One would think that after teasing America's youth with flyingtoys that do not actually fly, they would be satisfied.Nevertheless, those crazy marketing folk are at it again. Only thistime, they are teasing America's very essence, no pun intended.
The day came, as it has been known to do from time to time, inwhich I needed a new tube of deodorant. According to extensivestudies conducted by myself, an avid deodorant user, a standard2.6-ounce stick of soft, solid deodorant (as opposed to the solidvariety that crumbles into 15 bazillion pieces when your bestfriend drops it from the window of the school bus in the eighthgrade) lasts two to three months.
This is clearly enough time for one to tire of smelling"shower," "April" or "spring" fresh, and most will opt for aspontaneous switch of scent.
Marketing majors, hear me now: When sitting around the tablewith your colleagues thinking of names for scents, please chooseidentifiable, familiar odors that do not force a consumer to standin the deodorant aisle playing the endless game of sniff 'n'compare.
Since I purchased my last super-value pack of deodorant, Secret,the brand name of choice, had reevaluated its range of scents.Instead of the standard "powder fresh," the scent I have used sinceI was old enough to stink, there was "tropical satin," "botanicalsilk" and "velvet powder."
Perhaps I am alone, but I have never had a close encounter withtropical satin, botanical silk or velvet powder, thus I am unableto judge their scents based only on a colored triangle on thecorner of the label. So, like any assertive consumer, I opened atube of each scent and unknowingly entered an uncharted olfactorywonderland.
Not at all surprisingly, the scents were remarkably similar.This opinion does not come from a marketing-oriented standpointthough, so I am sure there are differences abounding betweentropical satin and velvet powder. I went with the latter simplybecause I was afraid someone would approach me and ask me topurchase deodorant and/or leave or if I was trying to get a contactbuzz from deodorant.
These crazy aromas do not end at deodorant, I'm afraid. Whiledoing my laundry recently, I learned that my detergent has thescent of "after the rain." Not only does it not smell anything likerain or its aftermath, but nothing except air, on rare occasions,has a pleasant smell after it rains. Purex might as well developfragrances like "feet" and "after the skunk is hit by a van."
As opposed to the previous method of choosing a scent thatsmells good only occasionally, the drier-sheet marketing folk chosea vague scent, "fresh," which applies to any number of things,including dry laundry, fruit, bread and the Prince of Bel-Air.
One must ask if these bizarre trends will continue. I speculatethat the current fragrances might give us, as consumers, a whiff ofthe future.
I have a strange feeling it will smell like feet.
Write to Aleshia at aahaseldon@bsu.edu