CULTURE
Finding My Scent
By Scott Jacobs
I went to the pharmacy the other day for a variety of sundries and returned
home with, among other things, a can of Brut deodorant. So while I’m
unpacking, my wife gives me that what have you done now look and says “Brut?”
“I don’t know, honey,” I responded. “I guess I’m just tired of using a deodorant called “Arm & Hammer.”
“But Brut? That’s what my father used to wear."
“Well, the only alternative was ‘Old Spice’ – which is what my father used to wear,” I said.
“We’re going to have to get you a new scent,” she said.
This is not the first time I have heard her say that. A few years ago at Christmas, I drew the name of her brother in the family gift draw. When I called his wife to see what he might need, his wife allowed he was looking for a new scent. I passed this information along to my wife, with a chuckle I might add. But she found nothing amusing about it.
“You should get a new scent,” she said.
“But I don’t have an old scent,” I said.
“That’s what you think, Trust me, I know how to do this.”
That Christmas, my brother-in-law and I awoke to find under the Christmas tree two small bottles of Giorgio Armani -- not the person, but the cologne. They were small because, I soon learned, they are expensive: about $60 a bottle versus the $3.95 I spent on the Brut.
Since it didn’t smell terrible, I wore my Giorgio Armani cologne around whenever I could remember to use it. But over not too long a time, it worked its way to the back of the medicine cabinet where I soon forgot it.
One evening, my wife wanted to go out for a special occasion and the scent was gone. I found it in my son’s bathroom, about half-consumed. When he protested that he “needed” it, I borrowed a splash and generously donated the rest to his cause. My son, and my scent, then disappeared off to college where I assume it is now lined up along the mirror in the frat house with all the other scents on campus.
Buying a new can of deodorant, however, once again sparked my wife into action. At the car wash, I confess to occasionally checking out those little scented Christmas trees that hang from the rear view mirror, thinking, perhaps, I might just leech a sniff or two off them while driving between business appointments. But my wife was much more organized in her quest.
She started at the fragrance counter of Carson, Pirie & Scott, discussing the relative merits of male cologne with one of their smell consultants.
There are, she allowed, over 100 brands of men’s fragrances now available on the market (so it’s no wonder one needs a smell consultant.) All the usual suspects are represented: Giorgio Armani, Ralph Lauren, Calvin Klein, Tommy Hilfinger, Christian Dior, Estee Lauder. But today’s fragrance providers also include Michael Jordan (“a masculine, oriental, woody fragrance”), Paris Hilton (“daring, yet sleek and sophisticated”), Hummer (“an exhilarating burst of pepperacons, cardamon, thyme, green foliage, tonka bean, leather, patchouli, amber and sandalwood” that comes in a bottle shaped like the vehicle) and something called Cigar (“smells like JEAN PAUL GAULTIER!”).
Fortunately, as you might imagine, fragrances come and go. Michael Jordan’s scent was very hot when it was introduced in 1996, but has since become pretty much a discount brand at ESPN Sportszones everywhere. The fragrance du jour, the consultant allowed, is Fahrenheit from Christian Dior.
My wife tried one, then another. Pretty soon she began to get nauseous. But her store expert had an answer for that too. She kept under the counter a can of fresh coffee beans that, if your head becomes too full of too many fragrances, clears it instantly, much like sorbet can clean and freshen the palate between meal courses.
Carson, Pirie & Scott, it turns out, is used to having wives shop for scents for their husbands. Like hardware stores, they have adopted a system of providing sample cards, like paint chips, wives can take home for their husbands to whiff. In the privacy of our own home, the consultant said, we could test out the fragrances. Sort of like our own private wine tasting.
As soon as my wife got into work, she shared her findings with her girlfriends. They were, of course, more than a little familiar with her dilemma. Sue Ellen, whose boyfriend is a cop, said he is a big fan of Fahrenheit “but he’s a secret metro-sexual,” she added.
(“Who cares?” I said when Lucy passed on this tidbit. “He’s a cop. I want to smell like a cop. Buy it.”)
But, of course, it’s never that easy. My wife stashed her samples in her purse. It took three more days for us to get together for our home scent tasting. One difference between paint chips and fragrance samples is that paint chips don’t fade as fast as a scent. Another is that three days in my wife’s purse does not improve the product. Bundled together with all my wife’s other cosmetics, the fragrances become, in fact, somewhat promiscuous, reeking of what I like to call fragrance sex.
Eventually, we got around to the tasting. My wife laid out her four choices: Fahrenheit, Eternity Summer, Nautica Men’s and Calvin Klein’s Obsession Night.
Fahrenheit, we both agreed, was too strong. I pity the poor crook who gets arrested by that cop. But Eternity and Nautica were too mild. Why spend $60 on a scent you can’t smell? Ah, but Obsession, my wife proclaimed, was just right.
So Obsession it is. I’m hoping I can reuse the sample for the next couple weeks, at least until after Father’s Day. That will give me time to use up my Brut . . . and her time to get over this little obsession.
