I’m just going to put it right out there. When I come to your house the last thing I want to smell is Febreze. Why? It’s not that the smell is all that unpleasant, though I’d hardly dub it the olfactory delight the commercials make it out to be. Nope, the smell in itself is not the problem. It’s the fact once I smell it I know for a fact I am sitting on or near something that would likely make me shudder. Sure, that baby throw-up, athletic residue, pet disaster or toddler pee has transformed into a fragrance resembling a meadow on steroids, but that is all that has happened. An odor has been killed or subdued. The instigator of the odor remains reveling in its new found stealth ability.
Shame on the Febreze company for making their product so recognizable. Do they not see the social consequences exposing consumers’ friends and families to a trademark smell that should set off warning bells to anyone with an ounce of good sense? I don’t know what’s worse, smelling the original odor or allowing one’s guests’ imaginations to run wild with what the homeowner is attempting to cover up. For me, it is my nature to march mentally to the worst possible scenario. The unknown is much more tragic than facing the truth head on.
So, to the loyal Febreze groupies I say this. Put down the spray bottle. Masking isn’t the answer. Cleaning is. I say this as I prepare to sign off and wash my daughter’s bean bag chair of Febreze and something else I’d rather not mention.
