Spray to Forget

My brilliant designer friend has developed a conceptual fragrance called Spray to Forget. It is intended to help the wearer release unwanted memories. It also smells good.

This perfume brings several associations to mind. In a corner of my mind devoted to highbrow literary allusion, I imagine the bottle contains metaphysical Lethe river water. In a lowbrow popular culture mind corner I remember Batman used a sleeping spray to prevent passengers from recalling directions to the Bat Cave.

My friend supplemented income from Armory Show design work by getting a gratis booth, and asked me to volunteer at his booth to help present Spray to Forget. This would be a task involving both performance art and selling.

I tend to be allergic to most perfumes, but thankfully not this one. The project sounded fun. I readily agreed to volunteer.

The Armory Show is New York's behemoth annual art fair. These art fairs take place in almost every major city around the world, such as the Art Basel in Miami, Frieze in London, The Biennale in Venice, and FIAC in Paris.

I've intended to attend the Armory show for years, but its inconvenient location and fairly expensive admission price ($30 this year) made it easy to skip. This was my chance to help my friend, mingle a bit, and finally see the show.

As it turned out, I was scheduled to volunteer on VIP night. Apparently, this was the preview night for collectors and the press.

I enjoyed myself far more than anticipated.

The people watching was amazing. This must have been the point on the planet that day with the highest proportion of underweight 20 year old women wrapped in fur.

It was easy to differentiate the collectors from the press. Rich people who collect art wear beautiful clothes and have airbrushed faces. Everyone else has visible pores and misplaced hair.

It was also interesting to note the power dynamics within the relationships of the mega rich. I saw a pretty, subtly cosmetically-enhanced 60-70 year old woman with an attractive young man in his early to mid 20s. I assumed he was her grandson until I saw him rub her ass with his hand. Of course, the usual pattern of young women paired with older men dominated. I suppose de facto prostitution is seemly once a certain price point is breached.

A trip to the VIP lounge was surreal. Literally every attendee was a VIP, so the lounge was the least exclusionary place within the Armory. It was nearly impossible to move across the room to get a brownie and tea. Navigating the crowd was a full body contact experience. Fortunately, this wasn't the A train. The bodies were well scrubbed, thin, and clad in buttery fibers. It was like stage diving into cashmere.

Regardless of income or class, I enjoyed interacting with the crowd. It was interesting that the older customers seemed to grasp the conceptual art element more readily than younger people who appeared to regard it as a gimmick. The scent is pleasant, so it sold on that merit to the under 35 crowd. The artist came to a different conclusion, but that was my experience.

It was also interesting to note the large proportion of people willing to discuss with a stranger what they wanted to forget. No wonder therapists are so popular.

I discouraged people from confessing the bad memories they wished to release because I didn't want to promulgate the impression that it was a necessary to do so. Some people curious about the product preferred to keep their bad memories under wraps. I didn't want to create a barrier that would prevent them from sampling the scent.

Ironically, the fragrance had some effect on me. We were spraying a lot of it and the booth became a cloud of scent. After a few hours of inhaling it, I became terminally distracted.

In the evening one of the artist's friends came by to say hello. I was told we had met before. Although I have nearly a photographic facial memory I could not recall him.

After watching me interact with the crowd, he and the artist commented on my lack of awareness about men flirting with me. On this and just about any other hour, I do not perceive flirting. It is probably a combination of factors: I don't regard myself as a remarkable physical specimen and I don't pick up on subtle body language. I tend to only notice flirting if it is overt to the point of being comical.

A sad state of affairs, yet it is the state I am in.

The boys decided to help me out by creating a code word: caviar. Each time a man flirted with me, they would use the word so I could concentrate on the mechanics of flirting to learn to identify it.

Under the influence of Spray to Forget, I immediately forgot these instructions.

For the remainder of the night I noticed they mentioned caviar several times, but assumed it was associated with an unusual craving for fish eggs. When the show closed, we headed for dinner. I figured they wanted to go somewhere that served caviar because it had been mentioned repeatedly.

The boys reminded me of the codeword plan. I had failed the fifth grade-era mission to recognize flirting. No wonder I am a late bloomer.

It appears I am doomed to flirting failure.

At least I smell good.