Interesting article in the New York Times last week: The
Sweet Smell of ... NothingI used to like perfumes. My mom and dad were of a generation that used
colognes and perfumes quite a bit, and dad would always try to get me to
test out a new one at the department store counter. ("Daaaad! No! Don't
spray that on meeeee!") I was extremely picky and only liked
soft, powdery scents or those with just a hint of spice. I hated the
overwhelming in-your-face types of scents even then. Unfortunately
that seemed to be what typically lined those department store counters.
Even so, I had a few favorites and kept several bottles of perfume around.
My interest in perfumes took a nose dive when I developed seasonal
allergies, about a decade and a half ago. All of a sudden, some of my
favorite perfumes gave me staggeringly painful headaches and I had to give
them up. I actually resisted, keeping a few of the culprits around for a
while until it was just too apparent that they made me sick. Still, even
today I have a few tiny bottles lining a small cupboard as decoration, and
a handful of bottles in a drawer that are probably older than the World
Wide Web.
As I used scented products less I was able to pick out subtler fragrances
more easily. The unfortunate side effect being that the strength of a
typical perfume absolutely overwhelmed me. Increasingly, scented candles
became overwhelming and now I can't even open some fashion magazines
because of the overwhelmingly strong scents that waft from them.
It's never bothered my husband that I don't wear traditional perfumes. In
fact, I think he'd be just as happy as I would be if I touched a little
vanilla extract behind my ears. I suspect he'd like the scent of
apple-wood smoked bacon even better, but I'm not about to dab that on my
pulse points.