I dislike manufactured scent.
Fresh coffee, honest sweat and the tears of a kicked child; these are the sort of odors I enjoy. I dislike the stink that I routinely find in my shampoo. The smells that you can buy for their own sake are cloying and revolting. The people who wear them even more so. The only thing lower than a woman who wears too much perfume is a man who wears too much cologne.
There is nothing worse than some gelled up douchebag, dress shirt untucked and unbuttoned, blazer worn with jeans and jeans with dress shoes, stinking like a regency fop while strutting about the street in an alcohol-induced, sex-mad stupor. Colognes have an awful smell and men should not wear them. Men should smell like smoke, booze, leather and sweat. Like a drunken cowboy. Or a leather daddy.
If there is anything worse than a cologne-wearing man (I am not so bold as to suggest that there is) it would be the scented candle. They usually reek of fruit and often smell worse than the fecal stink they were designed to mask.
I cannot understand or sanction their recreational use.
Burning candles to relax in the bath is the sort of eccentricity one must occasionally tolerate from a woman. (It’s just the sort of stupid bullshit that makes them so lovable.) But a man has no business doing this. If you ever catch yourself sniffing candles at The Body Shop, you should hand in your testicles at the door. The Body Shop actually has a booth for that.
Having said all this, I must confess — I like the look of these Modern Alchemy Candles. “Speak Easy” promises to smell like gin, pipe tobacco and wood. Basically my living room. “Tincture of Winchester” is wood stock, 19th century lacquer and smoky gunpowder. And, if you fancy yourself as an intellectual, you could always go for “Ex Libris,” which is leather bound volumes of handmade paper and parchment.
They’re still scented candles but they beat the hell out of lavender. Anything would.