Creed Original Vetiver: The Scent That Wasn’t Trying At All

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The First Spritz (Or, The Audition Nobody Asked For)

You bought it because the clerk said “fresh.”

What you got was the olfactory equivalent of a man sighing into his third whiskey, staring at a half-peeled lime.

Top notes: citrus, sure, but the kind that’s been sitting in a bowl too long. Middle: vetiver, if vetiver was a groundskeep who quit halfway through mowing. Base: musk, but the kind that lingers on a barstool after last call.

“Is it… supposed to smell like this?” you asked the mirror.

The mirror didn’t answer.

The Wear Test (Or, How to Disappoint a Date)

Scenario 1:

You: “It’s Creed. French. Artisanal.”

Her: “It smells like a gym bag full of cilantro.”

Scenario 2:

You: “It’s an acquired taste.”

Him: “I’ll acquire some cologne.”

Scenario 3:

You, alone, at 2 AM: Sniffing your wrist, wondering if this is how midlife crises smell.

The Science of “Meh”

Perfumers call it “a fougère with citrus-aromatic accents.”

You call it:

- The scent equivalent of a LinkedIn headshot—trying so hard to be professional it circles back to sad.

- A handshake that lasts exactly 0.3 seconds too long.

- The guy at the party who only talks about his sourdough starter.

The Redemption Arc (That Never Came)

You kept wearing it because:

1. It was expensive.

2. You convinced yourself it was “subtle.”

3. The bottle looked nice next to your unused gym membership card.

Then, one Tuesday, you left it in a hotel room.

You didn’t call to retrieve it.

The Aftermath

Months later, you catch a whiff on an old scarf.

For a heartbeat, you miss it—not the scent, but the you who thought it might fix something.

Then you spray something else.

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