Author Julian Gough was giving a talk to children one day when they gave him the best gift an author can get: an idea.

“I was telling them how you make up stories and how you invent stories,” Gough remembers. “What makes a story a story? You have to have stuff happen and then the stuff that happens has to have consequences.”

The kids came up with a story about someone who kicked someone. And then that character kicked someone else. And then, Julian Gough says, “one kid just sort of jumped up in his seat in the class and shouted, ‘The kick could go ’round the world!’ and I thought, ‘Oh my God, that’s a book!’”

When Tad Kicked Vlad begins on Tad’s birthday. Before he’s gotten to eat any of his own birthday cake, Tad’s best friend, Vlad, eats the very last slice. Tad is mad. So Tad kicks Vlad.

Vlad kicks Bill. Bill kicks his twin sister, Jill. And before you know it, Tad’s kick has kicked off a chain of kicks that travels all the way around the world, and back to Tad on his next birthday. At which point, Tad farts in Vlad’s face. And on it goes.

Ross Collins illustrated When Tad Kicked Vlad and Gough admits he didn’t give him an easy job. When Gough sends the kick off to the big city, he writes:

“It kicked everyone in the playground! Then it kicked everyone in the park! And then it kicked everyone in the stadium! Fifty-five thousand, five hundred and fifty-five people kicked each other, and the referee had to give so many red cards his arm got tired. After the game, the kick went for a hot dog.”

Illustrations copyright © Ross Collins 2026/Courtesy of Faber & Faber

Collins says as an illustrator, “you’re reading that going, ‘This could be like the best thing I’ve ever had to illustrate or the worst and it’s really hard to know what.’” His way out of drawing something complicated was to draw something even more complicated: an entire city as viewed from the sky. “I drew the path of the kick working its way around the city,” he explains, “so that a child could work their way around the city and see all those points where the kick had gone up and down and ’round buildings and into the stadium.”

When Tad Kicked Vlad is about twice as long as other picture books. Collins says this gave him a lot of space to play around. “I could also break up the tempo of the book with a lot of illustrations where it’s just complete chaos on a larger scale,” he explains. One illustration features the kick going up and down the aisle of an airplane 23 times. And also there’s a chicken.

Illustrations copyright © Ross Collins 2026/Courtesy of Faber & Faber

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“The one thing that, you know, if you put it into an illustration, that means that all chaos has just broken loose is if you put a chicken in there,” says Collins. “There shouldn’t be a chicken in a plane.”

Collins first drew everything in pencil before using watercolor. And then he tackled the line work. “Normally I would use a charcoal line, but this book is too detailed for a charcoal line,” Collins says. So, he used colored pens instead. “I tried to make it as clean as I possibly could so that you could actually read the action that was going on.”

Gough says the illustrations remind him of The Adventures of Tintin, by Belgian cartoonist Hergé: clean, well-defined, but grounded in reality and funny. “I was being pretty cheeky with some of the things I was asking for,” Gough admits, laughing. “You really pulled it off.”

Illustrations copyright © Ross Collins 2026/Courtesy of Faber & Faber

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Do these photos depict fiction or reality … or both?

A bicyclist whose dark, flowing burka enfolds her body from head to ankles sits with hands perched on the handlebar, seemingly undaunted by the meshed veil that covers her eyes and restricts her sight. Her determination is suggested by the photo’s title, “It will not stand in my way.”

This photo of a woman wearing a burka while riding a bicycle is titled “It will not stand in my way.”

Somayeh Ebrahimi/February 2025

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Somayeh Ebrahimi/February 2025

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A similarly clad figure swirls so swiftly that the billowing fabric appears to lift her into the air like a bird in flight; scribbled in Farsi across the brick wall in front of her is the phrase, “I dreamed that my homeland was prosperous.”

“Courage means being afraid and trembling in the face of adversity, but with the courage, dance!” says photographer Somayeh Ebrahimi.

Somayeh Ebrahimi | February 2025

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Somayeh Ebrahimi | February 2025

A third burka-draped figure places an automatic rifle on her shoulder as she would a violin, “bowing” it with a long wooden stick as if to make music. The photo’s title is “The Music of Poverty and Violence.”

Two Afghan cousins who created these starkly evocative black-and-white photographs. They do not want their real names revealed because they fear Taliban retribution for their work. So they use the pseudonyms Mahnaz Ebrahimi (born in 2000) and Somayeh Ebrahimi (born in 2001). They live in a remote Afghan mountain farming village. They and their families, all members of the Hazara ethnic group and Shia Muslims, had previously worked as carpet weavers in Kabul. When the Taliban regained power in 2021, they left, seeking refuge from the repression and persecution permitted under the laws of the country’s ultra-conservative Sunni rulers.

Neither cousin had any training in photography when they started taking photos on their cellphones in 2022 or so, says Madrid-based curator and gallery director Edith Arance. She came across their work on Instagram and was struck by the skillful melding of their bleak surroundings with messages ranging from the poetic to the political.

“I know a little Farsi [the Persian language] so I could approach them,” she says. The cousins and Arance worked together via Instagram. In November 2024, Arance presented their work in Madrid, at her Galería Sura, which specializes in emerging photographers from Southwest Asia and Africa. 

The photos, which document the sparse reality of the cousins’ lives today and their hopes for a less gloomy future, are on display through May 30 at the Photoville Festival in Brooklyn, New York. Arance uses the literary term auto-fiction to describe their work because, as in that genre, these photos also combine autobiography and fiction. While the images are set against the autobiographical backdrop of where they live, the poses struck by those photographed and their interactions with their physical and natural surroundings suggest interior dreams and fantasies, played out before the camera.

For Arance, the use of light and shadow, and the use of trees, leaves, plants and butterflies as symbols, are also akin to the literary style known as magic realism. The captions and poems accompanying were written by the cousins and translated by Arance.

In “Life Is Today” a young girl dances on a barren ridge overlooking snow-capped mountains. Arance comments: “There’s a sense of play, which should not be unusual. But this is Afghanistan, and this girl is not wearing a veil or a burka, she is just being free. Her shadow looks like an airplane flying away.”

This photo is titled “Life is today.” The photographers say the image is a call to live in the present as the future is uncertain.

Somayeh Ebrahimi/March 2024

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Other photos similarly question the highly constricted lives of women under Taliban rule.

“Liberation” shows a woman, her back turned to the camera showing the decorations in her hair (which are prohibited by the Taliban), as she throws her burka up and away into the sky. In its accompanying poem, Mahnaz Ebrahimi writes, “In the name of being a woman,/today I will free myself from oppression/and darkness to the breeze/to the height of the sky.”

 “Girl by the Door” emphasizes contrasts in light and shadow, as a girl holding a tattered schoolbook stands with half her face hidden by a pale wooden door with multiple chains, the other half dimly lit against the dark background behind her.

The commentary by Mahnaz reads: “The image here is imbued with symbolism. For a time, after learning about the new law [prohibiting education for females after sixth grade], girls risked their lives by going to school. Attacks followed, intended to discourage families from allowing their daughters to attend classes throughout 2022. Light, knowledge, life resides outside. Darkness is the interior of the domestic space to which girls and women are relegated.”

The dichotomy between constriction and freedom is dramatized in the photo of a young girl wearing sunglasses and laughing with uproarious delight titled, “When Will We Laugh From the Bottom of Our Hearts Again”? But there is still the possibility of youthful delight, as shown in “Autumn Games,” in which three young girls throw leaves up into the sky.

Their photos pose questions about other restrictions imposed on girls and women. “Vestiges of the Present” captures a female figure in colorful garb, shown only from the shoulders down, holding a boombox that her still stance tells us is silent; “music, dancing and singing are prohibited for women [in public] in Afghanistan,” the caption reminds us.

This photo addresses the Taliban prohibition forbidding women to make music in public.
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In an outdoor scene, a young girl cowers as an unseen gunman points a rifle at her, but she holds on to a school notebook with a message in Farsi that reads, “There is no justice,” referring to the limits on girls attending school.

Taken as a whole, Arance says, the photos declare that “The Taliban may say that this is the destiny of women in Afghanistan, but I’m saying this is not my destiny.” As for that hoped-for future, aspirational glints appear in photos such as “From the Depths of Darkness,” which shows, against a black backdrop, a woman holding in her hand a mound of dirt and twigs from which a butterfly is emerging.

Similarly, “And the Glory of Growing Happens Within Us” captures, in profile, a burka-covered woman cradling in her hands a growing, blossoming plant, and perhaps finding inspiration in the ongoing life of its sprouts and buds.

Diane Cole writes for many publications, including The Wall Street Journal and The Washington Post. She is the author of the memoir After Great Pain: A New Life Emerges. Her website is DianeJoyceCole.com

On a Thursday night in West Hollywood, a sleek, multi-level townhome is filled with stylish guests holding fragrance vials the way partygoers cling to cocktails. They raise scents to their noses as they mingle and float through the space.

In one nook, two well-known faces in the fragrance community, Tishni Weerasinghe (@thatbrownperfumegirl) and Chase Chapman (@thescentchase), host stations with their favorite home scents — pre-bedtime spritzes to everyday comforts for working from home — as a small group leans in, asking questions and noting which scents resonate. Inhaling the blend of white musk, floral notes and amber of Rouat Al Musk by Lattafa, a $16 fragrance from Weerasinghe’s collection, attendees oooh and nod in enthusiastic approval.

In another corner, guests try fragrance pairings, scents expertly paired with drinks, letting the aroma and flavors mingle through their senses. Outside on the rooftop, the crowd spills into smaller conversations over refreshments and city views.

This is the Smellers Club. To an outsider, it might seem like a gathering centered around a niche fixation, but within this world, fragrance is much more expansive. Here, it’s a bridge between people, a tool for self-expression, a way to understand your own taste and increasingly, a reason to connect. The night’s gathering is taking place in the home of Daniel Scott and Ronn Richardson, the duo behind the fine home fragrance line Space.

Some guests are simply scent-curious, while others have deep roots in the world of fragrance. One attendee, Jess Blaise, the co-founder of Haitian Spotlight LA, credits her Haitian heritage and the fragrance rituals modeled by her mother for her connection to scent. She recently purchased a bottle of Carnal Flower by Frederic Malle for her personal collection, a luxe tuberose known for its white floral profile and appeal among niche collectors. Of her culture, she explains, “Part of your presentation — of dressing up — is your scent.”

The gathering was hosted in the home of Daniel Scott, left, and Ronn Richardson, co-founders of the home fragrance brand Space. Space offers a range of luxury home fragrances and candles.

Across Los Angeles, fragrance clubs are transforming what was once a solo ritual into something communal. From rooftop gatherings in West Hollywood to casual park meetups further east, these hangouts tap into a growing desire for laid-back, low-stimulation ways to spend time together, offering an alternative to the usual rotation of restaurants, bars and crowded nights out.

Reverie of Scent turns a small nook of Elysian Park into a mini fragrance lounge on Saturday mornings once a month. Founded in November 2025 by Marian Botrous, with support from her husband, Errol, and her sister, Marlene, the club started with just four members at the first meetup. By their sixth gathering this past April, attendance had quintupled, with a mix of regulars and newcomers at every session.

“It’s a huge world,” Botrous says of perfume. “Exploring it together makes it more interesting.”

Fragrance lovers hang out on the rooftop at Smellers Club’s West Hollywood gathering.

At her picnic-like gatherings, attendees show up with blankets, snacks and scents to swap or discuss. With 2-milliliter samples running up to $12, “collecting new scents gets expensive fast,” Bostrous says. “Our meetups make it accessible and fun.”

There’s a mix of casual socializing and structured discussion — conversations have explored the motivations behind wearing fragrance, from seduction to personal comfort, as well as the cultural impact of certain perfumes, like Chanel No. 5 and its connection to Marilyn Monroe and old-school luxury glamour. At one meetup, a member brought in a fragrance called Scentless Apprentice, inspired by the novel “Perfume: The Story of a Murderer” by Patrick Süskind (which Kurt Cobain loved so much that he wrote the Nirvana song “Scentless Apprentice”).

Artist Megan Lindeman, who founded Silverlake Scent Club in August 2025, is also bringing people together to explore scent as a shared social experience. Lindeman says she was inspired by Los Angeles’ broader scent culture and a curiosity about what it would feel like to center smell in a communal setting. The group meets monthly in her Silver Lake backyard, where attendees explore fragrance as both material and memory.

Black Girl Perfume Club was founded in 2023 by Taylyn Washington-Harmon, launching online before expanding into in-person meetups. Across Substack, Instagram and IRL gatherings, it brings together fragrance lovers and newcomers eager to deepen their understanding in an interactive way. “I started the club back when fragrance’s popularity was still pretty niche, and now seeing it move into the mainstream is really exciting,” says Washington-Harmon. As interest grows, she hopes more people will also explore the range of artistry produced by Black-owned fragrance lines.

Back at the house in West Hollywood, people continue to vibe at the event led by Sarah Bowens and Jon Kidd, Los Angeles natives and the duo behind the Smellers Club, launched in January. They’re siblings-in-law who grew up together in the church and are quick to note that their respective partners, Zana and Zion, are unofficial team members and rock-star supporters.

Jess Blaise tests out a scent by Selnu.

Between the both of them, Kidd brings the “fraghead” energy — a name for fragrance devotees who bring a passion and certain fluency of fragrance culture. Bowens, who comes from an events background, heads curation and considers herself more in the beginning stages of her fragrance journey.

When they first started hosting these events, Bowens wasn’t sure how captivating they’d be. “I was like, can people really sit here for hours and talk about fragrance?” she says. She got her answer quickly, watching guests chat, laugh and dive into lively conversations for hours.

Kidd points to wine and book clubs as “event muses” for the Smellers Club. “At a certain point, it stops being about the books or the wine — and for us, even the fragrances,” he says. “It becomes about the people.”

Chase Chapman sets up scents from his personal collection of fragrances for guests to discover at the Smellers Club gathering.

As people navigate adulthood and personal growth cycles, challenging habits and shedding old identities, there are a few underlying questions: Who am I, really? What do I actually like? And what feels good and in alignment with being at ease? Fragrance communities can be a surprisingly grounding place to explore these existential meditations. Bowens, for example, was recently drawn to strawberry-forward Fruits of Love by Dossier, which surprised her since she considered herself someone who didn’t like fruity scents. Such realizations are familiar in the community: You can miss out on something satisfying simply because it doesn’t match your predefined tastes.

Farah Elawamry, a fragrance-focused content creator known as Farah’s Thoughts, has examined fragrance marketing and its ties to rigid gender norms, explaining that “the iris note is always given to women’s fragrances and orris is always given to the masculine fragrance genre, and they’re literally the same note — one is the root, one is the flower.” Once you start diving into the history and psychology of fragrances, she says “you begin to question what you actually like versus what marketing people are telling you to enjoy.”

Compared with the typical nightlife scene in Los Angeles, attendee Shaunt Kludjian says gatherings like these feel more intentional. “This turned out to be better than the clubs in L.A.” he says. “Everyone’s just vibing and connecting over scent.” Kludjian is founder of the Los Angeles candle company Whiff and came to the event to network. Frustrated by traditional candle formats, he launched a line of portable candles packaged in small, tuna-like tins designed to make “home follow you wherever you go.”

As Kidd looks around and watches strangers become friends over a sniff of musk or jasmine, he reflects on part of the magic of the Smellers Club and other fragrance communities.

“Fragrance is a portal to your memory,” he says. “So by coming to something curated that’s a wonderful night, you’re ingraining a memory.”

What started as a question of what smells good has become something else — small moments of recognition between many people who, just hours earlier, had been total strangers. Maybe that’s the point. The bottles will get put away. Everyone will return to their separate corners of the city. But the feeling of being seen, of finding your people — even briefly — sticks with you long after the scents dissipate.