The Good Doctor took considerable flak for his now-famous reviews of Green Irish Tweed and Cool Water, and in 2009, I had little sympathy for him. After all, Green Irish Tweed is beloved by many—a masterfully crafted masculine fragrance with historical significance that only the most entrenched industry insiders truly understand. (Ironclad confirmation of its creator remains elusive to this day.) Many in the fragrance community, including Turin, believe that Pierre Bourdon is the nose behind Green Irish Tweed, and I agree, though Bourdon himself has never publicly claimed credit.
In a recent interview discussing his work for Malle, Bourdon remarked that his best work was not realized through his commercial efforts, suggesting his niche portfolio was far superior. This view puts many at odds with him, especially considering Creed’s status as a commercial perfumery, rooted in tailoring traditions and now heavily focused on mass-market profits. If Green Irish Tweed, a Creed creation, isn’t an example of Bourdon’s best work, I, along with many others, am left puzzled as to what is. His assessment is further complicated by the fact that he authored Davidoff’s Cool Water.
Turin faced backlash when he awarded five stars to Cool Water in Perfumes: The Guide, while giving Green Irish Tweed only four. Many saw this as a slight against Creed, especially since Turin’s disdain for the brand is palpable in his writing. Others speculated that Turin’s technical appreciation for synthetic perfumery may have led him to overpraise Davidoff’s innovation. Here’s where I diverged from those discussions. While I agree that Turin takes a derisive stance toward Olivier Creed’s firm, I disagree with the notion that Cool Water is the lesser fragrance. In fact, this post marks my official stance: Cool Water, in both its vintage and current formulations, is superior to Green Irish Tweed—and, for me, the more desirable perfume. Despite owning several bottles of GIT, I can confidently say I enjoy it far less than Cool Water for a few key reasons. Before diving into those, let me explain why Creed has lost some of its allure for me.
I’ve worn Green Irish Tweed off and on for five years, though I only developed a passing appreciation for it in 2011. On the other hand, I’ve been familiar with Cool Water for at least twenty years, having owned a small bottle at one point. Back in high school and college, I didn’t care much for Cool Water. It was too soapy, too strong, too strange—like shampoo turned up to eleven, with extra emphasis on green apple and peppermint. As a teenager, those notes did little for me. Since then, however, I’ve grown to appreciate this fragrance and others like it. My enjoyment now stems from recognizing that few fragrances for men balance masculinity and femininity as well as Cool Water does—and even fewer do it with such bright, cheerful notes. Fizzy mint and green apple, blond driftwoods and violets all come together in what should be a mess, but Bourdon masterfully made something special. (To see how this genre can go wrong, take a whiff of Wings for Men.)
In the 2000s, I took a break from this type of fragrance, distracted by other interests, yet ironically wore Allure Homme—a scent inspired by Cool Water and Green Irish Tweed—daily for nearly ten years. I remember smelling Green Irish Tweed for the first time and thinking, “That’s it?” It was familiar, ordinary, and synthetically spiky, eventually settling into a smooth woody-musky base that was excellent but hardly exciting. I liked it, but the dry-down grew on me slowly, and there were times I wondered if I might be falling in love with it. Let’s be honest: few brands do fresh and crisp accords better than Creed, and GIT is nothing if not fresh and friendly. The fragrance sparkles from the atomizer, full of violety esters and ambery richness. Yes, I noticed its similarity to Cool Water, but I forgave that because of how smooth and rich it smelled.
Then, just for fun, I revisited Cool Water, expecting it to pale in comparison—designer-grade, perhaps, but not genuinely comparable. To my surprise, the cheaper scent smelled remarkably similar to GIT, especially given the price difference. Rather than fade over time, that similarity became more pronounced, until I found myself reaching for Cool Water more than GIT. After three years of this, I finally reassessed both fragrances. My enthusiasm for the more expensive Green Irish Tweed had waned, while my appreciation for Cool Water had been resurrected. After extensive side-by-side comparisons, discussions with friends and relatives, and even some road-testing for reactions, the results were fascinating.
Among the most telling reactions came from my girlfriend at the time, Danielle. Without diving into our relationship, I’ll share her thoughts on the two fragrances. On one of our early dates, I wore Green Irish Tweed. She mentioned I smelled good, and that was that. Later, I switched to Green Valley for a few months, to which she seemed indifferent. When I returned to GIT, she remarked, “It’s nice, but why do men’s colognes always smell like deodorant?” Later that night, she added, “Your cologne is giving me a headache—it’s so strong, I can almost taste it.” Not the most flattering feedback, especially while eating Thai food. I didn’t wear it around her again. However, I did wear Cool Water. One night, Danielle recalled how much she had hated the colognes worn by boys in high school, specifically mentioning Drakkar Noir, Acqua di Gio, and Brut. She then singled out Cool Water, saying, “That was the worst. I don’t know why guys couldn’t wear something like what you’re wearing today—it smells amazing.” Bitter irony: I was wearing Cool Water. After I told her, she backtracked, saying, “It smells good on you, though.” Naturally, I launched into an explanation of Cool Water’s relationship to GIT, but her eyes glazed over.
Every time I wore Cool Water after that, she complimented it. I struggled to understand—how could she find GIT too strong but love Cool Water, which isn’t exactly subtle? It wasn’t until last year that I finally reconciled my thinking. Though I had worn GIT sporadically and never received compliments, Cool Water garnered positive remarks every few months, almost always from women. Despite being a cheaper fragrance, Cool Water was winning the compliments battle, hands down. Last week, I wore Green Irish Tweed to celebrate October’s arrival, hoping for a different reaction. In closer quarters with more people around, surely someone would notice. On day three, a younger woman remarked that she could smell my fragrance as she entered the room—but from thirty feet away, in a very large space. It wasn’t exactly a compliment, more an observation of how far it projected. That left me questioning GIT once again.
When I reapplied Cool Water after work today, I realized the issue. Green Irish Tweed, often praised as the more natural of the two, is not. While GIT is undeniably richer, smoother, and louder, it is just as synthetic as Cool Water. Neither scent has a counterpart in nature but are more like the FDA's "natural flavors." Once the “natural” argument is off the table, the questions begin: Why is Green Irish Tweed so much more expensive? What justifies choosing it over Cool Water? For me, the answer is simple: I still enjoy GIT for its subtle differences, but I now find Cool Water more complex and refined. While GIT came first and deserves recognition for its originality, Cool Water has proven to be the more timeless, versatile scent.