I recently found some hidden treasure in an old box in my closet.
There, buried beneath my trove of (very reusable) Christmas gift bags and a couple of pairs of 30-waist, button-fly 501 jeans that will never, ever fit me again but I'll also never, ever give away, was the box. I hadn't labelled it with a Sharpie like I did others (cards, school stuff, old hockey videos), so I was immediately curious.
I shook it lightly and heard some clinking noises. More curious now, I opened it and my nostrils were immediately assailed by the escaping ghosts of fragrances past. A small sample of my once-vast cologne collection.
Before my eyes started watering, I enjoyed an olfactory journey through different eras 香蕉视频直播� times, places and people. about some of the world's best smells and how they can stoke memories. The colognes did a remarkable job of that.
My path to becoming a fragrance hoarder was probably fairly routine. As a kid I was always aware of the aftershave that my Dad and Gramps had (Stetson, Aqua Velva and the like) but was never really compelled to sample them. Every year from maybe age eight to 18, I got a bottle of Old Spice for Christmas. One year, late in the process, I built up the nerve to ask "how come you always buy me this?"
"Because I check the bottles and they're almost always empty."
"Oh. That's because I use it to take the stink out of my hockey equipment." (That marked the end of the Old Spice era)
In Grade 8, I had the perfunctory giant plastic bottle of Brut that served as a shower substitute if we were late in P.E. getting back from the Mud Run (if you now, you know).
But still... no magic. Then it happened.
I was in an Eaton's department store (remember them) and the girl behind the fragrance counter called over my buddy and I to see if we wanted to try some samples.
She sprayed a little Hugo Boss on a card, showed me how to put it on my wrists and then a little on the back of my neck.
"Let me smell," she said, smiling and leaning in. "Ooh, that's sooo nice."
Suddenly, with the hair on my neck and arms standing up, I needed cologne. All the cologne. Every ounce of cologne that ever existed.
Back in those days, we knew nothing of moderation. We bathed on cologne. You could smell us coming from miles away. The smell of the dump in the summer was surely overpowered by some big-haired meatheads cruising around in convertibles.
Of course now, excessive fragrance makes me recoil in horror and my eyes water. One 18-minute puddle-jumper of a plane ride featuring a guy (several rows away) soaked in Hai Karate actually made me reach for the barf bag.
But back then, it felt like I spent more on cologne than I did my car. Aside from Hugo (still the gold standard), there was Polo and Obsession and Eternity and Fahrenheit and Cool Water and Dolce and Gabbana and Drakkar Noir (admit it, you can smell the photo) and dozens more. Plus another zillion samples from chatting up the fragrance counter girls at every chance.
I eventually acknowledged I had an issue and began to wean myself off the habit. I sold or tossed most of the 'extras' and kept only the ones I knew never failed to get an "ooh, that's sooo nice." I think I officially lost the fever forever the first time I walked into a clothing store that piped in the smells (you know the ones) and had to leave because it was so off-putting.
Now, I'm down to two active bottles and moderation is the key. But it's always fun to know your nose can take you back.
* Do you still have a go-to fragrance? Are there certain colognes or perfumes that remind you of specific times or people? One you absolutely hated? Feel free to reach out and share some of your favourite tales.
PQB News/VI Free Daily editor Philip Wolf welcomes your questions, comments and local story ideas. He can be reached at 250-905-0029 or via email at philip.wolf@blackpress.ca