After last night’s sociopathic Vanilla Fields/Peaceful Patchouli orgy, I found that I had some explaining to do to the clean, soapy little angel that sits, for the most part, meek and silent on my right-hand shoulder. “Cleanse yourself in the lather of simplicity,” she suggested. “Atone for the filthy olfactory sigil you created last night with no respect for the basic rights of your fellow man. Start fresh, and if I ever catch you messing with the patchouli again, the repercussions will be no one’s fault but your own.”
Well, okay. But only because it gives me the perfect excuse to crack open the 3-pack of Dial Gold bars I picked up at the dollar store last week in an attempt to bacterially discourage the bacne I get if I mess around with too many rich body creams (something I cannot help but do sometimes). Unwrapped, Dial Gold smells like Juicy Fruit gum and stainless virtue. It is delicious. If I were five, I’d eat it. At twenty-six, I still have a hard time talking myself out of it.
Lathered up in the shower, Dial Gold smells less like Juicy Fruit and more like the clean, gentle smell that my mind accepts unquestioningly as the smell of “soap.” But what, really, is the smell of soap? Like the scent of leather used in perfumery, the scent of soap is not the literal scent of the thing itself, but rather the chemical components used in processing for the exact purpose of making it smell like itself.
After my shower, I sat down with my bar of Dial Gold and attempted to figure it out. I get musk, rose, carnation, lily of the valley, some green vetiver/galbanum-y kind of thing, and then… soap. The thing that makes it smell like soap. I have no idea what it is. For example, what’s the Juicy Fruit accord? I don’t think it involves actual fruit notes, it’s more of a trompe l’oeil impression of the powder left on the foil wrapper of a stick of juicy fruit. It’s all very mysterious. According to the official Dial website, the soap has a “light clover fragrance” made up of “some 14 different oils.” Oh. Or it could just be that. Doesn’t “light clover fragrance” still sound kind of mysterious, though? Like they’ll never really tell? I think so.
I suppose I should just have faith in my fragrant shoulder-angel. She doesn’t speak up often, and when she does, she usually has some kind of point. So, Dial Soap and unscented Lubriderm for me today. And just a tiny bit of Hermes Caleche, the most goody-goody fragrance I have at my disposal. Have I atoned enough, yet?
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