed my smart-mouthed
son, science has proven that smell is the
strongest trigger of memory and emotion
— the olfactory bulb runs straight from the
nose to the amygdala and hippocampus,
parts of the brain most strongly associated
with emotion and memory. (Hippocampus
Nights — a woodsy fragrance, with a strong
patchouli body and a top of balsam and
eucalyptus.) And frankly, triggering all the
best memories and emotions has become
paramount these days. We need to remem-
ber a time when we weren’t all stuck at
home, our stomachs in permanent churn
over pandemic and election anxieties.
  While stuck at home during the coro-
navirus pandemic, Reem Kassis and her
daughters have spent a lot of time in the
kitchen, making pasta, curries, bibimbap
and cookies. Kassis sees parallels between
their experience and her own childhood,
living beside conflict in Jerusalem.
  So it really isn’t surprising that while
much of the beauty industry is in free-
fall — who needs lip liner when there’s no
place to go? — home fragrance has grown
in leaps and bounds. As Americans shelter
at home, we increasingly seek solace in
light and scent; candle-making has saved
more than a few small businesses.
  Faced with financial struggles early in
the pandemic, Fresno’s Smoke & Fire came
up with a quarantine line of scents includ-
ing Shelter & Chill, Come Thru Queen and
even Our Votes Matter (“infused with Fir,
Cypress, Bayberry, a hint of Vanilla, and
Eucalyptus”) alongside more traditional
varietals including Fireside Chat and, of
course, Cashmere Sweater.
  In our house, the blossoms of spring
gave way to the citrus of summer and now
we are into the mellower aromas of au-
tumn: apple spice, pumpkin spice, amber,
musk, a little vanilla (not too much!), fig
and cedar. The scents emanating from
cheerful little flames not only reassure us
that we don’t have COVID-19 (everyone

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who has never woken feeling a bit crappy
and rushed to test their sense of smell,
please stand on their head) but also
remind us that there are things, many
important things, that exist implacably
and restoratively beyond the reach of
current events.
  Yes, it may still be 100 degrees at 10
a.m. here in Southern California, but it
is autumn somewhere. Or will be. The
pandemic cannot forbid the changing
color of leaf, the emergence of naked
tree; it cannot banish those bright sunny
days that dissolve into gold, then ame-
thyst, then starry shivery black. (Climate
change can, however, which is why it is
important to vote by Nov. 3, the wiles of
pumpkin spice notwithstanding.)
  COVID-19 may curtail this year’s expe-
rience of Halloween, Thanksgiving and
Christmas but it can’t excise their reality.
As the days grow shorter (and hopefully
cooler), our experience of the upcoming
“There are things, many important
things, that exist implacably and
restoratively beyond the reach of
current events.”
holidays and the seasonal shifts will be
different but they can still be festive,
still be happy.
  It’s a lot to ask of a few tumblers of
scented wax, but then I was raised Cath-
olic and everyone knows about Catholics
and their deep attachment to candles,
offered up, with prayers, in memory
of the dead and hope for the living. The
various aromas that scent so many homes
these days form their own kind of contin-
uous prayer: that someday soon, we will
not need the therapeutic power of ylang
ylang & lavender, apple & clove to soothe
nerves frazzled by confinement, worry and
the perpetual aggravation of a news cycle
that has done its utmost to make Dorothy
Parker’s phrase “What fresh hell is this?”
mundane and unfunny.
  After all, it is better to light a single
candle than sit and curse the darkness
— and if the darkness fights back, then a
little pumpkin spice should do the trick.
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MILLENIAL
MUST-HAVE

25 WICK
 do not remember a
single candle burning
in my 90s childhood
home. Candles were
the preserve of pow-
er cuts and Catholic prayer offerings,
their very nature functional or spiri-
tual only. Today, like millions of other
homes across the country, my mum’s
home on an autumn evening looks like
a seance, with several candles burning
simultaneously, contributing (in no
small part) to the estimated £1.9bn
pounds spent every year in the UK
candle market.
  Candles are sold everywhere from
supermarkets to Selfridges with prices
varying from pocket change to the
financial equivalent of buying a sofa:
Fornasetti and Gucci claim joint first
prize for the most expensive candles
on Matchesfashion.com, ringing in at
£550 and £525 respectively.
  And candles have celebrity status.
Every time the Duchess of Sussex
appears on Zoom, it is front of yet an-
other well-crafted Zoomscape featur-
ing a Diptyque candle (most recently
Tubéreuse, although Meghan is known
to love the Baies scent so much she
placed diffusers around St George’s
Chapel on her wedding day). For those
less worried about what the in-laws
might think, Gwyneth Paltrow’s sell-
out Goop “This Smells Like My Vagina”
and subsequent “This Smells Like My
Orgasm” offering showed just how
committed we are to the cult of candle.
  At its most basic a candle is an ignit-
able wick, embedded in wax or another
flammable solid allowing humans to
easily create a contained fire, which
provides both heat and light. But in
2020 the candle has morphed far from
its utilitarian origins; today you can get
tealights, pillar candles, taper candles,
votive candles, container candles,
scented, unscented, beeswax, vegan
candles, and let’s not forget the next-
gen candle and Mrs Hinch favourite – a
soy wax melt.
  The independent butcher and the
baker may well have benefited from
a neighbourhood spending surge in
lockdown, but it is the candle-stick
maker who is smashing it in the sales
department. Local manufacturers
like Yorkshire business, Supplies for
Candles, saw so much demand it hired
35 new employees in 2020. While
Selfridges reportedly saw candle sales
skyrocket 54 per cent in March and
Net-A-Porter a 130 per cent year-on-
year increase. Brits buy an average of
six candles per year but lockdown set
our love ablaze.
  A good scented candle when lit can,
however, evoke memories from our
past such as places we’ve visited
  Given candle fires result in approx-
imately 350 casualties every year, to
our cavemen ancestors it might seem
unnecessarily risky to bring scented
fire into the centre of our electrici-
ty-supplied homes. Not to mention in
the middle of a pandemic when one of
the key symptoms of Covid-19 is a loss
of a sense of smell. But Deborah Sugg
Ryan, professor of design history at
the University of Portsmouth, tells The
Independent candles are often about
feelings, not functionality.
  “I think for some people candles will
always be reminders of power cuts, es-
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 pecially if they lived through the 1970s
blackouts,” she says. “[But] the scented
candle in a pretty glass jar couldn’t be
further from this as it evokes luxury and
pleasure. A good scented candle when
lit can, however, evoke memories from
our past such as places we’ve visited.
  “Perhaps we need this more than ever
when we’re locked down in our homes
and unable to travel. We don’t just miss
the sights and sounds of places; we also
miss the smells.” Indeed some brands
have capitalised on this lockdown
absence – Earl of East has designed
candles with on-the-nose monikers
like “sense of normality”, “the cinema”,
and “the local”.
  Undoubtedly scent has long been the
selling point of candles. Take Yankee
Candles, once considered the candle
du-jour largely because of their huge
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variety of scents. The American brand
has over 200, ranging from “angel’s
wings” to “mango peach salsa”. Then
came the era of higher-end scented can-
dles from Diptyque, Jo Malone, ByRedo
and the White Company. Even the Duch-
ess of Cambridge is apparently a fan of
an orange blossom Jo Malone candle.
  But it isn’t just about scents – in fact
many bestsellers are scentless. Can-
dles have evolved to be a central part of
homeware with aestheticism as a pri-
mary purpose. Although many of the
above brands remain popular, of the 12.4
million Instagram posts with the hashtag
#candle, users now focus on candles with
striking visual elements: shapes, struc-
tures, decorative notes. In a world where
interior trends are there to be photo-
graphed and shared, candles are no
longer just to be experienced firsthand.
  Bianca White, 29, a primary school
teacher from London, started a paint-
ed candle business in June. White was
inspired after seeing a floristry on a
lockdown walk and deciding she wanted
a career change. Her business, Bable,
which she runs from her kitchen table,
has completely taken off. “Gosh I have
made hundreds,” she tells The Indepen-
dent. “I’m currently frantically trying to
get through my first big wholesale order
for a shop. Demand is off the charts!”
  White says despite only running her
business for a matter of weeks she has
noticed her customers enjoy the small
details of her candles and how they
fit into their homes. “I have definite-
ly noticed that people take joy in table
laying and making their homes fun with
candles,” she says. White has been so
successful she has handed her notice in
at school.
 “Candles have evolved to fit tablescapes
and mantle pieces as decorative objects, to
be enjoyed second hand on social media,
as cult objects and as experiences.”
  Matilda Goad, British designer
and creative consultant, agrees
visuals are central to the modern
candle, saying she was inspired to
start making candles because she
“found it really hard” to find can-
dles that “looked just as good when
they sat unlit in a candle holder as
they did when they glimmer away at
night” – a testament to the impor-
tance of appearance.
  This can be seen in the success
of candles like the Lex Pott twisted
candle. Made in Pott’s Rotterdam
studio, they combine the candle
and base as one, creating a unique
design but one that is slightly
structurally compromised from the
moment you light it. Others like the
HAY twisted candle (which TikTok-
ers have tried to recreate to varying
levels of success) and the Studio
Billie “Bella & Yates” origami-style
pleated candles fall into a similar
scentless but sophisticated bracket.
  While brands, like Bella Freud,
make their candle holders so desir-
able that even once the candle itself
is gone, customers want to retain
the empty shell. One of Vogue mag-
azine’s purchases of the season in Au-
gust was the Kana x Evermore candles
poured into large ceramic gingham
bowls, meant to have a second life once
the candle is long burnt out.
  Matches are also having a renais-
sance moment - a shell painted match-
box collaboration between blogger
Alex Stedman and designer Frances
Costelloe, priced at £9, was an online
sell-out. In an Instagram post, Sted-
man encouraged customers to frame
the box, illustrated by Costelloe, long
after the emerald-green tipped match-
es were finished.
  In 2020 candles are no longer about
fire and heat, or even just scent. They
have evolved to fit tablescapes and
mantle pieces as decorative objects, to
be enjoyed second hand on social me-
dia, as cult objects and as experiences.
You can even get candle subscription
boxes delivered to your door or go to
candle workshops to make your own.
  If millennials are supposedly re-
sponsible for the demise of everything
from TGI Fridays, to department stores
and cereals, at least this is one industry
that they can take credit for making
more profitable than ever.
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WICK magazine was designed in Detroit,
Michigan by Xueyun Cecilia Findlay. This
magazine uses multiple fonts including
Didot, Filosofia, and EloquentJFPro.
WICK was made in the spring of 2021.

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