This is Highly Recommend, a column dedicated to what people in the food industry are obsessed with eating, drinking, and buying right now.

Each culture and generation has its own particular symbols of courtship. In 17th century Wales, young men would carve elaborate wooden spoons in honor of their beloved. Around the turn of the 20th century, unmarried Zulu women signaled their affection for a suitor by presenting him with a strand of white beads. And in suburban California in the 1990’s, preteen girls like me would pass candy-sweet tubes of Lip Smackers to their crushes to huff during 6th grade social studies. My courtship days are behind me, but any time I wish to transport myself back to the heyday of Pogs and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I have an adult version of Lip Smackers: the heavily scented yet far more elegant vanilla watermelon lip balm from Grown Alchemist.

The nostalgia factor for a fruit-scented lip balm is strong: For the uninitiated, Bonne Belle Lip Smackers were a Chapstick alternative that came in vaguely food-like flavors like strawberry lemonade, kiwi, and Dr. Pepper. While my mom would not abide lip gloss or lipstick, how could she object to clear lip balm that was obviously for children? I owned multiple tubes that I would rotate in and out of my backpack. Some had caps that could attach to a keychain or Tamagotchi pet. Others came in glittery tubes that shimmered like a disco ball. All of them smelled like there’d been an explosion at an artificial flavoring factory.

When I became a woman, I put aside childish things. Now, the lip balms I covet come in monogrammed tins and no-nonsense tubes. They are small, affordable luxuries made with rich shea butter and jojoba seed oil. Flavorings and scents? For babies.

If Lip Smackers were marketed at middle school me, the lip balm from Australian skincare brand Grown Alchemist has adult me squarely in its sights. The packaging is minimalist; it comes in a slim black metal tube, like Aesop hand cream or good tomato paste. The white sans serif lettering describes the product in both English and French—if it’s good enough for a discerning Frenchwoman, surely it’s good enough for me—and it leaves my lips glossy, not gloopy. It’s $23.

Lip balm this sophisticated should smell and taste like absolutely nothing. And yet unlike the other tubes and tins that I rotate in and out of my purse, Grown Alchemist’s lip balm is flavored—and not subtly with delicate rose or medicinal mint. Its watermelon aroma, lightly cut with vanilla, is reminiscent of Bubble Yum or Jolly Ranchers, which is to say it smells nothing like actual fruit. What it does smell like is watermelon Lip Smackers, and I can’t get enough.

My current crush is less enthused. When I applied it before kissing my spouse recently, she said, jerking her head back, “That’s insane. We’re not in middle school.” Thank god—I wouldn’t relive 6th grade again for anything. But bringing back aggressively scented lip balm? I’m all in.