â??Why are we so obsessed with smelling pretty? At what point in time did a morally good smell begin to entail the arguably noxious scents of Old Spice, Brute Splash-On, and pine scented car fresheners?â?

I decided to stop showering last week. I chose to resign myself from the act of bathing in order to find the truth. Questions absolutely perplexing in nature needed resolution within the weary recesses of my mind.

I felt that the only way to satisfy my intense curiosity of human scent was to martyr myself in the name of science. I would play the self-appointed role of guinea pig in order to find a truth I so desperately desired. We know so much about the floors of our expansive oceans, about the moons that gently hover over Neptune, yet we know so little about natural human aroma.

Why are we so obsessed with smelling pretty? At what point in time did a morally good smell begin to entail the arguably noxious scents of Old Spice, Brute Splash-On and pine-scented car fresheners? Most importantly, could I self-generate a powerful natural musk that would appease the carnal appetites of the ladies on campus?

It is curious to note that after three days of not showering, little changes. One can still go about the trivialities of life without a smell talk manifesting itself. People will still skooch over if you take a seat next to them on a bus. Classmates have no objections to partnering up with you for class activities. The world keeps on spinning, spinning oh so gently.

Theoretically, this all should have changed the day I ate a large portion of bad summer sausage and fell asleep on my bathroom floor in a pool of my own vomit, too sick to drag my near lifeless and food-poisoned body to bed.

I was beginning to think that my experiment was about to bear the fruits of reward soon, very soon. Now that I had the hint of meat vomit lofting from my skin coupled with the surprisingly robust odor that follows someone who smokes a pack and a half Camel non-filters per day. I was ready for a payoff.

Surprisingly, after five days little was said to me about my bouquet. Sure, it can be admitted that a few ladies in my lower-level courses appeared to be hesitant about working in a small group scenario with me. However, this could be attributed to nervousness, shyness or a lack of motivation to participate in group activity.

A classmate did ask if I had been out late the night before, but this may have had more to do with the bloodshot eye/bad contact lens day I was having more so then with the smell I was emitting.

It was beginning to appear that my fellow species weren“t that obsessed with smell. Could it be that scent, much akin to likes, dislikes and beliefs, was simply a matter of personal taste and that ultimately no one really cared?

It was time to step up my game. It was time to refrain from changing my clothes. It was becoming a do-or-die scenario.

On the evening of day seven, I decided to go for a 15-mile bike ride, eat two loaves of garlic bread and close a bar. Waking up the next day, I knew that I had done the right thing.

Finally, a musk so profound and unique in its character began to gently ooze from the pores of my shiny skin. Like seeping magma ejaculating through the side of a mountain, the scent that was money shooting off of my clothes was unavoidable.

This was to become my point of departure from humanity. Total strangers made offhand comments in various degrees of contempt and vulgarity throughout the day. People stopped talking to me, and no one sat anywhere near me at any point in the day. My boss sent me home from work.

At last, I was able to experience the results of my toiled labor. The end result was worth it. Without putting too much effort into my experiment, I was able to generate the maximum amount of public scorn in under a week and a half.

What is it about our unhealthy inclination towards maximum cleanliness that drives people to the point of absolute hatred for that which doesn“t smell of lilacs and mountain springs? Does it really matter if someone doesn“t smell like a bar of Irish Spring 24/7, I mean, in the grand scheme of things?

In all honestly, I smelt no more offensive than the Taco Bell in the Union. I“m not sure when I plan on showering next. Quite frankly, I don“t really have the time to care about it anymore.

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