It began, as all the best rituals do, with a glass of champagne. On a crisp October afternoon, Regent Street was dressed for the season with burnished leaves underfoot, windows dressed with fall finery, the air edged with that first whisper of winter. Against this autumnal backdrop, four of us slipped through the doors of Creed a temple to fragrance and quiet grandeur to mark the start of our bride’s final chapter before “I do.”
We were ushered upstairs to the Creed Suite, where crystal flutes caught the light and conversation softened to a kind of reverent hush. At the bar, the consultation began. A curated symphony of Creed’s most iconic female fragrances unfolded before us, each bottle had a different story. We passed them around like secrets, testing, comparing, laughing, and occasionally falling into silence as a note lingered or triggered a memory.
The debate came down to two: Love in White, ethereal and pure, and Wind Flowers, radiant and free.
Love in White is a delicate blend of orange zest, Florentine iris, and Bulgarian rose, grounded by warm tones of vanilla, ambergris, and sandalwood. It felt timeless, soft, and resolute all at once. In contrast, Wind Flowers opened with sparkling jasmine and Tunisian orange blossom, wrapped in creamy praline and musk. An airy, modern, and full of movement scent.
In the end, our bride chose both; Love in White for the ceremony, Wind Flowers for the celebration that would follow.
As the final flourish, she selected a gold atomiser engraved with her new initials, and a bottle of Wind Flowers etched with Mrs Walker– a detail so personal it felt almost sacred.
From there, we wandered through Soho to Bob Bob Ricard, a fifteen-minute stroll that felt like a small parade. Outside, London shimmered under its autumn palette; inside, the restaurant glowed like a scene from The Great Gatsby. Mirrored panels reflected pink plates, gold napkins, and the first bubbles rising in fresh glasses of champagne.
Menus were opened, champagne buttons pressed. We ordered indulgently: château brand for one, fish pie, beef Wellington for two, and a constellation of sides to share. The truffle fries and mash were exceptional silky, rich, and deeply comforting.
For dessert, theatre returned to the table. The crème brûlée was flamed before us, its caramelised surface glowing like amber, while the BBR Signature Chocolate Glory arrived beneath a cascade of melted chocolate, its shell collapsing in slow, decadent surrender.
We toasted to love, to friendship, to the joy of marking life’s moments with taste and intention.
This wasn’t your usual hen party- there were no tiaras, no dares, no chaos. Instead, it was an alternative hen of luxury: a day scented with memory, gilded in champagne, and laced with laughter. A celebration of elegance, intimacy, and the kind of beauty that lingers long after the last toast.
1 Upper James Street, London,
W1F 9DF
