The Problem with Perfume...

By Robin 'Red Hot' Kaye


I have a problem with perfume—several problems actually. The first is, I’m desperately allergic to most of them. I avoid the fragrance aisles in department stores, I think those people who walk around with perfume spritzers are the devil incarnate, and I can’t shop at Hollister or even walk past Bed Bath & Beyond without a few puffs of my inhaler.

I was at a conference a few years ago where they asked the attendees not to wear perfume because there are people in the world, like me, who start wheezing and coughing when exposed to those who bathe in noxious scents. I sat two rows behind a woman who obviously had not gotten the memo and reeked of Ew d’ Putrescent. My throat closed, my bronchi constricted, and I began wheezing and coughing. I had to leave the workshop before it began, but even that didn’t help. The pungent perfume clung to my clothes and forced me back to my room for a quick wardrobe change. Two days later, my clothes still held that foul scent.

Don’t get me wrong, I adore perfume—well, the few I’ve found that I love and can wear without requiring a trip to the emergency room. When I find one, I covet it. I keep the beautiful bottles on the mirrored tray on my dresser, pull the cap off and take a sniff, and sigh in contentment. But I don’t wear them. Sure, if I go out for a special occasion, I’ll put it on, but how many special occasions do I get? Not enough. I’ve always thought that wearing perfume on a daily basis was a waste of money. The stuff certainly isn’t cheep.

There was one perfume that for some reason, I wore often: Trish McEvoy, 9, Blackberry and Vanilla Musk. I couldn’t help myself, I loved it that much. It was light and dark, decadent and soft. I bought a small bottle and used it all up, and for the past three years, I’ve saved the empty bottle—wanting to buy more, afraid I’d forget the name, the number, and heck, if I took the top off and sniffed really hard, I could still smell the scent. But with a family of five including three expensive teenagers and the turn in the economy, it was difficult to see the necessity of perfume. The empty bottle sat on my dresser.

Last Monday, on the way to drop my mother off at the airport after a wonderful weekend visit, we stopped at the mall to grab a bite to eat and ended up at Nordstrom’s Café. Now going into a mall with my mother is dangerous. If shopping were an art, my mom would be Monet. If she’s not working, she’s shopping—it’s been her life-long hobby. Over the years, she’s dragged me through every mall on the Eastern Seaboard and made me hate shopping. While at Nordstrom, I took a swing past the Trish McEvoy counter for a spritz of my favorite perfume, I asked the price and found they had a special on a gift box with a big bottle of 9, and a small bottle of 9 Sexy for the same price as one big bottle—what a bargain. I made a decision at that moment, that when I received my advance for my NAL contract, I would run back to Nordstrom and buy that gift set. It would be my one atta’ girl present to myself. It killed me to walk away without purchasing it–I was strong. But then, I was also with my mother. On our way out of Nordstrom, she purchased a sweater, turned to me and said, “I’ve got a present, so now you need one. Come on, let’s go back and get you that perfume.” I was floored and elated.

The next day I was getting dressed, looking at the beautiful bottles on my mirrored tray and thought, no, I won’t wear it because I don’t want to waste it and then I thought, how stupid is that? What good is having perfume if you don’t wear it? It’s like banking all your money and never spending it on anything but bills, never enjoying it. Not wearing make-up unless you’re going out-on-the-town. Not buying flowers unless you’re having company. I’ve decided that I’m going to literally and figuratively wear perfume every day, no matter what. I’ll do it for me. How can it be wasteful if I enjoy it? I just realized, after all these years, I’m worth it.