Vogue - part 1
Like many men, I have never looked inside an edition of Vogue.
Not even American Vogue because, apparently, there are many international editions and like McDonalds trying to appease the local market by introducing the McBlubber (Iceland), the McAntelope (Namibia) and the McSpitinyourbunyourcapitilistdog (N.Korea) each has its own take on fashion. American Vogue I imagine as glitzy and dizzy, like a cheerleader just about to stop vomiting because she has drunk too much and starting to vomit through an eating disorder. European Vogue has lots of little black dresses (apart from Italian Vogue, which has lots of big black dresses as worn by your mamma). Japanese Vogue probably has some totally weird manga shit happening and British Vogue is, basically, printed on tweed.
Not that I’m a stranger to a woman’s magazine. Oh no! I remember well one time at an ex-girlfriend’s place, chuckling to myself as I leafed through her Cosmo and noting that she had scored very low on the ‘are you ready for a relationship with somebody who still insists on playing Dungeons and Dragons with his mates one night a week’ quiz.
The next week, suddenly single, it wasn’t so bloody funny.
There are two reasons to love women’s magazines, the first is the personality quizzes (and the first question should always be ‘if you think this quiz will help you get through life, you need a) a dirty martini…NOW! b) a ride on a fairground ride, of any type, but one that pulls more Gs than NASA rate as safe is recommended and c) self-esteem). The second reason is scent strips.
Ever wondered why women always smell so good?
Men smell of the world. At least that part of the world that appears to be inhabited by rutting animals, scared animals, scared rutting animals, industry, steam engines, athletics, locker rooms, discount soap, teenage angst, laundry, fried food and, my own particular scent, a heady mixture of Star Wars and tears.
Women smell like…well…you know men are always doing that thing when they shove their nose in their loved one’s hair and just…inhale…the way that women do with laundry? Well, it’s not because we’ve got this thing for shampoo and it’s not because we’re weird (unless he’s a stranger). It’s because we can’t believe a human could smell that good.
I mean, if you saw a flying saucer having a space battle with a swarm of cyborg dolphins, on fire, you’d stare, no? That’s how alien the concept of smelling good is to men.
If we can drag enough of that smell into ourselves then maybe we can somehow purify ourselves – like that time you thought you could cure that hangover by sticking a garden hose in your mouth and trying to flush you hangover out of your pours through pressure (thank you, Harry Harrison for putting that thought in my head, ever since I’ve been soooooooooo tempted to see if it works).
But women’s magazines give some of the secret away and that secret is…scent strips! That’s right – scent strips. That stuff you buy your girlfriend or wife once in a while to make them smell purty, apparently they have people on magazine production lines spraying that stuff on pages and then gumming them shut at the factory, like camp umpa lumpas.
Christ, imagine that for a job – the guy that spritzes the scent strip? How long would it be before you wondered if that CCTV camera was a dummy and if it was time to do something fun, yet evil?
But that’s why women smell so good. An average woman buys what, forty or fifty glossy magazines a week? (She must do; I go to the news stand and there are THOUSANDS of the f**king things, so somebody must be buying them). So they have all of these scent strips. OK, so you start with some in the knicker draw, then the sock draw, then the…er, whatever draw (do women have things in draws, most of the women I know keep stuff on the floor or, judging by the errands I run, at the dry cleaners). But then you have more of them so; handbag, glasses case, anorak hood, purse, ipod keepie thingie, pockets, desk draw, gym locker, composter, CD case that was supposed to contain the original cast recording of ‘Oliver’, I mean, WTF! and, my personal favourite…sellotaped to me.
So that’s why women beguile. They smell nice because they surround themselves with strips of paper impregnated with musk. That, and they are made of sugar and spice and all things nice. Which I guess means bacon?
Not even American Vogue because, apparently, there are many international editions and like McDonalds trying to appease the local market by introducing the McBlubber (Iceland), the McAntelope (Namibia) and the McSpitinyourbunyourcapitilistdog (N.Korea) each has its own take on fashion. American Vogue I imagine as glitzy and dizzy, like a cheerleader just about to stop vomiting because she has drunk too much and starting to vomit through an eating disorder. European Vogue has lots of little black dresses (apart from Italian Vogue, which has lots of big black dresses as worn by your mamma). Japanese Vogue probably has some totally weird manga shit happening and British Vogue is, basically, printed on tweed.
Not that I’m a stranger to a woman’s magazine. Oh no! I remember well one time at an ex-girlfriend’s place, chuckling to myself as I leafed through her Cosmo and noting that she had scored very low on the ‘are you ready for a relationship with somebody who still insists on playing Dungeons and Dragons with his mates one night a week’ quiz.
The next week, suddenly single, it wasn’t so bloody funny.
There are two reasons to love women’s magazines, the first is the personality quizzes (and the first question should always be ‘if you think this quiz will help you get through life, you need a) a dirty martini…NOW! b) a ride on a fairground ride, of any type, but one that pulls more Gs than NASA rate as safe is recommended and c) self-esteem). The second reason is scent strips.
Ever wondered why women always smell so good?
Men smell of the world. At least that part of the world that appears to be inhabited by rutting animals, scared animals, scared rutting animals, industry, steam engines, athletics, locker rooms, discount soap, teenage angst, laundry, fried food and, my own particular scent, a heady mixture of Star Wars and tears.
Women smell like…well…you know men are always doing that thing when they shove their nose in their loved one’s hair and just…inhale…the way that women do with laundry? Well, it’s not because we’ve got this thing for shampoo and it’s not because we’re weird (unless he’s a stranger). It’s because we can’t believe a human could smell that good.
I mean, if you saw a flying saucer having a space battle with a swarm of cyborg dolphins, on fire, you’d stare, no? That’s how alien the concept of smelling good is to men.
If we can drag enough of that smell into ourselves then maybe we can somehow purify ourselves – like that time you thought you could cure that hangover by sticking a garden hose in your mouth and trying to flush you hangover out of your pours through pressure (thank you, Harry Harrison for putting that thought in my head, ever since I’ve been soooooooooo tempted to see if it works).
But women’s magazines give some of the secret away and that secret is…scent strips! That’s right – scent strips. That stuff you buy your girlfriend or wife once in a while to make them smell purty, apparently they have people on magazine production lines spraying that stuff on pages and then gumming them shut at the factory, like camp umpa lumpas.
Christ, imagine that for a job – the guy that spritzes the scent strip? How long would it be before you wondered if that CCTV camera was a dummy and if it was time to do something fun, yet evil?
But that’s why women smell so good. An average woman buys what, forty or fifty glossy magazines a week? (She must do; I go to the news stand and there are THOUSANDS of the f**king things, so somebody must be buying them). So they have all of these scent strips. OK, so you start with some in the knicker draw, then the sock draw, then the…er, whatever draw (do women have things in draws, most of the women I know keep stuff on the floor or, judging by the errands I run, at the dry cleaners). But then you have more of them so; handbag, glasses case, anorak hood, purse, ipod keepie thingie, pockets, desk draw, gym locker, composter, CD case that was supposed to contain the original cast recording of ‘Oliver’, I mean, WTF! and, my personal favourite…sellotaped to me.
So that’s why women beguile. They smell nice because they surround themselves with strips of paper impregnated with musk. That, and they are made of sugar and spice and all things nice. Which I guess means bacon?
Labels: Fashion, Magazines, Media, Perfume, Scent, Smell, Vogue, Women
