Let me start off by saying that I know nothing about the male fragrance industry, or the female fragrance industry for that matter. I can’t remember the last time I used cologne. I only use deodorant because my wife insists on it, but I have no idea what to buy. So I just tell my wife to get two of whatever she uses, and we keep the price tag on one while removing it on the other so that we know who’s deodorant is who’s.
But sometimes, it takes a novice to shake up an industry. That is my thinking as I write this post. If you’re too engulfed in your own field it can become impossible to think outside of the box, to come up with a brand new creative idea. What if you become the laughing stock of your industry? Your reputation will be ruined!
That is where I come in. DRAGONE. I have zero expertise in the male fragrance industry, and therefore am the perfect candidate for introducing a new, revolutionary, idea. Dear Mr. Fragrance Executive, I can be your Donald Trump.
I see lots of products out there that want to make me smell fresh, outdoorsy, clean. But that’s not what all women want. In fact, that is the opposite of what some women want. Let me demonstrate using my past personal dating history.
Julie B., if you’re reading this, you will recognize yourself. Sorry, but you know how I feel about authenticity. I remember once making out with you, in the early stages of our relationship, and you pulled back and said to me, “DRAGONE, I am sooooo turned on. The smell of beer and cigarettes takes me over the edge”.
It is at that moment that I pulled back and realized that you were only in fact half turned on since I don’t smoke. I also made a mental note to get pissed drunk with beer before each of our hot dates. Sorry but I just couldn’t inhale cigarette smoke, which is probably why you eventually broke up with me. But I also thought to myself, if I only I could have bottled the fragrance of beer and cigarettes, you could have been mine forever.
Then there was Cheryl R. Cheryl loved the scent of my natural body odor. After a particularly sweaty workout she would sniff my armpits as she tore off my muscle shirt. And it didn’t end there. She would also go wild sniffing my crotch. Her mouth would start foaming as she growled like a cougar in heat. Christ, it scared me. I’ve never let a woman go down there since. But I also made a mental note of the troubling olfactory turn-ons that sent Cheryl over the edge. If only I could have bottled that scent.
And then there was Ann-Marie. I forget her last name. But on that special 3rd date, as I was playing a CD of Leonard Cohen poetry (it’s a Canadian thing) she pulled up my shirt, lowered her head into my abdomen, and bit me as hard as she could. I screamed like the wounded dog that I was while she laughed at me and mocked me for being such a baby. Her teeth marks, along with a vicious blood-purple bruise, stayed with me for a month.
This last story has nothing to do with men’s fragrance, except that I just want to give whichever fragrance executive is reading this an idea of the type of woman we’re marketing to.
Mr. F. Executive, we have found each other just like I have found all of my past girlfriends, via the Internet. Except that I am not asking you for any monetary compensation. All I ask is that you name your product after me, DRAGONE.
The E on the end of DRAGONE is essential. That E will give our product a whiff of European sophistication (no pun intended). A fine coating of French vanilla crème brulle overtop of a giant American fluffy pancake. Because I, DRAGONE, upon first glance am a hairy and rugged bull. Well bulls aren’t very hairy, so maybe I’m a yak. But once you get close to me you will sense that I am accustomed to the finer things in life, just like it says on my dating profile. I guzzle beer topped up with champagne, I gorge myself with spaghetti dipped in a caviar sauce, and in the near future I look forward to dousing my face, armpits, and crotch with DRAGONE.
I kindly ask of you, Mr. F. Executive, “carpe diem” (translation: seize the day). I believe that this venture will give both of us that little kick in the pants, that “joie de voyeur” (translation: joy of peeping Tom). It may very well end up being our “raison d’etat” (translation: reason for overthrowing a government).
Just think about it, ok?