Malodorous Marketing

The agony of the antiperspirant. The demands of the deodorant. We all (well, except for those folks crushed up against me on a crowded subway, apparently) have faced the personal hygiene aisle. We’ve all stood, eyes glazing over, mesmerized by the colors, the swirls, the logos, the packaging – each crying out to be our choice to fend off possibly putrid pits. Over time, we tend to settle in and stick to our favorite brand. Have you dared to take a look around that aisle lately? Decided it was time for a new scent, perhaps? If you are even remotely considering this, here’s my advice… pack a lunch. You’re going to be there awhile. Actually, if you’re female, you might not need to brown bag it – just order in while you’re there. Lord knows the aisle certainly SOUNDS like a food court. Let’s see… on today’s menu, we have: Berry Sparkle, Peach Shimmer, Vanilla Sparkle and Pear Illusion. They all sound like those molded jello salads that my grandmother used to try to get me to eat at every family gathering. Giving it a fancy name wouldn’t get me to touch it THEN and I’m not likely to want to smell like it NOW. If a guy tells me that I smell good enough to eat…. well…. never mind where I was going with that. Let’s forge ahead, shall we? Women, in spite of our many advances, evidently remain very delicate creatures. They market us scents like Glacier Mist, Spring Breeze and Mystic Rain. Somehow, those seem to be offering me the chance to feel like Pocahontas, sitting in the cool shadows, pouring out my soul to Grandmother Willow. Then, there’s Moonlit Rose or Luminous Lily. Those confuse me – am I aspiring to be the perfect flower or are they dangling the promise of day-glo pits?? Man, I’d be a hit on the overnight train, wouldn’t I? “Excuse me, ma’am? I seem to be having a bit of trouble reading in this light… could you raise your arm a little higher and turn this way a little more? Thanks!” Then, if none of those options appeal, they’re set to release our escape hatch. Tropical Radiance, Botanical Silk and Tropical Satin may hope to evoke our secret desire to be sprawled naked on a remote beach, skin warming in the sun, being devotedly serviced by the ripped abs, toned thighs and bulging biceps of a god-like creature named Darian… or Pierce… or Steel … oh, who cares what his name is – we don’t plan to use it anyway! Now, if we’ve explored all those scents (or flavors??!) with a straight face and still haven’t found what we like, the marketing geniuses assume we must be Earth Mothers or the Corporate Beotch. They offer up more ambiguous attempts like Ambition, Genuine, and Optimism. So, we’re either supposed to take ourselves very seriously or not take ourselves seriously at all here. I guess the decision is ours alone. Finally, for those of us who presumably can’t figure out how to fight our way out of a soggy paper bag, they keep the old standbys – Regular and Unscented. If anyone knows what a “regular” smells like, please feel free to let me know. I look at those and stifle the urge to shriek, “A regular WHAT?” Venture over to the MANLY section of the aisle and you’ll see ego stroking in all its glory. You see, men don’t need to smell like food (clothing stains take care of that all by themselves) or flowers (heaven forbid!) and, in their minds, they ARE Darian or Pierce or Steel. They apparently just need affirmation that they are, indeed, the dominant gender, the coveted prize, teeming with testosterone and oozing raw power and sexuality. Yyyyyyyyeah. Anywayyyyyy. Men’s scents carry names like Pacific Surge, Arctic Force, Arctic Frost, Dynamic Pulse, Metallic Ice, Glacial Falls and Aqua Reef. WHAT… THE… HELL?! These aren’t scents. They’re freakin’ beer commercials. “Hey boys… drop that case of Arctic Force into them there Glacial Falls. Soon as they’re cold, we’ll crack some o’ that Pacific Surge over Metallic Ice and smoke us some Aqua Reef until we can’t feel our Dynamic Pulse. YEEEEEEE-HAWWWWWW!” Then, there’s a line that names its scents for the “important moments” in a man’s world – or at least that’s how I understand it. Ranging from Lucky Day to Midnight to First Move (man, I SO don’t want to know what THAT smells like) to After Hours, it seems like further reassurance to the fragile male ego that yes, if you use these products, you WILL get laid. I just hope they have little diagrams on the packaging that tells them where to apply the stuff. It won’t be a Lucky Day if it gets smeared under anything but their arms. Finally, there are products being marketed to really young guys… you know, those taking the fledgling steps in their manly evolution. Unwisely, they are being led to believe that “more is more” and these scents should be applied in the approximate thickness of wallpaper paste. Through names like Voodoo, Kilo, Tsunami, Orion and Apollo, I can only divine that you must apply a possibly forbidden fragrance in metric or monsoon proportions in order to guarantee that women at the International Space Station will smell you. Having been in the vicinity (aka THE SAME CITY) as a kid wearing this stuff, trust me when I say… THEY WILL. With all these choices, it really is a wonder that we don’t embark on our shopping trips with a folding chair and a cooler. I don’t need ‘em though. After considering all these possibilities – and the multitude of statements I can make by what I swipe across my pits - my choice is the ever-so-basic Baby Powder. They say that a newborn baby has the best smell in the world. I’m going out the way I came in.