The Smell of Cheap: Drugstore Perfumes
Buying perfume was the first grown-up purchase I made. I wasn’t allowed makeup and I was terrible at putting on nail polish, but around the same time as puberty was (supposedly) starting to kick in, I bought a bottle of perfume. Bottle may be a bit of an exaggeration, actually. It came in an pocket-sized aluminum cylinder and was sprayed, like bathroom disinfectant, with an aerosol depressor. It was technically a “body spray” which I felt like would make it less egregious to my mother for whom any indications that I was rapidly aging out of the “easily controlled” stage of life were met with tremendous, shouty resistance. I didn’t actually buy this particular concoction at the drugstore, but it was brought up recently on a seafaring vessel on what may be the worst-smelling body of water in the world, The East River. The stench was inspiring and caused me and my companions to dredge up the corpse-like memories of cheapo perfumes past.
Charlie
Charlie Blue
This brand with three separate fragrances (Charlie White, Charlie Red and Charlie Blue) was the sponsorship cash cow of the 1990s MTV VJ known simply as Duff. She was their spokes-model, strutting around in clothes that matched the colors on the perfume’s label, being the sassy, approachable, outgoing woman of the 90s we were meant to aspire to. I had this perfume; it smelled like old, wizened, bowling alley prostitutes. What kind of Charlie girl are YOU?
Malibu Musk
Now this particular fragrance had, if the name didn’t reveal it, a decidedly West Coast feel. It was meant to evoke the sensation of being tan, and cruising at a tremendous speed down the canyon highways in an open-topped Jeep, the California wind blowing through your crimped blond hair. The overall design concept seems to have been lifted from the opening credits of saved by the bell. It smells like those candles that smelled like strippers, but I kinda want to find it on eBay.
Love’s Baby Soft
Creepy, no?
Okay, this was the one I really wanted. Not least of which was because of the ad (which I can’t find on this miserable excuse for an information superhighway) which was like this Jake Ryan looking dude who’s supposedly giving an account of his date and he says: “The best part of the movie, was when Ashley (Ed. Note: !!!!!!) put her head on my shoulder. She smelled so good…blah, blah, blah.” The point of the whole thing was that her name was Ashley and she had made some dude want to date her. This was what I was after. I was sure that I was the kind of girl who would make a guy forget every single thing about what we were watching with my subtle, sensual fragrance. So I bought it when I was thirteen after school at the CVS. The next day I sprayed it on before school. When I got into the car my dad sniffed the air for a moment before asking “What stinks?”
ex’cla-ma’tion
One of Coty’s mad creations, this perfume’s ad campaign encouraged you to “make a statement, without saying a word!” The packaging was genius. The fragrance was utterly forgettable, but from looking at the ad campaign I’m guessing it smelled like the bathroom of an ostentatious banquet hall on Staten Island. I hope I never find out if I’m right.
Windsong
There’s nothing to say about this particular fragrance other than it comes in an aerosol can and had maybe the most ridiculously earnest television ad campaign in the history of canned fragrance, illustrating the divine and unique passion that a steelworker feels for a bicyclist. This set me up for major romantic disappoint in virtually all my dealings with steel workers. Curse you, Prince Matchabelli, you romantic bastard.
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