Dear Luki,

I have no illusions of a hippy victory on this front. The ratchet of progress is irreversible. Gradually, no doubt, we’ll all become robots, the more so for having an entrancing artificial scent.

The next step in our transformation will occur when people start saying that thick, flamboyant layers of makeup are themselves an indispensible medium for self-expression, that the bare face in daylight is a Gorgon to behold. Nevermind cases already where it takes 15 minutes and a scouring pad to discover the landscape beneath.

As for gesticulation and poetry. A gracefully witty expression, improvised on the spot, is worth a thousand exquisite bottles of commercially-bought perfume, in a million creative combinations.

Ben

Dear Luki,

The first two drafts of this letter, despite the fact that they each discussed entirely different topics, were unsatisfactory and I tossed them both.  This draft will concern something yet again completely distinct.

The story of deoderant.

By the end of this story, you will know why I put deoderant in the same category as Islamic veils.

There was a time when each person not only had a face, but a smell.  Some people, like many young women, had good smells.  Other people, like annoying dorks, had bad smells.  Smell was just another way to transmit information about a person.

The problem arose when people started living crowded together in cities.  Now smells didn’t just waft around and blow away.  Instead, they collected and overwhelmed.  If you smelled bad, you were screwed.  Therefore smelly people soon figured out that a bit of perfume could change their social life completely.  Soon, the somewhat less-smelly people also used deoderant, and eventually everyone had to, because even the smell of sweat marked one out as unconscientious or poor.  Meanwhile, expensive perfume marked one out as rich.

It took me a long time to figure out that the natural smell of some women is actually quite lovely.  But a few stinkers, plus technology, has ruined everything.  Now all women smell like the same fruity shampoo.

Yours,
Ben