Some guys are all about smelling the same way all the time. You know, they buy the same deodorant, the same cologn or aftershave. People who know them are comforted by the sameness, the sense that the person they know is encapsulated by an odor that surrounds them like invisible moths.
My dad is an Old Spice guy. Father's Day has always been a cake walk with him. For myself, I prefer to mix it up. More than that, I like to be a little strange.
On a Monday, maybe I'll choose Play-Doh as a scent. You can really buy that. Look it up. It comes in a bottle and everything. And that's nice, but something you can pour out of a bottle is too easy. If I do Play-Doh on Monday then I'll do something like Taco Time Mexi-fries on Tuesday. That's harder than it sounds. You can't just eat a bag of Mexi-fries and call it good. You can't let your breath do all the work, that's cheating. No, your whole body has to smell like Taco Time Mexi-fries. Your whole freaking body!
I make a soap.
The number of smells available to you when you embrace the rejection of distinctive smell is only limited by your imagination. Summertime Storm is nice, but so is New Car or Rodeo Clown. On Saturdays I like to get really crazy, so if you see me on a Saturday you might smell Burnt Asparagus or Lunchroom Corn.
Yeah, when I was in high school Elsha was all the rage. I've moved on.
Forget about having a distinctive smell . . . eh.