I am not talking about the blasphemous new Gay Spice, using the Old Spice label for unthinkable new odors.
I saunter over to the men's shaving supplies and I am promptly denied and dismayed. The only thing with after-shave written on it, is Aqua-Velva, which I cannot stand. I have never seen a sorrier selection of metro-sexual white flags of male surrender in my life.
None of this stuff was designed by men or women who want men to feel like men and go after women.
All of it was designed by women and (heh) 'men', who want the whole population of men to feel like women, and go after the remaining men.
It's no longer after-shave. It's now called post-shave skin balm. There are bottles of Nair hair depilatory not just for 'men' but exclusively for 'black men'. There is acne spot repair, eye-rescue formula and oatmeal exfoliating facial scrub.
In my house, the facial scrub is a industrial sized pump of Lava soap,
followed by a generous wad of engine degreaser.
They usually contain a dose of solvent just shy of the threshold of ignition. This permits immediate approach towards the propane grill or lighting that big cigar without a big surprise.
Axe body spray.. give me a break. In my house, the body spray is the leftover overspray of the pressure washer, loaded with chlorine bleach deck cleaner, or the spatter of residual hornet killer, which I'm too lazy to wash off.
Men like rocks, fuel, caustic chemicals that kill dirt and kill insects. We like turpentine, acetone, naptha and old style Old Spice. We like pumice in the soap to scrub off our labors. We like pumice in the grill, to catch all that heart-healthy fat, oozing from our burgers, convert it into carbon credits and re-deposit them on the burgers. We like fuel in the grill, fuel in the hand cleaner and fuel in the Old Spice bottle, scented like classic Old Spice.
This is the closest we get to the borderline of our significant others, only because it can cover the scent of Lava, mineral spirits, barb-e-que rub and cigar smoke. There's also a simple ship on the bottle, not a graphic of some guy with his package bulging through a set of spray-on leotards.
Damn. I considered buying a bottle of rubbing alcohol, to hold me over.
During the same shopping session, I also bought a package of Hanes premium white crew-neck tagless T-shirts. I get the package home and notice something weird. The bag the shirts come in is re-sealable by a zip-lock plastic rib. This is a 'feature', which they are careful to brag about in writing.
Now, I don't know about my readers, but I have a habit of ripping the underwear bag open with my teeth and tossing the ones I don't want to use right away into the drawer. I don't need to treat my underwear like a bag of frozen shrimp. I don't need to re-seal my unused portion of underwear, to preserve the freshness.
All of the new age men are evacuating Mars, moving into their girlfriends' apartments on Venus and driving them into the stone age by getting stoned and aging. We should be re-shaping Mars into a war planet again. Meanwhile, I will look for some classic Old Spice and chuck the re-sealable bag from my new underwear.
"Gee Honey.. While you're pulling out those frozen waffles, could you grab me a fresh set of briefs ?"