About six months ago, I was invited to a fundraiser in Waikiki. This was a real black-tie affair, so I donned my finest aloha shirt, threw on some black slacks, slid into my best shoes and splashed myself with cologne.

Somewhere between my fifth and sixth plate of poke, one of my co-workers caught a whiff of me and commented on how good I smelled.

It dawned on me that my wife had said the same thing before I left the house. After 17 years of marriage, my wife says I smell good every time I exit the shower and I suspect that in her mind I do not shower nearly enough.

Needless to say, that comment got me thinking. Somewhere between 30 and 40, I stopped using cologne altogether.

I do not know exactly when it happened or why it happened, but it did. Maybe it was because we were busy raising a rambunctious child and balancing two careers. Maybe it was because for a five-year stretch, my wife and I went on exactly three dates. Maybe it was because "a night out" went from fine dining to the local diner.

Inspired by the olfactory feedback from that night, I started wearing cologne again and the impact was immediate.

I visited a family friend and gave her the traditional, local-style hug and kiss. She told me later that she could smell my scent on her long after I left. I hoped her husband didn't smell me; that would have been awkward!

A co-worker said that there was something different about me. It took a few days, but she finally discovered that it was the cologne. Best of all, my wife enjoyed the new bouquet and encouraged me to douse myself daily. Life was good.

Then my 15-year-old bottle of cologne ran out. In a panic, I ran to the perfumery and tried to select a new scent. I spent a full hour shopping and finally decided on a fragrance. Admittedly, my wife and all of my friends loved the aroma, but at $40 per ounce I did not think the fragrance was cost-effective. At that price, I needed to be Elvis, with women falling at my feet and men wishing they were me!

Two weeks ago, my top-shelf eau de toilet ran out and I was left cologne-less for the second time in six months. Again, I found myself at the perfumery, but this time walked out empty-handed.

Then I went over to my dad's house. There, in the bathroom, I found his old bottle of cologne. I opened the container and took a whiff of my childhood. In a flash I saw my uncles dressed in aloha attire, hair slicked back under the weight of a pound of Brylcreem and smelling like the '50s. They were solid men who enjoyed the simple things in life.

I cautiously opened my hand, shook out a few drops and rubbed my neck. When I exited the bathroom, my wife smiled and gave me a wink. Even my daughter nodded her approval.

In many ways, I am just like my father was when I was a child. I am a family man trying my best to make ends meet. I work hard and play hard and do the best that I can.

In the end, it is not the scent that matters, it is the associations.

I hope that when my coworkers catch a whiff of me, they think of someone who is there for them as a colleague and friend. (If they think I am handsome, that's OK, too.) I hope my daughter thinks of a father who is solid and understanding.

And my wife ... well, tonight I am hoping she thinks I am Elvis.

Michael C. DeMattos is a member of the faculty at the University of Hawai'i School of Social Work. He lives in Kane'ohe with his wife, daughter, two dogs and two mice.