Diptyque- or Cheap and Bleak review?

Diptyque- or Cheap and Bleak?

I love a bargain, especially when it comes to home décor. And The Range – a store I enjoy for many products - offers a scented candle for just £2.99.

I heard about it on the company’s Instagram feed under Scent-Sational Buys  - Candles for 2.99 and diffusers for 3.99 run don’t walk! (Don’t think I wasn’t tempted).

Visually, the Range’s Santal and Citrus candles are dead ringers for the luxury Diptyque candle, which usually costs upwards of £50. The Santal contains cardamon, leather and musk (spoiler alert, those last two are not naturally produced in fragrances), and the Citrus contained grapefruit, orange and passion fruit (another spoiler, passion fruit is not a citrus, it’s a tropical berry).

I do appreciate the value of First Impressions. And on the shelf, the candle looked surprisingly chic – a clear glass jar with minimalist label, very Diptyque-esque. Placed side by side with a genuine Diptyque, you might easily confuse the two.

But I also know that looks can be deceiving, and the scent test in-store quicky shattered the illusion. Both promise the style without the spend. But as I discovered after a whiff of truth about what’s really in that bargain glow, when it comes to candles, you often do get what you pay for. The smell hit me immediately: sharp, chemical, and cloying. Less “jasmine” - as the label promised - and more “industrial disinfectant.”

Still, for the sake of research, I bought the two back home, and lit one – outside in the garden.

Within minutes, the air was overtaken by what can only be described as a bouquet of bleach and pine disinfectant. I found myself apologising to the local seagulls for polluting their fresh Cornish sea breeze.

The label revealed the culprits: 1-(1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8-octahydro-2,3,8,8-tetramethyl-2-naphthyl) ethan-1-one - a synthetic fragrance known as OTNE or Iso E Super, used to give a woody-amber note. Cheap, cheerful, and flagged as an environmental hazard, it’s toxic to aquatic life with long-lasting effects. Next was 4-tert-Butylcyclohexyl acetate – another synthetic fragrance molecule, used to mimic sweet, woody notes. Common in budget perfumes and detergents.

And the wax? Paraffin; petroleum by-product, which when burned releases volatile organic compounds such as toluene and benzene into the air – both linked to health issues. It also produces that familiar black soot on walls, ceilings - and presumably lungs.

Hidden in tiny print was a warning that confused me: “Avoid release into the environment.” That seemed like rather a challenge with a candle. They might as well have included the message – “Do Not Burn.”

Alongside this were pictograms of a dead fish a dead tree, and an icon of a child and cat crossed out.

Yes, all candles should be kept away from pets and children. But the implication here felt less “don’t knock it over” and more “don’t let them near it, for their own good.”

So much for the smell, but what about the candle performance when burning?

Tunnelling, to be fair, is a flaw that even high-end candles can suffer from — I’ve seen £60 jars dig themselves into waxy graves. But it’s far more common in mass-produced, budget candles where the wick is poorly matched to the wax and vessel. A well-designed candle, whatever the price, usually burns evenly and produces minimal smoke.

Not here.

Within half an hour I was left with a sad little “wax well,” most of the wax clinging to the sides, never to burn. And as the flame struggled down its tunnel, it began to cough up black soot, smudging the inside of the glass like the walls of a chimney. It looked – and smelt – like a miniature diesel engine sputtering its last.

After this enlightening and cough-inducing experience, I did the noble thing and left a polite comment under The Range’s Instagram post. I noted that the candle was essentially paraffin and synthetics in a glass jar, and perhaps they might want to reconsider.

The response was swift, if oddly clandestine. Instead of replying publicly, a representative from The Range slid into my direct messages requesting my phone number. Moments later, a very pleasant man rang from their “Ask Customer Team.” With great seriousness, he told me my feedback would be escalated to their buying department, the head of customer services, and the support team. They would even be holding a meeting about it. And afterwards, he assured me, I’d receive an email with their thoughts.

I pictured a boardroom of furrowed brows, as if the UN had convened to discuss candle soot. But just as the call was about to end, I realised a snag: I hadn’t given him an email address to contact me.

 “Oh! Yes, that would help, wouldn’t it?” he chuckled.

And, of course, that was the last I heard from The Range. No follow-up. No solemn communiqué. Just silence — the kind of silence you get when the wick’s been snuffed out.

In the end, the whole exchange seemed perfectly on brand: lots of warm words, but when the smoke cleared, nothing of substance remained.

So, what’s my verdict on The Range’s £2.99 scented candles?

They look the part, but burn like a petrol lamp. The scent is harsh and synthetic, the ingredients read like a chemical spill, the performance is dismal, and the follow-up from customer service was little more than smoke and mirrors.

This highlights a bigger issue: most mass-market candles are made from paraffin wax and synthetic fragrances. They look pretty, they smell strong, but they come with a hidden cost to your air quality, your health, and the environment. Even expensive brands aren’t immune to flaws like tunnelling or smoke, but at least many invest in better formulations and more careful design.

As for me, my faith in cheap candles has long been extinguished. And the Range’s £2.99 jar reminded me that a bargain isn’t a bargain at all — it’s just a candle-shaped disappointment.

And by promising ambience, but instead delivered acrid air, the only thing it illuminated was the importance of reading the label.