June 22, 2000

So, I’ve been having deodorant issues as of late. These issues are not sociopolitical. These issues are not ideological. I am not trying to make the point that deodorant is a feminist issue. My issues are far more shallow than that, and also, to my mind, far more pressing.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve been rotating deodorants. Well, yes, deodorant/anti-perspirants, but I figure that’s a given. I mean, who says, “Gee, I sure would like to smell as fresh as powder, but not at the expense of my attractive sweat stains. If only there were a product for me.”

I probably started out with Secret, because, well, yes, it was, y’know, made for a woman. All that stuff about pH levels really had me going. Also, it had a pretty, pretty pink flower somewhere on its label. Am I expected to stand strong in the face of pretty pretty pink flowers? I don’t think so. And so, Secret, powder fresh scent, first kissed my pits at about age 12.

I was all about solids -- assuming they made solids back then, which I’m really hoping they did, otherwise what the hell was I rubbing all over myself? I thought they’d keep me drier, and thus, more attractive and lovable. Sadly, they did not. After a couple weeks of knowing the Secret of womanhood, I was the proud possessor of great big ovals of ick on all my shirts. They still smelled nice, but this took nothing away from the unending embarrassment I felt each and every time I raised my hand in class to answer questions like “who threw that chalk?” and “am I going to have to separate you two?”

Being so scorned by Secret solid, I turned to Dry Idea roll-on to raise my dampened spirits. It had “dry” in the name, and its commercial showed a woman rolling the little white rolly ball on the inside of her wrist (ew) and how the streak of magical drying solution disappeared in seconds. Perhaps roll-ons were where it’s at, I thought, and so decided to try it. I used it for a while, original scent (because, y’know, I was very old school), but I soon realized that Dry Idea was pretty much exactly that: an idea. The actuality was little droplets cascading down my side as I sat in choir trying to memorize some ditty about yay-zu kree-stay. I was an alto, so I was used to getting the short shrift of things, but usually it was in the form of singing “oooo....oooo....ooooo....oooo” on a steady D for long periods of time, occasionally stretching my range for an E. Steady D. That’s my new rap name.

After that, I pretty much just went with whatever my mom picked up at the store. She, for some reason, was a big fan of Arrid Xtra Dry. This was odd, as she is British and aloof, and she most assuredly did not want to get a little closer to anyone. Then there was Lady Speed Stick, which I did not approve of. At this point in my life, I was older, and thus stayed far, far away from anything with “lady” in the title. Also, obviously, Secret was forever out, because, Jesus, could that slogan be any more demeaning? Strong enough for a man, but made for a woman? What was I saying about deodorant not being a feminist issue?

Yeah, so...yeah. What I’m trying to say is, up until a week ago, I’d been using Secret Platinum Protection. Yes, I went back to Secret. It’s called irony, people. And it was working splendidly. Just splendidly. When I used it all up, I went to CVS and I bought me some more. Only I didn’t. I mistakenly bought plain old nonplatinum Secret. And you know what? It sucks. Not only does it not keep me dry, which I’d come to expect, but it also leaves nasty white residue on my clothes -- specifically, my new silk halter-type top that I bought at Express the other day because it’s next door to my office and I needed it, okay? I wore it yesterday, and by the time I got to work, I had dark, dark spots coupled with white, white smears. Oh, it was mortifying. I wanted to expose my super sexy shoulders, most notably to Elijah, but instead, I had to sit around with a grandma sweater around my arms to contain the terror within.

Today, I am wearing yet another sleeveless wonder, also purchased at Express for the low, low price of $29.50. But today is different. Today, I am not wearing any deodorant. Or antiperspirant. At all. It started out as a forgotten step in my lengthy beauty regimen, but then, at the moment when I could have rushed back into the bathroom (because, y’know, I love my job to bits and wouldn’t think of being late), I found myself not moving an inch. I was wearing a black sleeveless shirt, and the armholes were rather tight. Form-fitting, if you will. If I applied the Secret, I would have planets of white taking over my happy black top. I couldn’t have that. I mean, I just really couldn’t.

And so, I made a decision. A deliberate, conscious decision to let my sweat run wild and free. It wasn’t easy walking out the door this morning, but I needed to know what would happen if I didn’t tame the beast.

So far, I do not stink.

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