In Which It Is Wrong To Want More

Based Notes

by SARAH WAMBOLD

CK One is as close to the scent of man as anything, second only to the inside of Goodwill.

Its chemistry closes the gap between men and women, like a liquid force field that attracts and then blurs any distinguishing physical characteristics. The most mysterious of the senses, our sense of smell unlocks an unseen guide within us, steering us toward or away from whatever is afloat. The power of this perfume lies in the pervasiveness of the fragrance and within its iconic ads.

It’s not easy to change the world through perfume, so it’s necessary to set up intrigue by commodifying a culture. Heroin chic was the perfect choice for CK One; a slightly dangerous, androgynous image that flaunted its boredom. Gender equality achieved through not paying attention. The vapid lifestyle of implied substance abuse was almost a reflection of the consumer who wanted to smell like everyone else.

Between its launch in 1994 and 2002, CK One was everywhere and the world felt generally more secure in itself. It has maintained good reviews while becoming the Facebook of perfume, a tool everyone can use to stay connected to the past.

I’m not afraid to admit that 97-98 were a couple of the best years of my life. I was in Junior High, had received my first rejection letter from the popular group and learned to officially not give a fuck. It was when my personality was at its purest, when my heart was as open as it’s ever been.

Kids at that age reek of organ growth; their base notes a mix of sour lemon and antiperspirant, with a singular top note of Winterfresh gum. Just learning then that scents can cover up or cast a spell of emotions, all interactions with chemicals are an experiment in getting attention or deflecting it. Even the spectacular failures leave quite an impression.

CK One smelled strong around necklines in my junior high and even though I got close, it never rubbed off. Outside of the bottle, CK One fit perfectly in the status quo; an inoffensive upper of a perfume. This was the odor of trendiness, of peer pressure, of groupthink. One spritz left you out of whatever might be considered foul. Rejecting the blandness I sought out my own toxic pleasure. I found Gucci Rush. It smells like fire, is adult in the porniest sense of the word and something I’d still wear today if I had any confidence.

Unlike the odor of shampoo, body spray or air fresheners, a perfume of any note gives the impression that time was invested and then suspends it for a bit. To be associated with a brilliant scent is to hold a power that can’t be underestimated. When the wind carries nostalgia, even the most forgotten about person on the planet becomes a rare and valuable fragrance.

Without the nose, we wouldn’t know we were alive. Science would be meaningless. It wouldn’t occur to anyone to eat fruit. No one would shower. Life doles out scents with indifference and we apply the logic. We make them say one thing while we do another. Over time their meaning changes. By high school, CK One was a sweet-smelling time machine and the world had moved onto J.LO Glow. The next four years wore on longer than anyone cared to remember.

Sarah Wambold is the senior contributor to This Recording. She is a writer living in Austin. You can find her twitter here. She last wrote in these pages about Grant Wood. You can find an archive of her writing on This Recording here.

Paintings by Jean Dubuffet.

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