The Man Who Ate Everything - Jeffrey Steingarten [73]
Despite all of Erox’s disclaimers, I desperately clung to the hope that I was wearing an overpowering sexual attractant. I wondered how I would explain to my wife back in New York that, after supper, in the parking lot next to the restaurant where the Erox scientists and I had dined, I had been overcome by a band of beautiful women, dragged into one of those recreational vehicles so popular in Utah, and mated with repeatedly until I was of no further use. What would this do to our marriage? In truth, I was ten times more anxious about my right hand, with its male attractant, and wore a glove during all waking hours until the scent had finally dissipated.
Dinner and my walk through the parking lot were uneventful. Back at the hotel, I lounged around in various strategic locations and took careful notes on whether I was attracting anybody. In the coffee shop, I had a hard time attracting even a waiter of either sex.
I moved to the bar, where I chose a seat with empty stools on both sides, ordered a Scotch, and waited. A few Scotches later, observing that the stools were still empty, I moved on to the hotel desk, where two young blond women in concierge outfits had just come on duty. I pretended that I needed their help in making elaborate plans for skiing in Park City, and, as we pored over maps and brochures, I made certain that my ungloved left hand was broadcasting its irresistible message. Then I retired to my room and waited for one of the young women to telephone for an assignation. But Erox had been true to its word. Neither pheromone seemed to be a sexual attractant. When I returned to New York with the two scents still active on opposite hands, my wife said that I smelled like a magazine.
A month or so later, when I heard that the Erox perfumes had been further refined, I requested the latest version of the scent for men. This would contain ER-830, the pheromone that, Erox claims, makes the male wearer feel more sensual. I wonder whether ER-830 deserves the name of pheromone, which is, strictly speaking, a chemical that communicates a message between one member of a species and another, not between a man and himself. ER-830 is more like an airborne hormone. Perhaps this scent should be called Onan for Men.
In any event, the odor of the male fragrance had been much improved. Now it was more complex, with an initial impression of bright spiciness over warmer and more sensual notes. I cannot say with certainty whether the Erox male fragrance had any effect on my mood. My wife reported that I seemed consistently more romantic and, on one occasion, that I had not kissed her that way for weeks. But without further investigation, I cannot decide whether my behavior should be attributed to wearing ER-830 or to the fact that I was spending sixteen hours a day reading about the mating habits of pigs and golden hamsters. Do you realize that in the languages of the Maori, Samoans, and Eskimos, the word for kissing means “smelling”? At least that’s what I read somewhere.
I don’t know about you, but I am beginning to find the idea of human pheromones extremely scary, mainly because they affect us unconsciously, without ever entering our awareness. One speaks loosely about “smelling” pheromones, but many of these messenger chemicals have no odor. We are unaware of them because they are perceived by an organ distinct from the receptors designed to sense a hot apple pie or Chanel No. 5, and their messages are transmitted deep into the brain, before our cortex has had a chance to register and follow or resist them.
How can we struggle against the changes these pheromones may be causing in us? How many of our decisions and actions are influenced by forces of which we are unaware, forces as menacing as the pods in Invasion of the Body Snatchers? Or as scary as an adolescent human male with a spray can of Spanish fly in his hand? Or, as Max Lake suggests, as frightening as a thousand Nazis at a rally raising their arms in