The restaurant I work at debuted its brand new patio this week, which means I’ve become significantly sweatier on the clock than ever before. I’ve been on the hunt for a new summer scent — something light, dewy, outdoorsy, and combines seamlessly with my natural musk. In the event that I reach over a guest or brush past them with a tray of drinks, whatever their nose detects can’t put them off their appetite. Ideally, they’re relaxed, happy, ordering more from me, and all the while my wallet gets thicker.

It’s been a difficult task to find something that will fit the bill. Wearing perfumes in hospitality jobs, especially in food service, is typically discouraged. It can take away from the smell of the food or can combine with it in a way that clashes and disrupts the guest experience. However, simply reapplying an extra strong stick of Harry’s throughout dinner service isn’t enough to cover the evidence of my suffering, which brings up an important ethical dilemma — 

A runaway train is hurtling down a track and will inevitably kill five people. You are standing at a lever sweating profusely from the crippling anxiety. If you pull it, the train will stay on course but a cloud of vintage Chanel no. 5 will emerge from the dash. Would you rather be rotting in a jail cell smelling like good taint or bad taint? 

Nevermind, that was a joke.

But the taint thing is something I’ve been thinking about a lot while perfume shopping. Yes, taint — the gooch, the grundle, the fleshy airport terminal between heaven and hell. Doctors call it the perineum, which sounds equally made-up. However, Essence of Taint in perfume is very real. In academic circles, I doubt they call it that, but it shows up in more expensive bottles than you’d think.

After a trip to Le Labo in the North Loop, I had fallen deeply in love with a scent of theirs called Iris 39. The 39 in the name represents the number of scents used to create the perfume. Which means that there are 38 other smells accompanying the dominant iris to achieve that final scent. Whatever those 38 things were had me in a trance. It was the perfect combination of sweet and powdery florals, dewy mosses, warm spices, and a rich base note of musk that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I was in ecstasy, overjoyed that I had found my sexy, summer server scent.

When I got home, I googled Iris 39 and discovered a comprehensive list of ingredients. Going down the list, nodding my head, I read iris, violet, ginger, lime, rose, cardamom, ylang-ylang, etc. Then came the base notes — musk, patchouli, and civet. I did not know what civet was, so I googled that too. Thanks to Wikipedia: 

“Civet is a nocturnal mammal, a wild species of cat, native to Tropical areas of Asia and Africa. Civet is a potent, historically renowned ingredient in perfume that comes from the perineal gland of the animal. In its pure, undiluted form, it has a strong, highly pungent, and somewhat fecal aroma.” 

And there it was.

On a Reddit deep dive, I learned animalic scents in perfume have been used for centuries. However, once animal rights activists caught whiff (pun intended) of perfume companies scraping the anal glands of wild cats, they shut that operation down pretty fast. Natural civet hasn’t been found in a perfume since the 90’s, although a synthetic replacement known as civetone has taken its place and is prolific across global brands as well as small boutiques. 

Turns out, an animalic quality to perfume is what gives it that raw sex appeal. It evokes a certain funkiness or body/skin type smell — sweaty, urinous, carnal, hairy, furry, pee-pee, poo-poo, butt smells galore. It can also smell more like farm animals to call to the catharsis of working in a field, possibly shirtless, surrounded by hay bales and cow pies.

I can’t decide what haunts me more — that there are scientists in a lab (le labo) staring down centrifuges developing this stuff, or that what they’re doing actually works.

I started this week in an attempt not to smell like taint for my guests, yet I ended the week wanting to smell like taint for my guests. To cap this all off, I went back to Le Labo the next day and bought a bottle of the Iris 39. Now I’m $270 poorer, basking in a manufactured golden shower of Eau de Derriere.