The New York Times
February 12, 1995
Sunday Magazine, p. 53.
A Whiff of Today's Man Says He's Sweet, Sexy and
Antiseptic. By Gosh, He's ...
Mr. Clean
By Mary Tannen
Years from now, when historians are analyzing the great
male identity crisis of the late 20th century, exploring
the text of "Iron John," freeze-framing scenes of Liam
Neeson in "Nell," hoping to uncover the inspiration for
what was to become the male ideal for the 21st century, I
trust they will not overlook the crucial role played by the
men's fragrance industry. As the debate and confusion
persist over what a man should be, the toilers in ambergris
and musk have succeeded in realizing -- not in a 200-page
tome, or two hours of celluloid, but in the whiff of a
scent strip and the flick of a photo, or at best, in a
30-second spot run back to back with breakfast cereal --
the archetype for our times: the ideal man, fully formed
(if not necessarily fully clothed). It is their unique
mandate to cull the mostly inarticulate desires of
fragrance buyers and distill them into scent and image.
Because at least 50 percent of the customers are women,
this creation, this Adonis, must be the hero every man
longs to be and every woman longs to be with.
This didn't use to be a problem. In the 50's, men wore
after-shave, not fragrance; they were all dads who received
this after-shave on Father's Day. The captain of a sailing
ship was an appropriate image for just about everyone. In
the 60's, we began to admit what we'd known all along, that
smelling good is linked to being sexually attractive.
Annette Green, president of the Fragrance Foundation, says
that musk, an odor that the male musk deer secretes to let
lady deer know he is willing, first won the affection of
the perfume underground in the 60's and began playing a
bigger role in commercial fragrances. From the 60's into
the 80's, she says, men's scents were "a little bit of a
dirty joke." She cites the Hai Karate ad in which a man
kicks his way through life, and women fall at his feet. Now
there are fewer "killer colognes" (those emphasizing musk
and other odors mimicking the sex glands of animals) and
more with the accent on "health food ingredients": citrus,
berries, herbs, fruit peels and coriander. Today's "juice,"
as people in the business call the stuff in the bottle, is
likely to be cleaner and greener.
In fact, models in ads are so clean they're often sopping
wet. The sleeping giant for Davidoff Cool Water has been
washed up in the surf. He works out -- look at those pecs
-- but he's also hairless. (Most men in fragrance ads are,
which makes them look not only clean but androgynous.) His
eyes are closed. Wake him at your pleasure. He is not
aggressive.
He may channel his aggression into an upscale, non-contact
sport. Watch him -- in the television spots for Brut Actif
Blue by Faberge -- as he skis off a cliff, as he kayaks
down a cataract. At the end of the day there is a woman
with him, running hand in hand -- she's almost leading --
and a gorgeous final embrace underwater, so sexy, yet so
clean. (The video was field-tested on both men and women --
equally.)
Our hero is often seen in a loving and equal relationship.
See him, in the Calvin Klein Escape for Men photo, damp and
dazed, in an old canoe with his female counterpart. Not for
him the traditional pose as paddler while she reclines in
the prow. The boat is going nowhere. There are no paddles.
And how about that stunning, well-moistened couple in the
Guy Laroche Horizon ad! He is prone, looking adoringly into
her eyes. She is supine, arms modestly folded across her
breasts. Their bodies, clean and chaste, extend along the
line where earth, sea and sky meet in perfect harmony.
Why is our new ideal so squeaky clean? Certainly fear of
AIDS has something to do with it. Clinique, introducing a
new scent for men, dispenses with the wet model entirely
and shows only the interior of his medicine cabinet -- an
Irving Penn portrait of a glass, a toothbrush, a comb and
the luminous bottle. The only copy is the name of the
product, Chemistry, which promises sex, but the liquid in
the unadorned bottle looks like disinfectant.
The ideal of a clean and nonaggressive male also reflects
the way we live now. More than ever before, men and women
work side by side as equals. Being overtly sexual is not
only unacceptable but, in this age of sexual-harassment
charges, it is downright dangerous. Men and women (women's
daytime fragrances have also been getting lighter, cleaner
and more neutral) want to smell pleasant, but they don't
want to exude a scent that makes co-workers look around for
an empty broom closet where they can satisfy their lust
together.
The hero for Fahrenheit by Christian Dior stands alone,
gazing at the sunset from a dock. He is not naked and wet,
but in a business suit. Sea and sky are calm; the storm has
passed, passion spent. The fragrance, a yin-yang balance of
honeysuckle and hawthorne, sandalwood and cedar, was born
before its time, in the 80's, and has been picking up
interest eversince. Sixty percent of the buyers are women,
but nobody knows if they are wearing it themselves or
giving it to men. Men's fragrance has become part of the
working wardrobe, and like a good white shirt, is
appropriate on either sex.
But wait! Just when we are closing the chapter on the
neutering of male fragrance, DK Men comes roaring onto our
television screen. See his stubbly face close-up as he puts
his racing car through its gears. Feel the pistons pump.
Watch him wipe the sweat from his rough mug. The
promotional copy describes the smell as "Sexy. Fresh.
Citrus." But with surprise, un-P.C. ingredients -- tobacco
and suede. (Animal skins, O.K?)
The DK man is the brainchild of a famous working couple:
Donna Karan and her husband, Stephan Weiss. No doubt future
historians will take this into account when they try to
reconcile the DK man, who is wet (but from his own
perspiration), enveloped in gas fumes (not generally
thought to be healthy, or attractive to women) and has hair
on his chest. Maybe D.K is secure enough in her own power
(after all, she is C.E.O. of her own empire) that she does
not feel threatened by testosterone. "Gravity defied. 24-
hour, speed-of-sound sensation. Perpetual, raw and pure."
Yeah! Give it to me, baby!
I will leave it to future historians to decide if DK Men is
a final cry of regret over what has been thrown out with
the bath water, so to speak -- the wild, risky and unclean
part of our natures -- or whether it signals a recognition
that sex will always be with us, and when we're feeling
secure enough it's really fun to let 'er rip.
Mary Tannen, a novelist, writes about beauty for the
Magazine.
END
February 12, 1995
Sunday Magazine, p. 53.
A Whiff of Today's Man Says He's Sweet, Sexy and
Antiseptic. By Gosh, He's ...
Mr. Clean
By Mary Tannen
Years from now, when historians are analyzing the great
male identity crisis of the late 20th century, exploring
the text of "Iron John," freeze-framing scenes of Liam
Neeson in "Nell," hoping to uncover the inspiration for
what was to become the male ideal for the 21st century, I
trust they will not overlook the crucial role played by the
men's fragrance industry. As the debate and confusion
persist over what a man should be, the toilers in ambergris
and musk have succeeded in realizing -- not in a 200-page
tome, or two hours of celluloid, but in the whiff of a
scent strip and the flick of a photo, or at best, in a
30-second spot run back to back with breakfast cereal --
the archetype for our times: the ideal man, fully formed
(if not necessarily fully clothed). It is their unique
mandate to cull the mostly inarticulate desires of
fragrance buyers and distill them into scent and image.
Because at least 50 percent of the customers are women,
this creation, this Adonis, must be the hero every man
longs to be and every woman longs to be with.
This didn't use to be a problem. In the 50's, men wore
after-shave, not fragrance; they were all dads who received
this after-shave on Father's Day. The captain of a sailing
ship was an appropriate image for just about everyone. In
the 60's, we began to admit what we'd known all along, that
smelling good is linked to being sexually attractive.
Annette Green, president of the Fragrance Foundation, says
that musk, an odor that the male musk deer secretes to let
lady deer know he is willing, first won the affection of
the perfume underground in the 60's and began playing a
bigger role in commercial fragrances. From the 60's into
the 80's, she says, men's scents were "a little bit of a
dirty joke." She cites the Hai Karate ad in which a man
kicks his way through life, and women fall at his feet. Now
there are fewer "killer colognes" (those emphasizing musk
and other odors mimicking the sex glands of animals) and
more with the accent on "health food ingredients": citrus,
berries, herbs, fruit peels and coriander. Today's "juice,"
as people in the business call the stuff in the bottle, is
likely to be cleaner and greener.
In fact, models in ads are so clean they're often sopping
wet. The sleeping giant for Davidoff Cool Water has been
washed up in the surf. He works out -- look at those pecs
-- but he's also hairless. (Most men in fragrance ads are,
which makes them look not only clean but androgynous.) His
eyes are closed. Wake him at your pleasure. He is not
aggressive.
He may channel his aggression into an upscale, non-contact
sport. Watch him -- in the television spots for Brut Actif
Blue by Faberge -- as he skis off a cliff, as he kayaks
down a cataract. At the end of the day there is a woman
with him, running hand in hand -- she's almost leading --
and a gorgeous final embrace underwater, so sexy, yet so
clean. (The video was field-tested on both men and women --
equally.)
Our hero is often seen in a loving and equal relationship.
See him, in the Calvin Klein Escape for Men photo, damp and
dazed, in an old canoe with his female counterpart. Not for
him the traditional pose as paddler while she reclines in
the prow. The boat is going nowhere. There are no paddles.
And how about that stunning, well-moistened couple in the
Guy Laroche Horizon ad! He is prone, looking adoringly into
her eyes. She is supine, arms modestly folded across her
breasts. Their bodies, clean and chaste, extend along the
line where earth, sea and sky meet in perfect harmony.
Why is our new ideal so squeaky clean? Certainly fear of
AIDS has something to do with it. Clinique, introducing a
new scent for men, dispenses with the wet model entirely
and shows only the interior of his medicine cabinet -- an
Irving Penn portrait of a glass, a toothbrush, a comb and
the luminous bottle. The only copy is the name of the
product, Chemistry, which promises sex, but the liquid in
the unadorned bottle looks like disinfectant.
The ideal of a clean and nonaggressive male also reflects
the way we live now. More than ever before, men and women
work side by side as equals. Being overtly sexual is not
only unacceptable but, in this age of sexual-harassment
charges, it is downright dangerous. Men and women (women's
daytime fragrances have also been getting lighter, cleaner
and more neutral) want to smell pleasant, but they don't
want to exude a scent that makes co-workers look around for
an empty broom closet where they can satisfy their lust
together.
The hero for Fahrenheit by Christian Dior stands alone,
gazing at the sunset from a dock. He is not naked and wet,
but in a business suit. Sea and sky are calm; the storm has
passed, passion spent. The fragrance, a yin-yang balance of
honeysuckle and hawthorne, sandalwood and cedar, was born
before its time, in the 80's, and has been picking up
interest eversince. Sixty percent of the buyers are women,
but nobody knows if they are wearing it themselves or
giving it to men. Men's fragrance has become part of the
working wardrobe, and like a good white shirt, is
appropriate on either sex.
But wait! Just when we are closing the chapter on the
neutering of male fragrance, DK Men comes roaring onto our
television screen. See his stubbly face close-up as he puts
his racing car through its gears. Feel the pistons pump.
Watch him wipe the sweat from his rough mug. The
promotional copy describes the smell as "Sexy. Fresh.
Citrus." But with surprise, un-P.C. ingredients -- tobacco
and suede. (Animal skins, O.K?)
The DK man is the brainchild of a famous working couple:
Donna Karan and her husband, Stephan Weiss. No doubt future
historians will take this into account when they try to
reconcile the DK man, who is wet (but from his own
perspiration), enveloped in gas fumes (not generally
thought to be healthy, or attractive to women) and has hair
on his chest. Maybe D.K is secure enough in her own power
(after all, she is C.E.O. of her own empire) that she does
not feel threatened by testosterone. "Gravity defied. 24-
hour, speed-of-sound sensation. Perpetual, raw and pure."
Yeah! Give it to me, baby!
I will leave it to future historians to decide if DK Men is
a final cry of regret over what has been thrown out with
the bath water, so to speak -- the wild, risky and unclean
part of our natures -- or whether it signals a recognition
that sex will always be with us, and when we're feeling
secure enough it's really fun to let 'er rip.
Mary Tannen, a novelist, writes about beauty for the
Magazine.
END