Smells Like a Problem

What is the deal with perfume?


I wore Oui every day of my life for the past ten or twelve years. Let me just say that I tried it when it first came out and I’ve worn it ever since. Exclusively. I like to wear only one fragrance. It’s a thing with me. I wore only Alfred Sung for years before Lancome came out with Oui, and I got hooked on it. (Perfume dependency—is there a 12-step program for it?)






About a year ago our local stores stopped carrying Oui. I looked for it in the ‘closeout’ stores, thinking I could score some there, but no dice.


I am not without my resources, so I went on eBay and bought Oui. I’ve now done that twice, and I’m not completely convinced that, despite very authentic-looking packaging, it’s the real deal. In any case, during the past year I have made several forays into cosmetic departments looking for a suitable replacement for my treasured fragrance. Man, it’s a jungle out there…


I have sprayed and sniffed dozens (seems like hundreds) of fragrances, and haven’t found anything I like nearly as much as the much-loved, aforementioned Oui.


The Lancome website says it’s a combination of Clementine (citrus), water-lily and musk. It just smells perfect and lovely and fresh, and I’m totally out of it now, and will (DUH!) just buy it this time from Lancome, to be sure I’m getting the real McCoy.


But here’s what I want to know:


Why is it that when you put on the perfume you love in the morning, you never really notice it the rest of the day, yet when you spray just a touch of some “I’m All Yours-WannaBe” on your wrist in the department store as a test, you can’t get that smell out of your nostrils for love or money. You can wash your hands twelve times, and you’re still immersed in the pond of shpritz you sparingly tried on, hoping against hope that you’d fall in love with it. Driving over a skunk and getting out and sniffing your tires is the only way to eradicate the uber-sugary-rose-petal-gag-me-with-a-fist scent that seemed so innocent and appealing in its demure and modest bottle. (I’m guessing here—I haven’t actually done it, but I would if I encountered a skunk that was maybe in the final stages of some terminal illness anyway.)


But seriously, I try to just sniff the bottles, and not put any of the product directly on my skin. I mean, I can learn from my experiences. Usually I can tell I hate it right away, and move on. But sometimes there’s a tease, a little hint that this might be the one! Yeah, but it never pans out. Then I’m stuck with the Essence of Grossitude on my wrist till I find the next skunk with an advanced health directive and slow reflexes.


I’m just saying…