Earlier today, during a break in my coverage of the Anthony Abbate Jr. civil trial, I learned that Chicago now has its own perfume. As I sat in the cold courtroom and felt my ass flatten out on the hard, wooden bench, I pondered this idea of a perfume inspired by Chicago.
Imagine the smell.
If you’re like me, the first smell that popped into your mind was the lingering, gut-wrenching stench of the Chicago stockyards circa 1920. Ahh..yes. The aroma of rotting meat, with shit and sweat as a top note and blood and the sweat of child laborers as a bottom note. I imagine there would be several versions of this particular Chicago scent: The summer choice smells like meat spoiling in the sun with vulture shit as the winning top note, and for winter it’s hooves, tails, innerds and ears all mixed together with a top note of figgy pudding and coal.
The other obvious Chicago scent possibilities are some sort of parfum replicating what it’s like to catch a whiff of a whore house at low-tide, or a Corruption Cologne which is a combo platter of Blago’s hair gel, Rahm’s dance belt after two matinees of “Pippin” at Peoria’s finest dinner theater, and Gov. Dan Walker’s socks AND toe jam after walking the length of Illinois during the 1971 gubernatorial campaign.
Turns out this new perfume is festooned with flowers and whatnot. Yawn. I guess they realized they wouldn’t sell as many units had they gone with any of my grand ideas. Harumph. Back to journalism for me.