Joy Co.

Joico; the first fancy, salon only shampoo I ever bought. This particular shampoo seemed to me to smell infinitely better than any other shampoo I had encountered in my short 14 years. I often left for school, hair wet and pulled back in a loose cross between ponytail and bun. Midday, I’d untie my tresses and release a fresh burst of the pretty scent I’d trapped in the twists.

Around that same time I discovered Alfred Sung. I’m not sure if I actually preferred this scent above all others or more likely, thought the name sounded impressive. Either way, I wore Mr. Sung for a good couple years.

Where the girls of Centennial High School may have had differing olfactory sensibilities, the boys seemed to be in complete agreement, Drakkar. Or to be more precise, Drakkar Noir. Kind of rolls off your tongue I must admit. I happened to like Drakkar (even talking my father into the idea that it was cool, sorry Dad.) up until the point someone broke a bottle in the hallway. At once, all the tolerance I had built up in the year or two before socializing with those clearly oblivious to the concept of ‘less is more’ quickly evaporated, unlike the Drakkar which hung thick in the air for weeks.

The smell of lilac always reminds me of biking as a child; turkey in the oven - my mom.
Fresh cut hay - my grandparent’s farm; the smells of a garage - my dad (as he often worked on cars); green grass, Spring.

I’ve tended to save these scents, concerned I guess that if I keep them too close my memories would fade, replaced by some new, lesser association. Alfred Sung has always transported me to winter, walking across a frozen lake, holding an arm for what you thought, was balance.

So as I wander past the fragrance counter or contemplate this or that scent in the candle shop I will always be directed slightly away from the scents I love the most, pumpkin spice perhaps? That may work, we always had raspberry pie.

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