I had an interesting sensory experience with this.
I was at a New Year’s party, in a fantastic Barbican flat with great view over the London midnight fireworks.
The hosts had cooked a wonderful roast venison, and the air was replete with the warm, woozy smells of the Christmas period and the first few guests intermingling over wine.
And then the host’s daughter walked in and sucked the life from the room.
At first, I didn’t notice the slow changes taking place as the fragrance spread, but then I realized that I was starting to feel depressed and that, like the aluminium flakes used to soak up raincloads, something was happening to the atmosphere: a dessicating, chemical dry-out that sapped all the colours and moods and replaced them with something…horrible, artificial, almost….deadly.
I felt like I had been transported to an airtight departure gate with grey plastic chairs.
Or was it a car showroom?
I could taste it in my mouth: thin, harsh, lemonic metal; my serotonin dipping, my good mood draining from my pores…
And then I realized it was the the scent this girl was wearing; so I asked her, and she told me:
’Oh, it’s Happy, For Men.’