I wear the same fragrance every day: Spiced Green Tea by Elizabeth Arden. Oh, I have others too; I wear Juice by Ocean Pacific on hot summer days, Mania by Armani for job interviews, and Exciting by Versace on hot dates, but the Arden is my mainstay.
I worked in perfume long enough to understand that scent really is a language. Often, a man I found profoundly unappealing would suddenly become almost unbearably attractive at just a whiff of Desire, Mania, or Pi. I lived with one that wore Cool Water and no matter how hard I tried, he always creeped me out whenever he wore it. It's a common problem: "Oh, I guess he's cute, but he smells like -Tommy-."
I suppose I'm a bit of a snob. Time was, I could find the perfect fragrance for almost anyone within three tries. But now I've been out of the business almost a year, and I'm unable to muster more than a minimum interest in the dozens of new scents out every season. And I guess this makes me a classicist; not to the days of Toujours Moi or 4711 or even, god forbid, Hai Karate, but to the soft, sweet days of Esencia Duende and Reserve.
But in a strange, sad way, I miss being a real snob.