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In 1994, Calvin Klein came out with a fragrance called CK One. I still remember the commercial for it: a camera panned over a colorless scene of scantily clad, waif-like models in casual garb. The models chatted loudly, flirted, and made out with each other. The group was fairly diverse, ostensibly to demonstrate how universal CK One was. The scent was, after all, intended for men and women. Of course, the ad ended with a Kate Moss endorsement to hammer in the cool factor. Check it out:
I, for one, was intrigued. What did a fragrance meant for everyone smell like? Would I up my cool quotient if I donned it? Why did Kate say it was “the only one”? I had to get my hands on it so I could find out.
Luckily, my scouting skills came in handy. One day, I spotted an ad in a catalog about a trial-sized CK One available at department store fragrance counters. Apparently it also came with two specially designed rings, which had my twelve-year-old self quite excited: free fragrance and jewelry. So my mom and I embarked on a little tour, hitting up the fragrance counters at all of the malls in our county. It took perseverance, but we found it:
The sample consisted of a miniature gray bottle housed in a clear cylinder, roughly the size of a camera film cannister. Around the atomizer were two silver rings, each with a saying stamped onto it. Some of the words have worn off over the years, but I remember them. One ring said, “if you choose love over stability” and the other said “if you know who you are.” I had no idea what the phrases meant. They are “ifs” without “thens.” If I know who I am, then what? What?! Not comforting to my curious, grammar-loving brain. But the rings were “on brand,” if you ask me.
But ok, what about the smell? After she gave me my tiny vial, the lady at the fragrance counter also spritzed a little CK One on my wrist. I took a whiff. Wow. It smelled like what cool would smell like. It was fresh and clean. It was light, not suffocating. It was mysterious in that I had no idea what the ingredients might be. It had at first seemed unattainable, but I had found a way to land my share of CK One and the cool that accompanied it.
I was set, right? Not exactly. Girls were walking around Middle School with entire bottles of this thing. How long could my vial possibly last? A couple of weeks, at best. I thought about saving up my paychecks from my after school job to purchase my own bottle, but I needed that money for other things, like new clothes to fit my endlessly growing frame. Just as I resigned myself to rationing my tiny stash of CK One and enjoying it while it lasted, another solution started materializing: Claudia.
Claudia was a classmate who, intentionally or unintentionally, conducted a fascinating social experiment. You see, in 1994, most of the kids in my grade were turning 13, and people were making pretty big parties. Claudia capitalized on the CK One trend by making it a habit of giving a bottle as a birthday present . . . and consequently landed an invite to every single bash. She was either extremely clever or related to someone who worked for Calvin Klein.
Now, I knew Claudia. She was in several of my classes and extracurricular activities. She was also very close with one of my best friends in Middle School, Dawn. But it wasn’t inevitable that I’d want her at my birthday. Claudia and I never hung out without Dawn. We were not close, and sometimes I even found her to be a bit smothering. What to do?
The year went on, and everyone got their bottle of CK One because they invited Claudia to their party. My birthday finally rolled around, and when it came time to draw up my invite list, I felt conflicted. I asked myself, “Am I close enough with Claudia to call her a friend?” “Should I invite Claudia even though I sometimes don’t even like her?” Most importantly: “Would I be grappling with whether to invite Claudia if she wasn’t the CK One giver?”
I really didn’t want to be the type of person who invites someone to a party just to get a gift. But I did know her, and I knew Dawn would be happy if Claudia was at my party. So . . . I did it. I thought, “I’ll leave it to fate. She doesn’t have to come to my party. If she doesn’t feel we’re close, she won’t come.” But she did come, and I did get my bottle of CK One. And although I feel uncomfortable admitting it, I was pleased as I expectantly tore open the wrapping on Claudia’s gift to find a bottle of that citrusy goodness waiting for me.
Do I regret it? Let’s take a look:
That’s right, people!!! I still have the bottle of CK One I received from Claudia when I turned 13. That invite paid off big time. To this day, the fragrance smells amazing. Every now and then, when I want to trigger some major nostalgia, I’ll spritz the air with it. It’s remarkable how odors can transport us to a time, an age, or a place if we don’t overuse them. And, as evidenced by the still half-full bottle, I’m certainly not guilty of that.[1]
But I am guilty of something here, right? The CK One saga is not one of my proudest moments. I succumbed to pettiness, immaturity, and greed. One of those cryptic rings – “if you know who you are” – now has a meaning. Aside from triggering nostalgia, my bottle of CK One serves as a lifelong reminder that I am not as pure-hearted and decent as I’d like to think I am. Maybe none of us are. How’s that for a 90s ending for ya? Cheers.
[1] That I conserved this bottle became less of a big deal when I realized that you can still buy CK One. I’m not sure why I thought it was discontinued, but as the 90s hype over this fragrance dissipated, I worried about its scarcity. I couldn’t help treating my bottle as a magical and rare treasure that delivered memories and sensations of youth in an instant.