My Little Adventure with That Scent
So, everyone’s been seeing those Troye Sivan ads for Rabanne, right? Especially the ones popping up from France. Looked slick, I’ll give them that. My niece, bless her heart, is obsessed with Troye. Her birthday was coming up, and I thought, “Okay, I’m gonna be the cool aunt.” I was actually in Paris for a short work thing, totally unrelated, lucky coincidence, I guess. So, I figured, piece of cake, I’ll just grab that specific Rabanne bottle he’s holding in that one ad, the “French version” if you will. Easy peasy.
First mistake: thinking anything in Paris is “easy peasy” when you’re on a tight schedule and your French is, well, let’s say “enthusiastic but terrible.” I started at one of those big fancy department stores. You know the type. Aisles and aisles of perfume, enough to knock you out. I showed the picture on my phone to a sales assistant. She gave me this look. Not a mean look, just… a look. Like I’d asked for a unicorn. “Ah, oui, Rabanne,” she said, and pointed me to the general Rabanne section. No special Troye display, no angelic choirs singing his name. Just… Rabanne.
So I started digging. I mean, really looking at every single bottle. This became my mission. For hours, it felt like. I went to three different stores that day. My feet were killing me. My work colleagues were probably wondering if I’d fallen into the Seine. Here’s what I learned:
- Those campaign images? They make everything look unique and available on every corner. Reality? Not so much.
- “The French version” is often just “the version they also sell in France.” No secret handshake required.
- Sometimes, the hype is just… hype. Or maybe I was just unlucky.
I was getting pretty frustrated. I even tried a smaller, independent perfume shop. The owner was this ancient lady, super chic, probably been selling perfume since before I was born. She actually listened. She looked at the picture, squinted, and said something like, “Ah, le petit Troye! Very popular, that one.” But then she explained it was pretty much the standard bottle, maybe a slightly different box for some markets, but the juice inside? Same same. She didn’t have it at that exact moment, but she could order it. But I was leaving the next day!
Talk about a letdown. All that running around. I felt a bit foolish, chasing this specific thing pushed by an ad. In the end, I actually found the standard bottle in the airport duty-free on my way out. No special “fr” edition, no fanfare. Just the perfume. I bought it, of course. My niece was thrilled anyway, because, you know, Troye. She didn’t care if it came from a dusty shelf or a golden pedestal.
It really made me think though. We see these glamorous campaigns, especially the ones with a “foreign” allure, like something out of France, and we build it up in our heads. Sometimes, the “practice” of getting something is more about the chase than the actual prize. And sometimes, what you’re looking for is right there, plain and simple, no “fr” magic needed. Still, it was an adventure, I guess. My feet have recovered, mostly. And my niece smells great, apparently. So, there’s that.
