Can dabbing your own vagina juice on yourself make men more into you?
Just when I thought I had exhausted all possible uses and/or experiments for my vagina, I was asked to try vagina perfume.
My first thought was WTF, my second EWW, my third LOL, and my last one OMG. The last time I had such a strong reaction was the time I discovered fried Twinkies.
Of course I said yes.
So what is vagina perfume?
Vagina perfume entails mixing one's own vaginal secretions with perfume to attract the opposite sex. As bizarre as it sounds, it's not just nuttery that a nouveau Carrie Bradshaw thought up. Medieval babes were known to dab vaginal secretions on their bodies to attract handsome suitors. Then again, they also thought the world was flat back then, so let's all take this with a grain of salt.
Never one to shy away from attention (it's possible I suffer from a mild case of narcissism), I looked forward to this experiment like I do a strawberry daiquiri after a long day of lounging by a pool. Vagina perfume was relatively unchartered territory. I felt like Vasco de Gama or Christopher Columbus. Or one-half of Lewis and Clark.
Having heard of only one other woman who had tried it, I knew I would be breaking new ground. I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if you were to use someone else's vag juice. Like, if I wore Eau de Eva Mendes, would Ryan Gosling be all mine? Sadly, I would never know.
For the purposes of my experiment, I decided to try alternating wearing my vagina juice alone (V) and mixing it with my favorite perfume (P), Thierry Mugler's Angel (V + P). Here’s how it went down.
Day 1 (V only)
Using a cotton swab I delicately gathered the needed goods, dabbed my pulse points and went out to run some errands. The cashier at the grocery store (who may I add looks suspiciously like Ben Carson) did introduce himself and smile at me. But I think that's mostly because I had moved to a new neighborhood and I was in the store every other day trying to feed either my chocolate or my cheese addiction.
After dropping my groceries at home, I made my way to Starbucks where a man saw me coming and stood waiting, holding the door open. But he couldn't have smelled me from the far away, could he?
Day 2 (V only)
I went out for drinks with a male friend who continually brushed my arm or leg all evening. Then again, he had always been flirty and my tatas were looking pretty bomb so I couldn't chalk it up solely to my special sauce.
Day 3 (V + P)
My boo J and I were lying around watching TV when he leaned in and remarked, "You smell really good." Ha! Could this new concoction be working? I always wore Angel and it never failed to elicit compliments, but it wasn't like J hadn't said that before.
I woke up the next morning with an unbearable urge to scratch the eff out of my neck. Looking at myself in the mirror I noticed a splotchy red rash. Could it be the vaginal secretions? Was I allergic to myself? I immediately ceased all perfume operations and made an appointment to visit the dermatologist.
I explained my experiment to my dermatologist who told me it was highly unlikely it was my vagina juice. She surmised it was most likely a mild nickel allergy from a new necklace I bought. I had no intention of not wearing the necklace anymore so I allowed her to write me a prescription for my rash and went on my way.
Day 6 (V + P)
I was hanging out with my cousin, a girlfriend, and a married friend so I didn't want or expect a reaction from them, nor did I get one. After immediately feeling itchy upon putting my scarf on, I realized it was the scarf that had been making me itch, not my necklace. So, I tossed it.
Day 7 (V + P)
I left for a girls' trip to New Orleans. Seeing as we'd be getting C-R-U-N-K every night, I reasoned this was the perfect opportunity to give my vagina perfume experiment one final push. At the jazz club we went to that evening, a gentleman asked me if he could buy me a drink at the bar. I politely declined.
Day 8 (V)
We went to a St. Patrick's Day parade where we were surrounded by men so sloshed they likely didn't even remember their own names. Everyone got hit on, but it was hard not to chalk that up to booze. Besides, no one else was wearing vagina perfume except for me.
Day 9 (V + P)
We went out to a bar where I met a guy who was cute and attempted to talk to me, but seemed to suffer from a severe case of social awkwardness. Talking to him was as interesting as talking to a carpet.
Later on, a drunk guy came out of nowhere and played the bongo on my chest before moving to my friend where I intercepted by grabbing his arm. I called him an assh*le and told him to get the f*ck away from us. Perplexed and embarrassed, he slinked away.
My conclusion? In the words of Joe Biden, vaginal perfume is nothing but "malarkey." If swarms of men had falling at my feet, I would have felt differently.
The best way to get hit on is to get a life. Drink, dance and be merry. Everyone on our trip was married, but that didn't stop the men from coming out in full force. In contrast, a night out with single women entails enduring the slight air of malaise hanging over the group as hawk eyes incessantly scan the room in search of a cute guy.
The best perfume? An upbeat attitude. And Thierry Mugler's Angel, of course.