On this a customarily muggy Beltway afternoon, I ask with a sigh and a sniff, why has aftershave and men’s cologne gone the way of the Trapper Keeper and joysticks…into the dustbin of user history?

I searched my soul with that query this morning after walking by a maintenance man hosing off the sidewalk and smelling the most enchanting hearty, musky scent. Sadly, these days coming across a boy all Old Spiced Up is rarer than a WMD in Iraq.

How can this be? You’d think with the gender-bending of male culture (men wear rubber-banded ponytails, women wear ties) that smelling good would be a top-notch priority and anything but an embarassment. I am confident Bill Clinton would wear Pablo Raban or more than a splash and dash of Dunhill, if only it were put on his Chappaqua nightstand.

In a culture where chunking cream is more popular than Lowenbrau, why tremulous male trepidation at smelling like a sexy lumberjack out amongst the evergreens? I’m not talking about spritzing on some of those girly potions with relaxing sandalwood, vanilla, juniper and green tea extracts but instead about he-man scents that make women turn their head, take notice and forcefully back up their man against the wall for some bump and grind dream time….or at least that make you fantasize about your homeboy shirtless, and on his knees laying some linoleum tile and sweating profusely. “Ah, excuse me honey, can I bring you a tall glass of lemonade? Go get you a dremel drill bit?”

Bring on the oak moss. Michael Kors for Men be damned!:mrgreen: A penny or two and a sample of Drakkar Noir for YOUR thoughts…

Signed,
That Little Red-Headed Girl