Creating a Stink

I wear patchouli. If you wear patchouli, you need not read this… you already know.

There are only two reactions to patchouli. You either love it or you hate it. It either smells earthy, sexy, “somehow familiar”; or it smells like wet dog or wet, dirty socks.

I have had every reaction to my essence. Everything from, “Oh, my God, you smell so good! That reminds me of…” to “What in the hell is that smell? Oh, my God, what is that smell? I’m going to pass out!!”

I’ve always worked with the public so it was a dicey thing for me to wear patchouli. For these occasions, I cut it with jasmine. I don’t like jasmine. On its own, it smells like bug repellent to me. However, when mixed with patchouli, it smells like one of those import stores that you just love to walk into and browse, try on the batiks, laugh at the fertility symbols, stare at the skulls and wonder if they are real, contemplate buying some new variety of Nag Champa, and wish you could fit into the cool belly dancing outfit. It is the quintessential smell of Hippydom.

Or, it smells like moldy socks sprayed with Febreze.

I had a friend tell me my essence smelled like “a lesbian love potion.” Oooh..kay! Most certainly, it has not drawn the lesbians TO me however one’s gaydar does not have to be tuned in to make your senses stand and take notice. “Oh, she smells like a lesbian.” Whatever that is… Most of the lesbians I’ve met smell like CK1 or some other men’s cologne which I don’t get… not at all. But, hey, to each their own. Maybe my friend was hitting on me and I didn’t know it. Now, THAT makes more sense to me! (And is very deserving of an eye roll.)

I had a boss who absolutely hated patchouli. Finally, one day, she let that little tidbit slip. She went into a long tirade about how she really loves working with me but I give her a headache. I had no idea what she was talking about as I couldn’t smell anything at all. I haven’t worn patchouli in at least three days. “Well, it lingers.” I figure she’s just talking in her usual passive-aggressive-code. I took a survey; “Excuse me, employee number 98563214, can you smell me coming and going whilst I work?” “Duh. I even know where you’ve been a day later.” This was the most common response.

I decided I needed to dabble versus douse.

Wearing patchouli is an art. Wearing patchouli is a skill. Wearing patchouli requires a black belt and a thick skin.

I was standing in front of a bookcase at work one day when a man walked up to me, sniffed me, and said, “You smell like sex.” Whoa…this guy had some serious olfactory issues. Then I realized he had a mustache. I bit my tongue, grimaced, and briskly walked away. He followed. It wasn’t hard for him to find me… he just followed his nose, or, um, his mustache. I was standing in front of a display of cookbooks, concentrating on the alphabet, when he walked up directly behind me and gave me a little bump in the back. Now, I’m not a person prone to violence but I know how to use my mother’s look. I shot it at him and said incredulously, “Excuse Me?!” He cocked his eyebrow and licked his lips. God, I wish I was wearing a purse that day. Finally, I threatened to call security. He left immediately. Later that day, I saw him hanging around in Claire’s Boutique. He was hanging on the counter, leaning into a sixteen year old, appearing to be sniffing her as she was getting her ear pierced. She whacked him and yelled, “OH MY GOD!! YOU F**ING CREEP!” That’s what I should have done. I should have whacked him.

I’ve run into people, friends even, whom I hadn’t seen for a long time and they all say the same thing every time. “Wow, I forgot how distinctive your perfume is.” I’m never really sure how to take this but give them a big ol’ patchouli-hug, anyway.

One time, one of my employees came into work reeking of patchouli. Some people can wear it; others cannot. I began to reflect, through watering eyes, how other people must feel when I wear patchouli. No, I do not smell like that, I decide. I only dabble. After three or four days of the entire store smelling like disinfectant, I decided to approach him and ask him about his new “fragrance.” He tells me it’s patchouli. (Duh.) I asked him how much he puts on and where he puts it. He tells me that he shakes the bottle over the top of his head. I think I accidentally said, “OH MOTHER OF GOD! NO WONDER!” I said it way too loud for our conversation. It was at this point that I gave him some tips: 1. Never pour. 2. Put your finger over the hole in the bottle and let the oil touch the tip of your finger. 3. Scrape a little back into the bottle. 4. Dab it on the inner crease of your elbow, your wrist, the sweaty part on your neck, and then rub your fingers lightly over your clothes. I explain to him that the essence of patchouli will reactivate when he sweats. He made a face like he was totally grossed out. He smiled and thanked me for being the ONLY one to let him know he reeked. He never wore it to work again. I think if the other employees knew, they would have thanked me.

I wear patchouli.
Love me, hate me; I don’t care.
Just don’t walk up and sniff me… unless I like you.