Sometimes these new body care fragrances simply make no scents.
There have always been low-end societal benchmarks where envelope-pushing reaches a hard wall of pragmatism. We might have a remote control for a lamp that is four feet from our chair, but a remote control for anything closer than that — a laptop computer, for instance — would just be silly and the public will never go for it.
I had always assumed this to be the case with the introduction of bubble gum fragrance into personal care products. Sure, there have been coconut in the suntan lotion and bananas in the hand lotion, but bubble gum had to be the end of the line, right?
It was the first processed quasi-foodstuff to make it into the shampoo, and young girls went for it, I guess, because they felt it would remind young boys of Cal Ripken.
But I was wrong as usual, as The Washington Post’s food-terns writer Emily Heil explains:
“The chance to slather yourself with the scent of Thin Mints and their sister confections has arrived: The Girl Scouts of the USA is partnering with the personal-care brand Native for a newly launched line of shampoos, conditioners, body washes and — yep — deodorants inspired by some of the Scouts’ most famous cookies.”
On reading this, I did what any normal person would do: I checked the calendar — but it was not April 1.
Maybe this will take off; I never thought I’d live in a world where 23-year-olds make earnest, 10-minute videos about organizing their glove compartments, but here we are.
I just can’t imagine a J.P. Morgan Chase board meeting where someone sniffs the air and asks, “Who’s wearing Caramel deLites Samoas?”
“Not me, I’ve got on Peanut Butter Patties.”
Peanut Butter deodorant, oy. You’ll be able to tell who’s wearing that in Central Park — they’ll be the ones covered with squirrels.
So what exactly is the benefit of walking around smelling like a suet cake? Nothing. I know it borders on being anti-American, but I have to confess: Ineverlikedgirlscoutcookies.
I’m told they were good to begin with and they’re better now, but I grew up in the Girl Scout Cookie dead-ball era when they all tasted like sweetened poker chips.
I’d see a Seventh Day Adventist or a Girl Scout coming up the walk and I’d be in the basement faster than a CBS Sports camera can focus on Taylor Swift. Matter of fact, I don’t remember that they smelled like much of anything at all — which, all things considered, might be a blessing.
If cornered, I would stare at the long list of baked offerings like a hyena perusing the menu at a vegan restaurant trying to find something, anything, that would be employable as anything more than a drink coaster.
Ms. Heil agrees that shampoo is no place for Trefoils, but suggests there’s something even more sinister going on, something called “food collab.”
“For years, brand executives have been crossbreeding beloved foods with every manner of consumer products with all the fervor of a lab full of mad geneticists,” she writes. “These are the demented minds that brought us products that literally no one even thought to ask for: Oscar Mayer face masks, Kraft Mac & Cheese ice cream, Velveeta-scented nail polish.”
For years? I’ll be darned. Somehow I wasn’t included in the focus group, because this was news to me. It’s not like I’m standing in line at Walgreens buying face masks and nail polish, but you would think the ice cream might have been on my radar.
Purses are made to resemble bags of Lays potato chips; vodka is flavored with Arby’s french fries; Barefoot wine tastes of Oreos; the “Barbie” movie em-pinkened products from ice cream to (urgh) hamburgers.
These oddballs are breathlessly released in “limited editions,” for people who buy before they think. And this is America, so if French’s mustard-flavored Skittles (really) are appealing, knock yourself out.
But in my view, sometimes less is S’more.
Tim Rowland is a Herald-Mail columnist.
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This article originally appeared on The Herald-Mail: 'Food collab' can result in some weird food-flavored products
