What?! Was it the Cologne?

Cologne...or as I endearingly referred to it in my youth ... Colog-nee. Being a typical American, I didn't even know it was a town in Europe until I made it to Bavaria for Octoberfest.

The senses evoke a rich tapestry of memories and associations for us all. I often associate cologne with old fat men at an Aruban casino playing dice with open buttondown shirts, gold chains, cigarettes, chest hair and round bellies, yelling and cursing at the craps table. One time, I remember standing around watching dice, (I was probably sixteen) and the house band - who were all Arubans dressed up as Santa Claus - started playing Havah Nagilah. Suddenly, as if on the kibbutz, each lunsman took the other by the hand and started dancing the Horah. And so it goes that in my mythology, Jewish Long Islanders are the etiological impetus for trumping every ounce of positive association that I might have had with wearing cologne.

In high school, my friends and I used to wear cologne all the time, but it wasn't because we were trying to smell good. We wore cologne out of necessity; to mask the smell of cigarette smoke from our homeroom teachers. Getting caught smoking in the 1990s was about as bad as Charlie Rangle being accused of using rent controlled apartment buildings for office space; both ending in embarrasment and unnecessary political fiasco. Unlike Charlie though, I never got caught. I just smelled like a CK1 bottle for some of the time.

After high school, I stopped wearing cologne pretty much because, I didn't have to hide the fact that I was a smoker (I quit for most of college anyway). Except for the severely rare occasion of a hot date, I barely used the stuff. Maybe at a bar mitzvah, wedding or 80s night where I would always request chains of love. But for the most part, I was el natural and since I showered most of the time, it didn't seem to bother too many people.

It was at sometime in my early 20s that I truly came to associate cologne with men in other cultures; a foreign mystique if you will. This originated during my first trip to Europe. It seemed that every guy who would hit on our American girlfriends while studying abroad in Madrid wore, tight pants, lots of jewelry, sunglasses (at night mind you) and lots of cologne. So I asked myself, "Was it the cologne?" because when girls say that the European guy thing doesn't work, they are lying. I know, I was there.

I found the same thing in Israel. In the southern town of Ashkelon it seemed like every man wore a very similar kind of uniform as the Spanish. I learned this because when they would enter our favorite Hookah beach bar, Shanti Shanti, it was like a tidal wave of Hugo Boss in my drink, and all the girls would be magically swept up and dancing with them to Middle eastern rhythms of the night.

When mixed with lipstick, gum, a cigarette or a combination of all three, it can be quite noticeable. Once - for a whole year actually - I lived in a country called Williamsburg. One morning I was standing on the platform waiting for the L train, next to that guy in the balmy August heat. He wore sunglasses (always the sunglasses), he was listening to his i-pod, and I could tell that he taken a cologne shower just after he had his morning cigarette and coffee. He was also chewing on a stick of either Dentene or Trident.

When the train finally arrived, Favio, myself and the rest of the zip code piled into the train like it was Poland, 1939; like we did every single morning. And of course of all people, my nose gets stuck right under his armpit. Now its not just the Trident (or Dentene) the Hugo, the cigarettes, the body odor all bundled up into one subprime toxic asset, but now I had to listen to the vague hum of his I-pod shuffe! What respectable man listens to Nick Drake at 8am?

There are many things that can ruin a morning commute. Commuting in New York is more often unpleasant rather than pleasant. In this particular case when I beg the question, "Was it the cologne?" there is no doubt in my mind, that if the camel of my sanity that morning was long overdue for a visit to the chiropractor, then Favio's pungent aroma was the last piece of straw on an Israelite threshing floor!

Associative personal grievances aside, I was at a local favorite corner store on 5th avenue the other week that seems to have every kind of chachka that anyone would ever need. Their shower liners are really cheap and I've already replaced mine three times this summer.

I had stopped in to buy a bar of soap (I refuse to buy the luffa even if it's acceptable). I walk up to the register. As the gentleman rung me up in an Indian accent with a smile, I looked behind him and to find a golden variety of colognes and perfumes. DKNY, Hugo Boss, CK1 and Burberry. "In a corner store?" I think to myself, "shocking."

The man saw me looking at the selections and asked me politely, "Would you like to try some CK1? It's classic and we have it on sale today." What? On sale? This is a corner on 5th avenue in Brooklyn, not a department store on 5th avenue in Manhattan. But he was so polite. He could have been one of those ambiguously nice men on the floor of Bloomies trying to sell you a bottle of Dolce and Gabanna. How could I resist? Sure...why not? He sprayed a little out into the air, I wafted it towards my nose, and to be honest....it wasn't that bad!

"How much?" I asked him? "Just $30." he replied.

Now that is a deal.

I was hesitant to wear cologne the next morning, yet never was there a lighter bounce to my stride. After giving myself a spritz....not a shower, but just enough to smell pleasant, I walked to the subway, freshly scented. I stood on the platform in the blazing heat, reading an article about Chinese labor laws in the Economist and I felt much better about myself armed with this new aroma. Prententious reading never smelled so good. In the midst of perusing an intriguing graph about the spike in Chinese GDP, I felt utterly omniscient. Was it the cologne? I would say yes.

I am sure that my newfound interest in cologne will fade very quickly, just likes the smell does.

But this experience has challenged me to think about the interesting dilemma that it presents for the American male. Think about it. It may be acceptable to wear, but it still has an air of taboo that is hard to qualify or quantify for the experiences described above. You should search your memory banks as well. Its an accessory that invites suspicion on many levels. Even if you wear it conservatively so that it's not overbearing, it invites an unspoken collective question, "WHY is he wearing cologne? What prompted him?" And in the coming weeks if I receive a glance, a stare, a wink...I'll have to take it in stride when I no doubt ask myself in private defense, "What?! Is it the cologne?"