The Scent of Selling Out

I find it quite comical that as a self-proclaimed punk rock princess, Avril Lavigne hasn’t found the time to create any songs worth subjecting my ears to as of late, yet she’s cleared her schedule to make enough room to release three perfumes. Do punks even wear perfume? Do they even shower? My guess is that Avril was motivated to create fragrances by the fear of losing her Hollywood boo, Brody Jenner. “If I smell nice, maybe he’ll ignore the fact that that my outfits always look like a blind person put them together.” But, as much as I’d love to share my utter disgust over Arvil’s wardrobe choices, I’m here to discuss her perfumes. While she has three (yes, three) today I’m reviewing her latest scent, ‘Forbidden Rose.’

To kick things off, I think the name choice is foolish. I buy and use perfume to enhance my own naturally fabulous scent; a perfume built upon a forbidden concept isn’t exactly appealing to me. Could I not cut my bank account a break and douse myself in bleach, gas or pepper spray? No, because then I would smell as if someone vomited all over me. While some may find the ‘forbidden’ angle enticing or compelling, I like to play it safe when it comes to my personal odor.

My thoughts on the design of the bottle are as follows: it is a complete rip-off of Vera Wang’s ‘Lovestruck.’ Avril didn’t even bother trying to branch out from Vera’s concept; she copied the bottle and was clearly too lazy to do anything more than choosing a punk-inspired palette of purple and black. Newsflash Avril: you suck.  As for the perfume itself, it smells like a bouquet of red roses that has been soaked in cat urine for an extensive period of time. If I had to guess the type of person willing to actually invest in this perfume, I would have to say a creepy, Twilight-obsessed teenage girl who religiously draws a tear drop on her cheek with black eyeliner every morning. It’s bad enough when Avril shows up on Much Music every once in awhile; I certainly do not need to be reminded of her unfortunate existence every time I get ready to leave the house.   

In my opinion, Paris Hilton serves absolutely no purpose on this planet whatsoever, thus making it exceptionally difficult for me to comprehend the existence of her numerous fragrances. How does one individual, with an education equivalent to that of a squirrel, score herself close to a dozen contracts for different fragrances? It is entirely mind-boggling and a question to which I unfortunately do not have an answer. I can tell you, however, that this particular perfume called ‘Fairy Dust,’ smells like the body sprays for sale in the soap aisle at drugstores - dirty and cheap. We have to ask ourselves though, what could we possibly expect from someone whose brain is filled with nothing but dust and hairspray? I certainly pity the fool who agreed to go through with not one, but fourteen perfume contracts with this blonde clown.

While the design of the actual bottle doesn’t bother me, I am especially annoyed with the advertising campaigns for ‘Fairy Dust.’ They feature Paris Hilton dressed as a slutty fairy. Last time I checked, fairies do not exist, making it highly unlikely that hooker versions too. She is wearing next to nothing and appears to be levitating amongst what I can only assume is fairy dust. The concept is so original and innovative, I almost lost my breath. Oh wait, that was when I actually smelt it and nearly choked on its wretchedness. Its scent lingers somewhere between Mr. Clean and withering roses. There is absolutely nothing magical or mystical about this supernatural-inspired scent. The only time I can imagine myself subjecting my delicate skin to this venom is if I went swimming in a pool of shit and didn’t want anyone to know; ‘Fairy Dust’ would do wonders in masking the smell of feces . In conclusion, I encourage Paris Hilton to tackle projects that complement her skill set, which although limited, include texting, tanning and getting sent to jail.

I’d by lying if I didn’t admit to having the world’s biggest girl crush on Beyonce. She is phenomenal in every way imaginable - her voice, her body, her beauty, her boo (can I get an encore?); she is simply fabulous, from head to toe. What isn’t so fabulous, however, is her latest fragrance. Yes, ‘latest’ meaning the woman has more than one. If you’re like me, you’re probably wondering when the hell the others were even released, let alone this one. Well, let me tell you something, the woman moves fast (as the world witnessed with her lightning-speed baby bump). Anyways, back to this toxic liquid for which people actually pay money. The songstress decided to call her newest scent ‘Pulse.’ If the design of the bottle didn’t look like a dildo, I wouldn’t have a problem with its name, however the resemblance is uncanny and this makes me feel really uncomfortable. Who wants to spritz themselves with dildo juice? Not me, that’s for sure. I see no logical explanation for the shape of the bottle, and coupled with the fragrance’s name, it makes for a seriously curious combo.

My critical analysis of the dildo’s contents shall be short and sweet: it’s downright vomit-inducing. ‘Pulse,’ as described online, was created using floral and citrus components, including Beyonce’s favorite flower, the orchid. The only two things my little nose detected however, were baby powder and mold. And to make matters worse, it was very difficult to experience the smell with only one or two sprays; I had to really douse one of the cosmetician’s business cards to truly understand just how foul ‘Pusle’ smelt. Once the stench sunk in, I immediately wanted to die. I recall being hungry upon testing it out; my appetite has yet to return. While Beyonce may be topping the charts with her undeniably catchy lyrics and captivating voice, she is slowly killing innocent humans with her sex toy-inspired scent. This perfume did not make me feel feminine, powerful or irresistible as the advertisements promised. My guess is that big man Hova had absolutely nothing to do with the creation, design or marketing of this disappointing product. Onto the next one…. 

One of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made in my life was in Grade 11, when I purchased Shania Twain’s ‘The Will of a Woman’ perfume for my mother for Christmas. As a cashier at Shoppers Drug Mart at the time, I received a thirty percent discount and thought this was a pretty awesome deal; I would be updating my mother’s archaic beauty routine while scoring points as a thoughtful daughter and saving money to boot.

Anyways, long story short, I didn’t bother smelling the perfume before buying it for my mother; it came in an attractive gift set featuring both a body wash and a lotion, and seeing as my mother probably hadn’t bought herself a new perfume since 1996, I figured she wouldn’t be too picky. Turns out the perfume smelt almost identical to diarrhea, and to make matters even worse, my mother loved it. She couldn’t get enough of it and to this day, checks any Shoppers she visits to “stock up” on her favorite scent (gag).

To give you a proper idea of what the country singer’s signature scent smells like, I want you to conjure up an image of a drunk, slutty cowgirl (just take a look at the perfume’s campaign poster if you’re having trouble). It’s a god-awful combination of muskiness and vanilla that could easily be perceived as classy or timeless but let me be perfectly clear: Shania’s scent should never be described as those two things. It hurts my nose and my heart. I am saddened that my mother has taken to such a nasty scent, and even more heartbroken over the fact that it is entirely my fault. To make matters worse, I’m pretty sure Shania created a second scent, but luckily for me, my mother has yet to succeed in making that discovery.

As a shameless ‘belieber,’ I was ecstatic when I heard the Biebs was releasing his own fragrance, and even more ecstatic when I learned it was for women. I chose to ignore the fact that the bottle was a plastic, cheaper-looking version of ‘Oh, Lola!’ by Marc Jacobs while preparing myself to be lost in what I was hoping to be a fragrance as dreamy and heavenly as its creator (like I said before, shamelessly infatuated). After dousing my left wrist in ‘Someday’ I was shocked to find myself registering not a single anchored reaction. I wasn’t overcome with joy, I didn’t want to throw up, I didn’t want to throw the bottle against the wall – I simply didn’t feel anything. I am someone who makes snap decisions when it comes to determining whether I am for or against something, be it a person, food, your ugly new haircut or that disgusting eye shadow you chose to wear to prom, so my lack of reaction was highly unusual.

I decided to spray it on a business card of one of the cosmeticians to resolve my troublesome situation.  I came to the conclusion that it smelt like something a little girl would use when playing dress-up – that overbearing floral aroma. It didn’t make me gag but it also didn’t leave me wanting to walk out of the store smelling like a child prostitute.  Regardless of my opinion, ‘Someday’ will likely continue to fly off the shelves due to the fact that, as a product, it was built for the quintessential Justin Bieber fan – a young girl with no interest of actually smelling good, but to only get one dollar closer to meeting the Biebs.

I don’t really understand the appeal surrounding Taylor Swift; her songs all sound the same, her hair color is the definition of mousey blonde and she’s been romantically linked to some questionable Disney stars. That this young pop sensation decided to create a signature scent is altogether confusing and troubling. So she’s had her heart broken a dozen or so times and sings about it while flying over an arena of screaming girls, but does that really mandate the release of a perfume? Well, apparently it does, hence the existence of ‘Wonderstruck.’

I’m going to refrain from commenting on the actual name of Taylor Swift’s fragrance because it simply infuriates me; apparently it has something to do with the precise moment you realize you’ve fallen deeply in love with another individual – ew, spare me, I just puked on myself. Anyways, there is absolutely nothing enchanting or magical about this perfume. The bottle, with an overload of gold sparkles and heinous keepsake charm bracelet-type thing, looks as if were created by a group of severely artistically challenged tweens at an all-girls camp.

Any chance the fragrance had of redeeming its unfortunate first impression was thwarted the instant I actually experienced its toxic scent. If you’re wondering how bad it really was, just picture a strong smell of vanilla icing coupled with hand sanitizer. Taylor may have victoriously indoctrinated young girls all over America, but I refuse to support this fragrance, its ghastly scent and what it stands for.

Everything about Kim Kardahsian’s first fragrance, ‘Kim Kardashian,’ reminds me of a stripper, or a hooker. From its glossy black and pink bottle to its uninventive name, this perfume is almost as paralyzing as that song she produced with The Dream. While Kim may have grounds for launching her own scent – having starred in her own sex tape, sharing a clothing line with her sisters at Sears and marrying a mediocre professional basketball player – no human on this planet should have to endure wearing, let alone paying money for this product.

I can’t deny the fact that I was super excited to test out Kim’s first perfume; I am, after all, completely infatuated with the entire Kardashian clan (including the Jenner members). However, I have to confess that it was gag at first whiff, the liquid in that shiny black bottle smells like expired Fructis shampoo. If the immediate aroma of old lady doesn’t make you gag, then the undertones of foul lilac will.  With that being said, I am extremely troubled over the idea of someone spending his or her hard-earned money on this perfume. And to all the males reading this, if you plan on marrying or continuing to date your current girlfriend, don’t even consider purchasing ‘Kim Kardashian’ as a gift for your significant other; it will send a very clear message that you either a) hate her or b) have exceedingly horrible taste and would make for a regrettable choice as a life partner. In conclusion, I encourage Kim Kardashian to stick to reality television and managing Kendal’s modeling career.