If you're ever in Paris, wear L'Homme.

Danielle sigh as she watched in disbelief at David rounding another street corner in Paris with a trail of 10 models trailing behind him like obedient geese following a mother hen. The kind you count yourself lucky if you see once a month in the States, and Paris while it has more hot women in it than your average city, hot women are in general shortage the world over. David was an ordinary, average middle of America white college guy, the kind who introduces himself in a bar and fumbles the pick-up line. 5' 11" at most, dark hair, and except for an odd habit or two like ironing his pants in the morning, the type that might get a sunny cute girl next door girlfriend and count himself lucky, not the type that beautiful women talk to in bars, let alone follow like starving cats. She'd watched him fail miserably at the bar talking at any number of stops on their group's way up and down the French coast line all summer with study abroad.
But now three days in a row he couldn't beat them off with stick, and this was the fourth street corner in a row so far on the morning as morning tour progressed. The beauties would pass by behind him, turn as if stuck and follow him for a block or two before shaking their heads in confusion. Trapped fish in a net. The sales lady at the cologne store hadn't been lying it appeared. And it came in that ugly blue bottle no less. Le Male really did work.
Danielle reeled at the idea of finding a secret key like this and decided to promptly lose the group to find her own perfume to reel in guys. 4 hrs. hot sweaty hours later, she finally had to give up finding the small store Katie and David had described finding over on 5th. Years later she would learn that Le Male was made by Jean Paul Gaultier, but she never did figure out the perfume.