Axe body spray is synonymous with douchebags, douchebagginess, and douchebaggary alike. It’s the scent that transcends all of douchedom and plants a flag in its very own douchey kingdom called Douchachusetts, where all the douchbags can roam free and occasionally lift their hind legs and spray each other with a douche musk that signifies ownership of something or someone.
That is to say, Axe scents are not the most pleasurable scents in the world. Yeah, they’re all collectively better than, say, real liquefied human poop that fell out of the ass of a 400-pound Chicago Bears fan after a cabbage and bratwurst bonanza at the local sports grille; but they’re in no way better than a real cologne or deodorant.
But there has to be some good in the Axe line, right? Well, that was my goal as I set out to my local CVS and sprayed myself down with 6 random Axe scents.
I actually purchased Axe Rise a few days before I conceived of this article. The can has a bunch of colors on it that look pretty, and it has drawings that make eyes happy. Yes, I’m an idiot.
The scent is supposed to be citrusy but I have no clue what citrus fruit is could be from. It’s not orange, it’s not grapefruit, it’s not lemons or limes. The only thing I can think of is that it’s an extract from a citrus fruit that’s only found deep within the Amazon that tribal elders force their boys to harvest from the side of a steep cliff as a rite of passage. If one of the boys fails to retrieve a fruit, they are drenched with the juice of the fruit and told to wander the forest until a jungle cat mates with and/or kills them.
It’s not a particularly pleasant smell. It’s rather fierce, and not that in that sassy “Damn, girl! You fierce!”- Independent-woman kind of way. It’s fierce like the aftermath of a fierce bowel movement. It’s persistent in its ability to hang out, never fade and always suck. Imagine that one asshole you know –that guy that’s waaaaay too hyper and talkative. The only time you get a break from this guy is when he eventually crashes and he falls asleep on a bus bench or something. Rise is like that guy. He’s all up in your face about how awesome he is, and he’s always like “I smell like lemons or some shit, motherfucker!” Then, out of nowhere, you just stop smelling him; and things get eerily quite. You think he’s dead. Correction: You kinda hope he’s dead.
Call me lazy, I don’t care. But I’ve written 2 articles in the past wherein I’ve described the smell of Axe Dark Temptations, aka, Chocolate-scented Axe. What you’re about to read is a small passage that I’ve copied from my own article and I hope it will be the last time I ever have to describe this god awful stench. So, without further ado, this is me describing the smell of chocolate-scented Axe in my October 7th, 2009 article titled The MTV Experiment: 14 Hours in Commercialized Hell. It’s as true a statement as I’ve ever written:
“And while we’re on the subject, chocolate scented Axe does not smell like chocolate. It smells the way chocolate would smell after most of the human race has been wiped out and the few people that remain attempted to create a synthetic approximation of chocolate in an underground lab.”
To add on to that: the spray has this nasty habit of sticking to skin for an exceptionally long time. For the purposes of this article, I sprayed myself down with every scent my local CVS had. It wasn’t until I took a shower later that night that the smell of the Synth-O-Choc from the year 2156 actually came off. It outlasted all of the other scents. What troubles me most about this is that they also sell this scent in bath washes and deodorants. That means there are human beings walking around whose balls and armpits smell like failed science from the future, and no matter what they do, no matter how much they sweat or hang around in garbage dumps, that smell is not fading.
Phoenix is kind of the all encompassing Axe smell. It almost smells like it’s the base of all other Axe spray products and to make any of the others they just wash the cum-y floors of a prom night limo and wring out the towels in the in to a tube that’s ¼ Phoenix, ¾ various measurements of teenager jizz, tears, cheap perfume and champagne vomit.
It’s the champagne vomit that gives all Axe products their distinctive tanginess. They all have this strange sting that slips through your nose and hits the back of your tongue the same way that Buffalo wings and bleach do. Phoenix is no different. It has its tang, but luckily it’s on the tamer side. It’s also the one that smells the most like generic spray on deodorant. You know, the stuff you can buy for like $1.50 a can and lasts an eternity?
You know what’s awesome? Hitting the gym with the bros and totally blasting your core, then maxing out on the bench, and then maybe juicing your legs afterwards. Then, after all that, you take a shower, dry off, spray on some Axe Kilo and then all of your douchebag, muscle-bound friends think you’ve just spent that whole shower time trying to sneak a peek at their dicks, because Kilo is the gayest smell in the entire Axe lineup.
Close your eyes. Think about the smell of the word “gay.” Not actual homosexuals. Don’t for a second think this has anything to do with homosexuality. Let your mind roam free and imagine what words would smell like, then imagine what gay would smell like. If you’re thinking of cakes with butter cream frosting and maybe some sprinkles, then you’re right. That is the smell of gay, and gay is the smell of Kilo. It’s easily the best scent of them all.
Now, if only someone could sell homosexuality to Middle America as being all “cakes with butter cream frosting and maybe some sprinkles.”
Instinct is supposed to smell like leather, but in the minds of the fine a folk over at Axe, leather smells like beef broth and Febreze. Instinct is supposed it be a wild, untamable kind of scent. It’s vicious and mean. It doesn’t play by the rules. When you smell it, it doesn’t care. It just keeps on riding its motorcycle with its leather jacket that smells like meat water and disinfectant flowers. It’s the wild, untamable member of the group that just never falls in line with anyone else. It’s too much of a rebel/renegade to take such orders as “smell good,” and “just stop,” and “No, seriously, stop. I’m calling the cops.”
I never thought I’d every say this in a realistic manner but Clix smells like desperation. It smells like failure. It smells like a middle school kid that’s trying to find out who he is and somewhere along the way some asshole introduced him to Axe body spray, Dep hair gel, and polo shirts with the collars popped. And for about three-months out of the school year, this kid speaks like one of the Jersey Shore douchebags. That kind of urban, hip-hop inspired accent that makes no sense given the fact that the kid is from New Haven, Connecticut.
Clix is very subtle, though. It’s very faint. It’s like a memory you can’t fully visualize…but then you do and find out that the memory was about that time you got beat up by the football team; and you don’t even want to remember it anymore, but it’s all you can think about and now you’re fucked. In that sense, it’s kind of like Kilo. Clix and Kilo are both very faint, barely-there scents. Unlike Kilo, which is barely-there in a pleasant way, Clix is just as invisible to your nose as that middle school kid is to anything with a vagina. It’s there, everyone knows it’s there, everyone knows it’s trying to make them aware that it’s there, but no one gives a shit and it will die while jerking off with a noose around its neck.