Britney, Jessica, and Mariah keep churning out stinkers, and I’m not talking about their singles. Divas keep littering cosmetic counters with hiddy scents that are not “reminscent of classic Hollywood allure,” like Forever Mariah Carey promises, but rather, call to mind “poorly dressed skank” or “botched boob job.” When we whiff “Fantasy,” are we supposed to forget about Britney’s barefoot excursions to gas station bathrooms, let alone her cooch flashing, head-shaving, paparazzi-attacking antics? Are we supposed to experience a flight of “Fancy” when sniffing the treacly trifle that arbiter of style Jessica Simpson approved between shopping at Fred Segal and getting a French mani? I can smell the marketing bullshit from here, which I guarantee is celebrifree airspace. Even if a scent doesn't induce the gag reflex, do you really want a bottle of Fergie's Outspoken embarrassing your dressing table? Stop putting money in Paris’s low-rise jeans and Jessica's ginormous Louis Vuitton bag and just say no to eau de ho.