Why Body Oils Are the New Perfume: A Sensory Return to Ritual
This post contains affiliate links. If you purchase through these links, I may earn a commission at no extra cost to you.
This blog is written as an immersive story, blending real-life insights with heartfelt storytelling to guide you deeper into the experience. If you enjoy narrative learning, you're in the right place. Thank you for supporting my work!
What are the benefits of body oils over perfume?
What are the best body oils for different skin types?
Does body oil help with stretch marks?
How does Lonjing tea benefit your health?
What is a tea ritual and how do I do one at home?
The universe has guided you here, and along your journey, something is bound to resonate with you.
The sun was starting to tilt westward as you left Pure Orchid House, still wrapped in the afterglow of your earlier session. The practitioner had said something about syncing with your internal rhythm, words you didn’t fully grasp at the time. But your body had already tucked the wisdom somewhere deep, like it had been waiting for it all along.
It was 2:22 p.m. when your taxi pulled into the modern skyline of Qianjiang New Town, a shimmering glass contrast to the quiet stillness you'd just left. The city buzzed with life, tall towers gleaming in the golden light, locals wove effortlessly through wide boulevards, and traffic hummed in low, predictable waves. It all moved with a kind of unconscious rhythm, pulse meeting pulse. You wandered into a quiet noodle house hidden in an alley barely wider than your arms. The broth arrived steaming, laced with bitter greens and thick slices of lotus root. It wasn’t flashy, but it settled into your bones like something you'd forgotten you needed. You ate slowly, feeling your nervous system begin to breathe again.
After the meal, a curious craving came over you, not for food, but for something sensorial. Something that felt like ritual and return. You opened Xianghousu and typed without much thought. “Longjing Tea Village.” You’d heard it mentioned before, always in whispers. A place where tea wasn’t just a drink, but a language. A thirty-minute ride later, you were surrounded by the lush hills of Longjing, cradled in green silence.
by berr520
The air was different here, earthier, sweet with the faint bitterness of tea leaves drying in the sun. The village stretched across rolling hills, with plants growing in symmetrical, terraced rows, each one a perfect line of green. This quiet countryside, a peaceful escape on the outskirts, felt like a world apart. The tea houses scattered throughout added an inviting charm, each one a small sanctuary of warmth. If you began your trek from Meijawy Village, the journey became more vibrant as you approached the village’s core, tea houses and small eateries lined the way, bustling with life. The whole walk, a little under two hours, was completely free to explore, an experience that felt almost too good to be true.
What followed was a quiet yet striking demonstration. The guide dropped iodine into a glass of water, its deep color clouding the clear liquid. Then, into a second glass filled with steeped green tea. The result was almost alchemical, the tea gently cleared the iodine, a visual metaphor for its cleansing properties. The inference was simple yet profound: for ailments like obesity, gout, diabetes, high blood pressure, acne, Crohn’s disease, or chronic indigestion, drinking green tea, particularly 30 minutes after a meal, could offer relief.
Treehouse Tea house, Longjing Tea Village, Vineyards
Of course, preparation mattered. After being picked, the leaves enter a crucial withering stage, lasting several hours, subtle but essential. And then, the “wok-frying” began. An electric wok was warmed. A farmer stirred the leaves with practiced rhythm, first lifting and letting them fall through his hands. Then, slowly, as the texture changed, he began to stir them directly against the heat. You could see the shift, the moment he knew by touch it was time to change methods. Finally, he began pressing the leaves gently into the wok in intervals. Sizzles rose up like whispers of readiness. In the end, the leaves held their signature shape, flat, pointed, alive with character.
Never pour boiling water directly over Longjing tea leaves. Instead, allow the water to cool for about three minutes after boiling. Then, steep a small, two-finger pinch of leaves gently. Once infused, pour the tea into a clear glass tumbler to serve, preserving the leaves’ delicate aroma and flavor.
Who knew such intention and care were needed to craft a single, healing cup of tea?
Rich in antioxidants, this green tea supports the body in ways that extend beyond simple hydration. The catechins in Longjing are known to help fight oxidative stress, reducing the signs of aging and supporting overall skin health. As you sip, your metabolism is gently encouraged to awaken, with Longjing enhancing fat oxidation and promoting a balanced, healthy weight.
Beyond physical health, Longjing tea nourishes the mind. The combination of caffeine and L-theanine helps improve focus, mental clarity, and mood without the jitteriness often associated with stronger caffeinated drinks. Its calming properties help soothe stress and anxiety, making it a perfect addition to your morning or afternoon routine.
As the day softened into the golden hues of afternoon, you wandered a little further, and soon found yourself in an area where the landscape seemed to shift. When you looked straight ahead, your eyes were drawn to a treehouse tea house, its entrance framed by delicate vines. The structure wasn’t particularly tall, but it was elevated just enough to offer a new perspective, nestled into the hillside as if it had grown there, invited by the land itself.
Image © Minimalist Wellbeing
Across the garden, a man caught your attention. He moved with a calm grace, as though the flow of the fields guided his every step,, slow, purposeful, and unhurried. He wore a bright blue and soft green cotton tunic, loose and effortless, with simple straw sandals. When your eyes met, he lifted his hand in a gentle gesture, inviting you to come closer. His gaze was serene, welcoming, as if he already knew why you had come.
His name was Mr. Shen, and though his English was limited, your translation app helped bridge the gap. He explained that his family had been cultivating Longjing tea for six generations, the tradition passed down like heirlooms in the form of rituals, tools, and taste.
He handed you a warm cup of Xihu West Lake Longjing, still fragrant from a fresh steep. The taste was unexpectedly gentle, soft, with a nutty undercurrent and a whisper of vegetal sweetness. He explained the two primary types of Longjing: Xihu and Zhejiang. Both are from the Camellia sinensis plant, yet grown under such different microclimates that their notes sing entirely different songs. You nodded, savoring the chestnut finish that seemed to hum in your throat long after the sip.
Then, he motioned for you to follow him behind the teahouse. You stepped into a private garden, his family’s herbal haven, tucked between bamboo and stone. “Tea and scent,” he said, pointing to the rows of plants. “Same roots.”
He moved his hands with care over jasmine, osmanthus, rose, and lavender. “Perfume… smell… blend… all from nature,” he added. He bent down and picked a few petals, rubbing them between his fingers and letting you smell the difference between wild and cultivated jasmine. The wild had more bite, more soul. Less perfect, more real.
Image © Minimalist Wellbeing
“Modern perfume… alcohol, chemical. Smells fade. Skin dry. Clothes stain,” he said. “But oil? Oil is memory. Oil is slow.”
He looked up from the petals in his palm and added, “Your skin speaks. Through pheromones. It tells a story… scent without sound. Most perfumes? Too loud. They shout over it. But oil,” he smiled softly, tapping his temple, “oil listens. It warms with your skin. It doesn’t mask, it merges. Blends with who you are. That’s why it lingers… why it feels like someone’s scent, not just something they wore.”
It struck a chord. In a world constantly chasing fast, overpowering scents, artificial and fleeting, nature takes its time. Oils, like nature, linger. They connect, warm into the skin, and stay with you.
You’d always heard debates about which oil suits which skin type, but Mr. Shen made it simple: it’s less about skin "type" and more about absorption and balance. Jojoba mimics the skin’s natural sebum, great for oily or acne-prone skin. Dry skin loves richer oils like avocado or sweet almond. Sensitive? Camellia and squalane offer soothing, lightweight hydration.
And yes, body oils can help reduce the appearance of stretch marks, especially when applied consistently to warm, damp skin. It's the ritual that matters: massage boosts circulation, and the oils nourish and protect as skin stretches and repairs.
Mr. Shen’s linen shirt, faintly scented with amber and cedar, was spotless, proof that the right base oil leaves nothing but presence behind.
He led you to a small wooden house on the edge of the garden. Recently renovated with natural materials, it had the comforting smell of old timber and dried herbs. Inside were rows of glass bottles, wooden spoons, and handmade ceramic bowls. “Here, you try,” he said.
The space was a perfumer’s dream: flower distillates, resin-infused oils, dried citrus peels, and warming spices like cardamom and clove. You were guided to make your own blend, choosing a base oil, middle note, and top. The process felt ancient, alchemical. You chose neroli for your top note, rose and sandalwood for your middle, and a touch of vetiver for grounding.
Image © Minimalist Wellbeing
The scent that emerged was warm, floral, and earthy, a personal imprint. A moment bottled. And it felt alive.
Mr. Shen smiled as you dabbed it on your wrist, encouraging you to close your eyes and inhale. “You carry the mountain now,” he said softly.
You left with a small glass vial wrapped in cloth, a blend made from your own instinct and the spirit of the land. He gave you a pamphlet, translated with help from a local student, explaining how to use common garden herbs and flowers to make oils at home. Not just for scent, but for intention, grounding, care.
On the back page, in a looping hand, he had scribbled Chanel L’Huile Jasmin, a quiet nod, almost amused, to the way luxury now retraced the steps of ancient wisdom, as if discovering it for the first time.
You tucked the cloth bundle into your bag, careful not to jostle the little bottle. The sun was tilting toward the horizon now, brushing the hills in tones of honey and amber, golden, like steeped tea. As you began your walk back through the terraced fields, heading toward the docks for an evening cruise and lakeside entertainment on the scenic West Lake, you felt full. Not with information, but with knowing.
That scent could be a ritual.
That memory could be worn on the skin.
That nature, when listened to, still has things to teach us.
And with your small vial in hand, you felt like you were finally remembering something you never knew you’d forgotten.
🌿 Mini Longjing Ritual: Clarity, Gentleness & Grounding
A soft ritual to reconnect before a calm night or sacred pause.
You’ll need:
One bowl of freshly steeped Longjing green tea
A base oil (jojoba or camellia work beautifully)
One drop of essential oil (neroli or sandalwood)
A soft cloth or ceramic cup
A quiet space and an open heart
Steps:
Sip your tea slowly. Inhale deeply after each sip. Let it settle.
Warm the oil in your palms. Add a single drop of essential oil and rub your hands gently together.
Bring your palms to your face. Inhale.
Press your hands lightly to your neck, then your chest.
Whisper an intention—something simple, true:
“May I carry stillness the way tea leaves carry the sun.”Sit in silence for one minute. Let the ritual steep.
Follow-up with a 7-7-7 Gua Sha Movement for lymphatic drainage and relaxing purposes.
