San Francisco Chronicle, April 28, 1915. Further to the perfume menace that Dr. Hudson Maxim warned us against. Again, I am totally down with this program. A while ago I was breakfasting in a diner and this middle-aged, potbellied, ponytailed, Harley-vested slob walks in reeking of frickin’ patchouli , of all things (I thought it was exclusively for doulas, Wiccan priestesses, lesbian dulcimerists and such). On my life, he was seated 25 feet away from me but the pong was still running interference with my plate of corn beef hash–pretty much the loudest breakfast food allowed by law.
Straight dudes, of course, are the worst perfume offenders of all. There are way fewer of them, but those who do wear bottled stink invariably pour it on by the hogshead.