Lately I’ve been reading some of my old vacation journals. The one I was reading yesterday featured a trip I took when I was seventeen and in it I made an offhand remark of the perfume I was wearing at the time.
When I think of my teenaged scent, Versace Red Jeans immediately comes to mind. (OK, OK—and also coffee at Home Cookin’, monotonous laps around the mall, and playground blowjobs.) I wore the shit out of that perfume. I remember the one time I went to Kauffman’s for a new bottle and I was elated, absolutely ebullient, when I learned that I was also getting a silver keychain as a free gift. Its length was about the size of my neck, so naturally I wore it as a choker.
But that’s not the perfume I was wearing on this trip, evidently. Instead, it was Champagne by Yves Saint Laurent. When I read that, I shouted, “I completely forgot I used to wear that!” like I had just remembered something life-altering about my past, and having the knowledge of it in the here and now would be the key element to my survival and by bedaubing my pressure points with it, I’ll finally be able to snap my fingers, understand football, and enjoy American Idol with the other 95% of the population who seem to depend on it to live.
I don’t remember what it smelled like, only that one of those pushy perfume spritzers pelted me with a damp cloud of it at one of the department stores the summer between junior and senior year and my nose found it pleasing enough to make me whip out mommy’s credit card with urgency.
So naturally, I ordered a bottle of it today. I’m not sure why, though. Maybe in hopes that it will trigger something and make me forget about everything that’s currently got me down? Because it might me remind me of Stefan, the Australian I had a crush on during that trip? (He was my first older man crush!) Who knows, but I hope I still like it, at least.
What scent did you wear in high school? No really, I need to know.