Having only given birth to the Princess and therefore having no knowledge of Axe body products because I thought they were just for boys, imagine my shock when she asked me to “please buy some Anarchy next time you go to the drugstore.”

Do who?

How does one buy anarchy? Was this an existential request of some sort?

“Anarchy?” I repeated in the clue-free, sodden tone of the middle-aged parent. I felt out of it, uncool, hairy-eared.

Did she just give me an eye roll???

Turns out that Anarchy is a proud member of the Axe body products lineup of sprays, gels, shampoos, body washes, shower mists and who-knows-what-all.

I used to snicker at my friends who would commiserate about the sheer number of Axe products used by the typical 12-year-old boy. A peek behind their shower curtains (yeah, I’m that kind of friend) made me giggle. The bottles looked so, well, angry. Someone had come a very long way from Mr. Bubble.

The very name, Axe, seemed a bit silly. I was told by my mom-friends that their sons doused themselves in Axe products with such abandon that a simple trip to the soccer field meant all car windows had to be down.

These women prayed for the smell of good old-fashioned perspiration – instead of something that reeked of disco night at the airport Ramada lounge circa 1978.

Of course, I had no clue what they were talking about. In our house, the Princess and I favored products packaged in pastels and bearing names like “Fruity Expressions” and “Tropical Breezes” and the like.

But the teen years are a revelation to me. When did the fun and frothy pink sticks and gels and sprays and washes favored by Princesses everywhere give way to products named (and I am not making these up):

Snake Peel, Fever, Instinct, Kilo, and, precious Lord, Thai Massage.

“But, er, uh, isn’t that for a boy?” I said, sounding mildly idiotic even to myself.

“Girls use it, too.”

“Oh.”

And so, I dragged my clueless self to the drugstore. I tossed Anarchy into my cart (ha! It didn’t even put up a fight!) and headed for the cash register. Sniffing it in the parking lot, I was delighted to discover that it didn’t smell even a little bit like torched villages or crushed dreams.

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