We’re conducting focus groups for our latest collection of scented candles inspired by the unbridled optimism of the new ski season. The first glistening snowflakes of October. The dwindling bank balance tapped for this year’s ski passes. The unwavering belief that the outfit you dropped a week’s paycheck on last February will still fit.

Best of all, since consumers are increasingly prioritizing sustainability, this new collection is created from a recycled blend of black-market fluoro ski wax, discarded tubes of Cherry Chapstick and a dumpster full of plastic flossers found on the side of 224.

Will the concept fly in the marketplace? No frigging idea. But we’re determined to find out anyway.

Buoy > Bots

A bright, anticipatory blend of honey, Hawaiian salt spray and the slightly metallic smell of a laptop that has been slammed shut because the AI snowfall prediction said “dusting.” Hints of beehive boxes and the smell of Johnnie Walker Black on wet flannel worn by the guy who insists that bees building higher nests guarantees a 400-inch season — minimum. Truly a candle for those who believe science has its place — and that place is a NOAA weather buoy floating in the middle of the Pacific.

Focus Group Testimonial:

“My smartwatch predicted no snow for three weeks, but this candle told me to mount my Blizzaks and wax my skis immediately. I trust it more than my divorce attorney.” — Todd, 43, Pinebrook

Corduroy & Chaos

A local poll clocked Deer Valley at No. 1 and Park City Mountain dead last. This candle asks, Can’t we all just get along? Top notes of DV’s eucalyptus-steam-room luxury float gently above the basest notes of Park City Mountain’s hot-chocolate-spilled-in-a-liftline despair. Hints of freshly laundered guest services uniforms collide with the scent of forgotten rental boots fermenting in a Red Pine gondola on terminal wind hold. Because nothing says community like a single town that’s home to Utah’s best and worst.

Focus Group Testimonial:

“First it smelled rich. Then it smelled stressed. Then I started apologizing to strangers for no reason.” — Carla, 32, Snyderville

A Preseason Night’s Dream

An inexplicable infusion of ski swap Gore-Tex, Mike’s Hard Lemonade smuggled into a Warren Miller screening, wet leaves and the weirdly nostalgic scent of someone waxing his skis in October. Base notes include powder turns on a Sealy Posturepedic, mental DIN adjustments and the faintest hint of hope that this will be the year McConkey’s is actually skiable.

Focus Group Testimonial:

“I have a Deer Valley pass, but I lit this candle and immediately bought a snowboard and a pair of Pit Vipers from a teenager on KSL. I give it 6-7 … 6-7!” — Norm, 58, Red Cloud

Powder Haven

A high-altitude bouquet of cedar sauna panels, imported glacier ice cubes and the delicate scent of parchment you sign when buying a home that costs more than a mid-sized ski town. Accents of artisanal firewood hand cut by your personal Norwegian lumberjack, plus a whisper of self-satisfaction as you cut off the ski bum in the 2003 Outback in front of your gated entrance. Authenticity never looked this luxurious.

Focus Group Testimonial

“I lit this and immediately felt my net worth shoot up but also that I should apologize to my childhood self.” — Melissa, 41, Silver Creek Village

Core Shot

A crisp blend of early season stoke and the distinct aroma of opening day on brown grass. Conjures the scent of snow guns blasting a delicate mist onto a frozen patch of dirt. Top notes of partially frozen mud, early morning rain and SPF 50 co-mingle with the unmistakable stoke of someone skiing in shorts and no shirt because “conditions aren’t that bad, bro.” It’s a candle that captures all the delusion that winter has truly begun.

Focus Group Testimonial:

“I could actually smell the rocks I was about to destroy my bases on.” — Sierra, 29, Kimball Junction

Executive Summary

Whether it’s a hit or a miss, we remain as blindly hopeful for this candle collection as we are for the incoming ski season. No risk, no glory; failure is impossible; the best is yet to come; blah, blah, blah. Hope springs eternal — in fact, it blazes. Preferably in a $52 candle jar. At least, that’s what it smells like to us.

Kate Sonnick is a freelance advertising writer and creative director who has endured more focus groups than she cares to admit but still trusts her gut above all. Follow her @katesonnick on Substack.