The Sweet Smell of a Model Career

The woman in the business suit says a curt “no” and sails by. The teen-age mall girls giggle, then walk away. A mom pushing a stroller willingly lets me spray her. She smells her wrist, smiles, says “Thanks” and keeps going.

Others completely ignore me. But I know they see me. They pretend I don’t exist. But I will spray them. It’s my mission.

I’m a perfume girl.

Well, I was a perfume girl, for three days, to experience life on the other side--especially since I’m not too fond of those spritz-happy gals myself. I was curious, in a masochistic way, to see what it’s like to be treated like a pariah by hundreds of people who sneer as you try to blast them with cologne.

The correct (and more glamorous) name for the job is fragrance model . So says Andrew Knox of Ralph Lauren fragrances, who let me rep the Safari line for women and Polo Crest for men; two days at Bullock’s Del Amo in Torrance, one at South Coast Plaza in Costa Mesa.

My first day at Del Amo I show up wearing the Ralph Lauren uniform, courtesy of Andrew: ivory twill jodhpurs, cream silk blouse, my own brown belt and shoes, pearl necklace, earrings and a headband. I look like Buffy the Fragrance Model.

In rapid-fire patter, Andrew fills me in on the products and prices and demonstrates each one. Brushing the Climate Response Sun Sheer Bronzing Powder on the back of his hand he says, “What we tell the customer is that it gives them a sun-kissed glow.”

It’s clear that I’m not just supposed to look pleasant and spritz perfume but to sell, too. And sell. And sell.

Andrew leaves and it’s show time. I take a jar of Climate Response Body Creme ($72.50) and cruise around the cosmetics floor. Creams and lotions are supposed to be less threatening than perfume; the mere sight of the spray bottle can send people running.

“Hi, would you like to try Safari by Ralph Lauren today? Hi, how about a sample of Safari by Ralph Lauren? Have you tried Safari by Ralph Lauren? Would you like a sample of Safari body creme? It’s from Ralph Lauren.” I listen to my voice. It’s me and it’s not me.

About one in 15 women stops. Rejection is a way of life. There are the polite “No thank you’s,” the “Sorry, I’m allergic’s,” the “I have it already’s” or the quick detours.

A few look at me with complete disdain, smirk and simply say, “no,” but I know they’re really thinking, “Don’t even try it, you pushy idiot.”

“What’s in there? It looks like mud! “ says a young guy in shorts and a cap peering into the jar.

The golden moment comes when a woman asks, “What is that?” I hurl myself through the window of opportunity. The cream, I tell her, contains macadamia nut oil that maintains the skin’s optimum level of moisture. I point out the pretty Victorian-esque jars and then hit her with the gift with purchase.

The cream and lotion are better at engaging people. While they rub the stuff into their hands, you have time to talk.

While I extol the virtues of Safari, I start noticing something in a customer’s eyes--a slightly glazed expression that says, “Yes, I will believe you. I want to believe you. Macadamia nut oil? Ooooohhhh . Yessss. Maybe I do need this. . . .”

I learn to love that look, feed off it. I think of the times I’ve bought something totally frivolous just because the salesperson was nice.

Of course, getting from the “Ooooooh, ahhhhhh” stage to forking over the credit card is another thing. Usually they say, “OK, let me think about it. I have some other shopping to do,” in which case I smile, give them a cologne sample and wish them a nice day.

My first sale is pure beginner’s luck. A cheery trio--an older woman with an Australian couple in tow--graze through cosmetics. I spray all of them, even the man, who holds his arm out. He likes the perfume and packaging, wants some for his wife. Intently eyeing the jars of cream and powder he says: “Yes, those look very nice, but it needs a third thing to sort of balance it out.”

The refillable cologne spray fits the bill, and he buys the whole thing--about $175 worth--without exuding one drop of sweat. God, what a rush.

I make a few more sales the rest of the day, which boosts my spirits. Between long bouts of rejection I chase stray toddlers, tell people where the bathroom is and chat with the saleswomen and customers about everything from the cost of clothes to vacation spots.

Day 2 is horribly depressing. I’m in Men’s Fragrance selling the pungent Polo Crest and pushing the purchase-with-purchase (PWP): a navy duffel bag for $25.

I’ve got a more masculine look: a navy Polo blazer over my jodhpurs. With a duffel slung over my shoulder, I stake out a spot near the escalator. This time I’m armed with fragrance cards: cellophane-sealed paper permeated with cologne. I hand these to people, ask them if they want a spray of eau de toilette and tell them about the PWP.

Guys are a tough sell, much tougher than women, although some seem truly thrilled to get a little card. Overall, though, they don’t like to be distracted, don’t want to hear about the benefits of after-shave balm. I end the day with $100 in sales and a sore back from lugging that duffel around.

My only salvation is Bullock’s employees Harvey and Shirley, who make me laugh so hard it’s easy to be perky for five hours.

Harvey also lets me in on a few trade secrets: It isn’t politically correct for a fragrance model to hang around the counter of a competing line. He also says I should hand out cards to women as well as men. “I tell them, ‘Give this to your honey, he can put it in his sock drawer.’ ”

On Saturday, my last day, I’m thrilled to be back selling Safari at South Coast Plaza. By noon, the store’s a zoo, courtesy of the weekend and a sale. At least I’m not alone. Stacey Kato, an identically dressed Ralph Lauren fragrance model, works the counter.

Stacey, 28, has just finished optometry school and is doing this part-time. Fragrance models make about $15 an hour--not bad money.

She takes me to the areas where she’s had the best luck: by the escalator and near two entrances. Stuffing my pockets with free samples, she wishes me well. People love free samples.

The atmosphere is ripe for selling. But after a while all the people become a blur. Have I sprayed her before? I eye my competition: At least four other fragrance models cruise the floor, making the corridor a treacherous obstacle course.

The aisle near shoes proves frustrating--no one wants a sample. I move to the main entrance, which probably doesn’t thrill the Prescriptive people a few feet away, but at least customers are stopping.

“Is it tested on animals?” a woman asks, throwing me a look. A man points to his nearly bald head and says, grinning, “Will it grow hair? If it will, I’ll buy everything!”

After three days of dispensing lotion and being chipper, I’m ready to change back into civilian clothes.

On my way out I walk into another store and am immediately greeted by a young woman holding a perfume bottle. “Would you like to try this?” she asks, smiling.

Before, I’d have mumbled “No” and kept on walking. But now, I can’t reject her. I was her.

I stop, look the woman in the eye, smile back and say, “Sure, why not?”