Discontinued Identity

If there is one thing that consumerism has taught me over the years, it’s this simple fact: if you love something, buy it in multiples. Finally find that pair of jeans that fit just right? Buy two pairs. That t-shirt with the perfect cut that makes your boobs look great but is also “work appropriate?” Yeah, get it in every color. Buy the rainbow. Why? Because the capitalist wheel keeps on spinning and that thing you love will be replaced by something newer and shinier tomorrow. And you'll find yourself waiting six years to buy jeans that aren't "skinny" or "jegging" cut. 

If you love something, don't let it go... stockpile it.
And guard it with a shark.

That being said, deodorant companies have only worsened my hoarding instinct over the years. As was the case of religion, politics, and music, I held the same views on deodorant as my mother until my teen years. She used the purple deodorant, so I used the purple deodorant. Nothing simpler than that: if it was good enough for my mama, it was alright by me. During my age of decisiveness, I opted to switch to a sweet strawberry scented teen brand of deo. My pits were a strawberry patch. I literally smelled of Teen Spirit. I was invincible. This continued (sorry, world) well into my college years.

Then one day, I went to the store, and it seemed they were out of stock. No worries, I had a second stick in my gym bag, that’d be fine till I could get to another store. A week later, a different store, no sign of it. It was then the horror struck: it had been discontinued. Panic set in as I ransacked store after store, gathering up the last precious sticks. Two. Two to last me a lifetime. I thought I could ration, but I knew it was no good and eventually switched back to the purple stick. My mom’s trusted brand that smelled like her, not me.

Resigned to having lackluster pits, smelling of “fresh scent” and not of strawberry fields forever, I instead found my identity in my body spray. Boys of that age were crisscrossing themselves with gallons of Axe, and girls made a point to only crush on gents who sported the scent of their favorite colored can.  Being too young for proper perfume, I turned to the vast collection at Bath and Body works and found my signature. A simple scent: Black Raspberry Vanilla. Anyone who knows me and has any inkling of what I smell like knows that my natural body scent is now actually this spray. I cross myself more times with this scent than my grandma does at church on Sundays (spritzing in the name of the Bath, the Body, and the Works). Needless to say, I go through it fairly swiftly.

I should’ve known that couldn’t last. And one day I found it lacking on the shelves at B&BW. Panicked, the lady explained it was temporary replaced with some new line. NEW LINE?? This scent was a SIMPLE classic. It’s like discontinuing apple! Or pear – which they should actually discontinue because it smells atrocious. But no, they took it out on my scent instead.

The next time I found it, I bought three bottles. The time after that, three more. The bottle kept changing, but I had a quiet little stockpile going. I saw they brought it back and I figured I was safe. But a recent trip back, with a coupon in hand, found that it was once again gone. Several attempts at other stores and it’s still lacking. Despite my dislike of ordering things online, I may soon turn to the internets, as it is apparently still in abundance in some hidden warehouse somewhere, slowly expiring, and if I don’t get my hands on it, it will be past the point of perfection and I will once again have to wander the world without my scent. Smelling of no one. A wisp of nothingness lingering about me.

Sigh.  I know I can’t BE forever young, but couldn’t the world at least let me smell like my youth for a little bit longer? Is that so much to ask?

Laissez les bons temps roulez... while you still can!
For the end is nigh.