Nah, I don’t hate how it smells or anything. My relationship with Coco Mademoiselle has cooled off even more since I last smelled and reviewed it. I have a bottle of it, mostly full, kicking around but I don’t wear it very often or at all. I’m bored of it, to be honest. Up until recently, I thought of it as the generic women’s version of Acqua di Gio.
See, I don’t actually hate Coco Mademoiselle. It still smells just fine to me. I just hate smelling it from a hundred feet away.
A few days ago I was at a job interview, clutching my print and digital portfolio to keep them from spilling out of my lap. Another candidate had just entered the room. She was nice, smiled at me as she passed by, except I didn’t notice anything else about her because my nostrils filled up with Coco Mademoiselle and burned the back of my sinuses.
I love a good, strong fragrance as much as the next smellies fan, but there’s something to be said for exercising a bit of restraint. Especially when you’re going to be sitting with other people in a small office space (or waiting area). We sat there for about 30 minutes, both of us trying to fill out our respective employment forms and both of us rapidly coming to the conclusion that her perfume was too strong.
I was trying hard not to make it obvious that it was bothering me, but my sinuses have gone crazy since moving to a place covered in flora, fauna and other things that enjoy pollination.
“Excuse me,” she says. There’s a bit of embarrassment in her tone. Her voice also drops into a whisper. “Is my perfume too strong?”
I make that weird pained/wince face that some people make when they’re about to deliver bad news and they’re afraid some giant disembodied hand is going to fly out of the sky and slap them. “A little bit.”
“Shoot.” She’s smelling her wrist now. “I only did four sprays. Can you believe it? I was actually worried it wouldn’t be enough.”
She was up first, I wished her luck. She looked really concerned but put on a brave face and emerged 45 minutes later to wish me luck as she headed out the door with a strong trail of Coco Mademoiselle following her. In the end, I got the call telling me the company went with someone more experienced with print advertising as opposed to what I do and I went on my merry way. But not without remembering how the tiny interview room reeked of Coco Mademoiselle or the three creative directors who were fanning their noses when I walked in on them.
Another instance of Coco Mademoiselle abuse occurred during a commute to work. I used to hop on public transit every day and while the usual odor of mild annoyance is an appropriate enough backdrop, a woman who had a particularly affectionate view of Coco Mademoiselle sat beside me. I was hit with the initial scent before she sat down and proceeded to spend the next hour (glad I no longer have to do that commute) growing more and more nauseous while the people around me “discretely” covered their noses.
See, here are three things I’ve noticed with Coco Mademoiselle. I often smell it on young women, I often smell it on professional women, and I often smell it way too well. For some reason, Coco Mademoiselle is a particularly potent fragrance. Despite its potency, there are still people who think Coco Mademoiselle needs to be sprayed more than twice. I’ve even witnessed a sales associate spray Coco Mademoiselle all over herself eleven times, windmilling her arm like an out of control electric fan. That spot in the store didn’t stop smelling like Coco Mademoiselle until 48 hours had passed.
Here’s the moral of this shaggy dog tale, Coco Mademoiselle is strong stuff. I like it just fine, but easy on the trigger.