Celebrity scents emit sweet smell of profit

I was leafing through a magazine last week when I came across an ad that stopped me in my tracks. It was for Donald Trump: The Fragrance.

What could that possibly smell like, I wondered? Arrogance and self-promotion? Bad hair and bankruptcy

Then I realized that in any art of the deal, smell is actually secondary. Increasingly, cosmetics and clothes are marketed by making you feel kinship with the person doing the selling. Think Martha Stewart. Think Michael Jordan. The right star selling the right product can make all the difference. There's a reason Richard Simmons doesn't shill power tools and Ernest Borgnine isn't peddling panty shields.

Donald Trump isn't the only celebrity with a fragrance on the market (although he is one of the few males; actor Alan Cummings also has his own cologne). You can barely turn the page of a glossy magazine without encountering perfume ads for Britney Spears, Paris Hilton or Celine Dione.

Want to feel closer to Jennifer Lopez? Try her Glow perfume. Feeling a little bit Crazy in Love? Spray on some of Beyonce's True Star or Britney's Curious.

The companies behind these high-profile scents are quick to certify their star's involvement. They're asked to sniff aromas until the cartilage in their noses collapses, and given license to suggest a bit more lavender or cinnamon or babbling brook.

Let's face it: No diva worth her salt would put her name on something that can eat through bone.

Celebrity fragrances are nothing new, of course. The Internet is crowded with people trading rare bottles of Cher 's Uninhibited (it lasted roughly two years in the mid-1980s), Michael Jackson's perfume in a special hologram package and Elvis' aftershave. Remember Elizabeth Taylor's White Diamonds? If not, you weren't conscious in the early '90s.

What's new is the amount of money to be made from these vanity vapors. Celine Dion's scents have sold roughly $10 million this year, while J.Lo's Glow and Still are past the $200 million mark. This may seem like small change given the American fragrance industry's $3 billion in annual revenues, until you note a 3 percent decline in perfume sales in recent years. The right celebrity can cause beauty products to fly off shelves.

And the right TV show? Wal-Mart is about to find out; it has developed a perfume called Enchantment tied to the All My Children soap opera. I suggested the slogan "A day's drama in a bottle." They didn't return my call.

Studying the Donald Trump ad got me thinking that maybe I should name a fragrance after myself. I'm not a star and I can't buy and sell people. I like to think of myself as an "everyman" with a wee bit more girth and seasoning.

Then again, I don't have to be somebody to get my own cologne. A growing number of companies will sell you the secret to making your own fragrance or, for a little extra, actually develop one for you. There's a company in England that asks you to fill out an Internet questionnaire, send them $70, and then builds a scent to suit you.

I was halfway through the survey when I realized peanut butter and patchouli sounds better on paper than in reality. And when they asked for my favorite aromas, I got stuck on macaroni and cheese. That's not a fragrance; it's a sign of mental illness.

Then, of course, there's the problem of a name. You can't just call it "Stuff I like to sniff" and expect people to be enamored. And the best names already have been taken (Eternity, Beyond Paradise, Hai Karate) or ring too true (Sweat Masker). No wonder they test market new products to death.

Mike Pearson