Tired of smelling your own breath? Masks may save our lives, but they smell like death. You know what I mean. I eat Altoids all day so I don’t asphyxiate myself.
Happily, the Hormel ham folks have saved the day--by making and marketing a bacon-scented mask. That’s right: A bacon boop! I know people who will buy a dozen. But they won’t have to because--head’s up—they’re free! Even better: For every request, the company will donate one meal -- up to 10,000 meals -- to Feeding America, USA Today reported. (All this is until they run out of masks, in which case they’re just gone.)
“We wanted to bring Black Label Bacon closer to our fans,” a Hormel marketing exec said. Of course they do. Get closer to your bacon-eating self at www.breathablebacon.com.
A free face mask is a good deal if you don’t mind walking around advertising Hormel Black Label bacon. I don’t eat bacon but I like the smell, especially when it’s mixed with the scent of coffee, OJ, and sizzling eggs. (Breakfast really is the best-smelling meal, isn’t it?)
Question: Why stop at bacon? Why doesn’t Cinnabon sell face masks that smell like I-have-died-and-gone-to-heaven? Pros: You’d be in a good mood all day. Cons: You’d eat the mask.
The power of scent is amazing. It brings back memories with a startling, in-your-face immediacy. None of our other senses packs that kind of visceral punch. When I taste a brownie I don’t think of my mom (who baked hers from a recipe on the Hershey’s cocoa can). I just think about how good it is, and will anyone notice if I eat two more?
But smell is lodged in our memory. What do you remember when you smell a late-summer honeysuckle vine? Or the perfume your mother used to wear?
Last week (mask-free, outdoors), I strolled past a public building where the handrails had been freshly painted, thinking about dinner, emails, dry cleaning… and then I took a deep breath.
Suddenly it was September 1973. I was 13 years old and painting a three-board fence around the pasture where my new pony grazed. Three Dog Night’s “Shambala” was on the radio. I heard the buzz of cicadas, saw the paint flecks on my hands, and felt the summer sun on my shoulders.
It wasn’t like I was there; I was there.
None of that happens when I see a fenced pasture, or touch a pony, or feel sunlight. That’s the power of scent. (That’s also why the Al Pacino movie was called “Scent of a Woman.”)
Forty years ago, my college boyfriend wore a popular cologne called Aramis. To this day, if I smell Aramis on a man (which is very seldom), my head swivels involuntarily towards the source… wondering if he’s a TKE or has red hair or majored in marketing.
Back to scented masks: Maybe we should brainstorm a few more ideas, since it seems we’ll be wearing masks until we die and probably after that.
Here are my suggestions. None of them will have a logo or label because my motto is, let ‘em wonder:
Puppy breath
Caramel
Coppertone suntan lotion
Newly-mowed grass
Baby feet
The beach after it rains
Maple syrup
New teabags
Freshly-sawn lumber
Dog paws (Seriously! I’ve had many dogs, and their paws always smelled like popcorn.)
Birthday cake
Irish butter
Manuka honey
Old-time mimeographed worksheets
Salt marsh
Cotton candy
Jack Daniels’ Tennessee Honey Liqueur
Brand-new money (Yeah, I said it.)
Julie R. Smith, who may order a bottle of Aramis, can be reached at widdleswife@aol.com.