Fragrances move, even when you are unaware of it: in this case I'll tell you of two episodes: a good laugh and a little shame.
The first. I was in my office, proudly surrounded by waves of my new Black Afgano which cuddles me and, at the same time, excites my nervous system whispering obscenities of which I'll tell you nothing about (but take the test and see if it happens also to you). I didn't shower in it: the amount was ok, I had been very careful. A colleague looks at me and says: "What is this GARLIC smell? The Bar down here is already preparing dinner at this early hour?". She nosed around in disgust and then approached me directly: "No no, this is you, YOU smell of garlic... but what the hell are you wearing today?". "Purest Avant-garde" I answered, and then turned the head suppressing a giggle. Black Afgano of course doesn't smell of garlic at all, but of a wonderful incense, coupled with a pungent note, probably hashish, which gives it its name. The nose of my (however nice) colleague finds true bliss in Body Shop's White Musk, and for now has no intention to move from there, so it's not her fault, after all.
The second. In recent days I worked with a French photographer, a very pleasant and kind guy, who had to portray some interiors and furniture details. He was wearing an indefinable scent, something never smelt before. Cool, fresh, even crispy but with a slightly spicy note that intrigued me a lot. At the end of two days, when we reached a little of confidence and the work had come out good, I asked what perfume he was wearing and he reported, with a smile of satisfaction: "Ah, the best scent in the world: Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue!" To recover from the shock I had to repeat to myself like a mantra: "It didn't resemble it in the least, it didn't resemble it in the least, it didn't resemble it in the least..." for the following three hours.