Walking, talking potpourri …

It's time to stop talking about the smell coming from Washington these days and look closer to home. Did you ever stop to think how many smells we slather on ourselves every day as we get ready for the day? I started looking at just the bath and personal hygiene products that I use everyday. My shampoo promises to make my hair smell like a giant strawberry, joined in its mission by my conditioner which adds the smell of green apples. Of course my soap couldn’t just smell like soap, so it adds a touch of pine scent, which one assumes is what the spring in Ireland must smell like.

Toothpaste is not allowed to go odorless either, so a touch of mint is added, reinforced by another dash of mint in the mouthwash. Then it’s on the underarm department, which fights to mask our human odor with a burst of “Fresh”, whatever that smell is supposed to represent. To finish things off a spritz or two of a Spicy smelling cologne adds to the calliope of smalls.

Of course if we moved on down the body we’d find other must have personal hygiene items that all have their own, “sure to make everybody love you” smells, except of course at the bottom, where we find Odor Eaters, whose mission is to stop smells, not add to them. Thank goodness some products don’t add to smell inventory. Of course, my clothes themselves do not escape this olfactory onslaught, since they are washed in lemony fresh something or other and dried to smell Downy Fresh, whatever that is. Apparently they are meant to end up smelling like a lemony teddy bear.

I was reminded of Carmen Miranda by these thoughts. She was a Brazilian performer in the 40’s, 50’s and 60’s who often performed wearing what looked like a fruit basket on her head. We must all smell somewhat the same way these days. We have become walking talking potpourri baskets.

Interestingly, our obsession with smelling good is offensive to many other cultures, where the natural human body odor smell is accepted. Those cultures, many in the Middle East, find our habits, especially when it is a man, to be effeminate, which is not looked upon favorably. Better to smell like a sweaty man in those cultures. Only the women are expected to wear scents.

Still, on balance, I suppose that I’d prefer to smell like an Irish Spring or a Mountain Waterfall (whatever that smells like), rather than a goat herder in the afternoon sun. A good motto might be, if you have to smell, at least smell good! But, to whom, might remain the question.