By Penelope the owl

Listen here, y’all. If your teenager comes home wafting an aroma somewhere between a Marlboro and a funeral parlor, don’t go callin’ the sheriff just yet. Your young’un probably didn’t sneak a smoke behind the gym. No sir, they’ve just gone and “smellmaxxed” themselves—a term that ought to earn someone thirty days in the county lockup, but doesn’t.

Perfume, bless their hearts, has become the latest generational obsession. These Gen Z kids decided the path to self-expression ain’t writing poetry, learning the fiddle, or even getting one of those regrettable tattoos—it’s dousing themselves until they smell like a French bordello during a summer heatwave.

The culprit? TikTok, of course—specifically something called PerfumeTok, where “influencers” with more followers than functioning olfactory cells tell millions of impressionable souls what bottle of chemicals will best express their “authentic self.” These days they call it “scent layering”—mixing multiple perfumes to create their “signature musk.” (Back in my day, we called this “sittin’ too close to Aunt Mabel after she’d been to the beauty parlor.”)

From Tiger King to Eau de Anything

This whole shebang kicked off during the pandemic when folks got bored with Tiger King and sourdough bread and discovered the thrill of sniffing themselves. Sales skyrocketed faster than a jackrabbit on a date. Teenage boys—once devoted disciples of Axe Body Spray and hormonal despair—now build “fragrance collections” like they’re assembling investment portfolios. According to The New York Times, perfume spending by young men jumped 26% in one year. Who knew acne-plagued adolescents commanded the disposable income of Saudi princes?

And Lord have mercy, they buy these scents blind—never taking a whiff before purchase, just trusting some internet perfume guru. One fella named Jeremy Fragrance has ten million followers, which tells you everything you need to know about our current cultural predicament. If civilization were a bus, we’d be heading straight for the guardrail.

The Great Perfume Divide

Now here’s where things get about as fair as a gerrymandered Texas election district. While Timmy from the good part of town drops $300 on something called “Oud Wood” by Tom Ford, kids from the wrong side of the tracks resort to bootleg body sprays from the dollar store with names like “Toom Faard” or “Essence of Rich Guy.”

The perfume-industrial complex has created a whole new way for teenagers to feel inadequate. Nothing like economic anxiety with a floral note and hints of bergamot. Some resourceful kids have taken to mixing cheap aftershave with vanilla extract, creating what one might call “Eau de Kitchen Cabinet.” Others shoplift tester bottles from Sephora, one spritz at a time, until they’ve accumulated enough to pass for privileged.

This scent segregation shows up clear as day in high school hallways, where the rich kids trail clouds of Baccarat Rouge 540 (at $325 a bottle, it better make you smell like you own beachfront property), while working-class students make do with Bath & Body Works mists they got on clearance. If class warfare had a smell, it’d be this: the cloying contrast between “I summer in the Hamptons” and “I work summers at Hardee’s.”

Cashing in on Eau de Madness

The fragrance industry executives laugh all the way to the bank like pigs in sunshine. Luxury brands Dior, Chanel, and Tom Ford jumped into this mess quicker than a politician backpedaling after a hot mic incident, while indie brands elbow their way into the market with all the subtlety of drunk lobbyists at a free bar. Market researchers claim niche perfume sales will nearly double in the next decade. I reckon humanity’s collective good sense will halve in direct proportion.

These indie perfumers push “authenticity” with about as much sincerity as a televangelist at tax time. One British outfit, Earl of East, held a blind smell session with Bon Iver and created a perfume inspired by his latest album—though I cannot imagine who wants to smell like a falsetto in flannel. Maybe the same folks who think Ted Cruz makes a good dinner companion.

Scents for the Truly Deranged (and Truly Rich)

Individuality these days means smelling like things no God-fearing person ever wanted to smell like. One influencer recommends perfumes reminiscent of dead trees or water-stained motels. Just what you want in a potential romantic partner: the distinct aroma of black mold and regret.

And sweet Jesus in the garden, there’s Filigree & Shadow, which released a scent called Maggie’s Last Party, supposedly honoring Margaret Thatcher. The ingredients include latex, leather, tobacco, and—hold onto your britches—used underwear. I’ll wait while you pick your jaw up off the floor. The Iron Lady survived coal miners’ strikes and IRA bombs, but even she didn’t deserve to be immortalized as Eau de Dungeon Fantasy.

These luxury abominations sell for upwards of $250 a bottle, which means poor folks have to settle for smelling like actual humans rather than “the existential dread of a rain-soaked cigarette” or whatever nonsense the rich kids are sporting these days. As if we needed another reminder that in America, even smelling ridiculous is a privilege.

The Great Perfume Hustle

Meanwhile, the corporate behemoths—Estée Lauder, L’Oreal, and their ilk—refuse to let some hipster perfumer with a waxed mustache and a warehouse full of secondhand unmentionables steal their thunder. They’re releasing limited editions and gobbling up niche brands faster than a buzzard on roadkill.

For kids without trust funds, there’s a whole underground economy of perfume “dupes”—cheap knockoffs that allegedly smell “just like” the expensive stuff. “It’s basically identical to Creed Aventus,” they’ll insist about some $15 concoction from Amazon, the same way I insist the generic cola tastes “just like” the real thing. It doesn’t, honey, but we tell ourselves these little lies to get through the day.

Global fragrance sales will hit a whopping $60.7 billion next year. For that kind of money, we could provide healthcare to every child in America, feed half the hungry world, or at least buy enough Lysol to combat all these motel-themed colognes. But no—we’ll just keep pouring dead-tree essence down our shirts and calling it self-expression. As my daddy used to say, “There’s no fool like a fool with a credit card.”

And the kids without credit cards? They’re mixing witch hazel with their mama’s rose water and pretending it’s the same as that fancy French stuff. Capitalism finds a way to make you feel lesser-than, even when it comes to stinking.

Closing Whiff

So, parents, don’t fret if your teenager smells like a nightclub ashtray married to a petunia. They ain’t up to anything dangerous—just burning through your retirement fund on a bottle of what some influencer swears smells like “the melancholy of rust” or “capitalism’s dying breath.”

If your kid can’t afford the real deal, don’t worry—they’re probably concocting something from household chemicals that’ll either pass for designer scent or strip the paint off your walls. Either way, it’s character building.

Personally, I recommend Eau de Common Sense. Sadly, it remains unavailable in stores. Much like congressional ethics or Texas winters you can predict. But unlike designer perfume, it’s absolutely free—which might explain why it’s so unpopular these days.