They say you can tell a lot about a man by his shoes. Bollocks! (How very appropriate.) I say his fragrance is far more telling than those pimpin’ alligator skin shoes or that manky pair of Dunlop Volleys he can’t bear to part ways with.
Not one to generalise (okay, maybe a teeny weeny bit), for me, every man I’ve ever met, fits perfectly into the four broad(ish) types of fragrances: floral, oriental, woody and fresh.
To illustrate this point, let me take you, dear reader, for a stroll down ol’ memory lane. Turn left at the flashing red warning sign saying ‘WRONG WAY. TURN BACK.’ Shimmy your booty behind that fluoro-yellow barrier tape and that’s where we’ll find the ghosts of boyfriends past.
CUE: creepy sound effect…
Let’s see, first there was Simon The Writer*. He set the benchmark for all boyfriends to come. He was a magician. He’d pull rabbits out of hats and magically make rainbows appear. Slight exaggeration. He’d spritz himself (and his love letters) with Donna Karan DKNY’s floral-y DKNY men.
…EVERY MAN I’VE EVER MET, FITS PERFECTLY INTO THE
FOUR BROAD(ISH) TYPES OF FRAGRANCES…
Ahhh Max*. Outgoing with a serious case of FOMO (Fear of Missing Out). He takes out the title for Lovable Rouge. I’d find him dousing himself (in front of a mirror, winking at himself simultaneously clicking his fingers, no less) in oriental spicy scents like Allure Homme by Chanel or Ralph Lauren’s Purple Label.
Next up, Johnny*. Oh Johnny! Sweet. Funny. Sexy. Charismatic. Adventurous. I couldn’t help but take the bait. I fell. Thwack! Hard. Sure, it was never going to last but it sure was one helluva ride! He’d jump around from Halston z-14 to Kenneth Cole’s Black. And for special occasions it was always Christian Dior’s Woody Dior Homme Intense. ‘Nuff said.
And lastly how could I forget Tom*? Tom was the very definition of a cat on a hot tin roof. He had a notepad of crazy hair-brained schemes that were going to make him gazillions. He was always bouncing off walls. And between girls. Needless to say, it didn’t last very long. When he remembered to wear any, it was L’Eau d’Issey’s fresh Pour Homme.
And that, Ladies concludes my tour down memory lane.
But remember, there’s always an exception to the How-To-Tell-A-Man-By-His-Scent rule: if you come home one day to find your man dripping in Chanel no.5, (Hello Phillip*), then run. Parading around in your Louboutins might be a dead giveaway too! MC
*No boyfriends were harmed in writing this story. Honest. Although…there might be some bruised egos. Please note: all names have been changed to protect the identity of any boyfriends mentioned.