The Amber Edition
Perfume exists. Science exists. Bad decisions exist.
Some people discover their purpose through love, or art, or a quiet existential crisis in the shower. Mine arrived at 4:20 a.m., when I opened a can of Red Bull Strawberry Apricot and realized—this is the scent I want to be remembered by.
Not kindness. Not integrity. Not even basic emotional stability.
Strawberry. Apricot. Caffeinated urgency. Inhaling, like I was trying to extract meaning from carbonation. It smelled like someone had taken fruit and infused it with just enough anxiety to make it productive.
I was in line at the water cooler desperate to make perfume friends and conversation that involved no small talk. I Dabbed the sweet sticky juice everywhere, my wrists, behind my ears, the back of my neck, just nearly tempted to just pour the drink all over myself.
“Do I smell….strawberries and apricots?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“You smell… motivating. Smells like you’ve got your life together for about forty-five minutes.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m evolving.”
The faint, passing whisper of “this person might make a bold decision shortly.”
It escalated from there, I googled things no one should ever google at 2 a.m. like “can you infuse clothing with beverage essence without mold consequences” and “is it illegal to mist yourself with energy drink in public spaces.” The answers were unhelpful, judgmental, and in one case, clearly written by a dermatologist who had given up on humanity.
Consuming it felt inefficient when I could become it.
I started layering scents—sweet, tart, aggressively cheerful. My bathroom counter looked like a chemistry lab sponsored by poor judgment. I became obsessed wanting to achieve something like…this is close enough that your brain is uncomfortable kind of way. Like hearing a song you almost recognize, played slightly off-key. People can’t place it, but they feel it. And they keep sniffing the air like something important is about to happen, or already has.
I caught my reflection the other day and realized I don’t remember what I used to smell like. Or if I ever had a smell at all. Now there’s just this constant, invisible aura of synthetic fruit optimism radiating off me like a warning.
😏😈🥰