When you get into the "hobby" of fragrance collecting, conversational pattern recognition kicks on at some point, and when people ask you for the fiftieth time about which fragrance is recommended for "black tie" events, you realize what you thought was true before has changed dramatically now. Prior to this pursuit, my view of what it means to smell "classy" invariably incorporated an association with expensive fragrances, things that would set you back no less than $100. Chanel, Dior, YSL. You had to pony up if you wanted to impress, especially if you were trying to impress women.
Several hundred fragrances later, I've come to a brutal realization that I'd like to share with you. There are some things that are open for debate—are chypres better than other genres, is Guerlain the greatest fragrance house to ever exist, will Pascal Morabito reissue Or Black in its original formula—and there are some things that aren't subjective at all. People will tell me that fragrance is about personal taste. Once upon a time, I agreed with them. Not any longer. I've had an olfactory epiphany, and it concerns the question of "class." Men are given to using fragrance the way male peacocks use their tail feathers, and the endless spectrum of options seem to muddy the waters in making a sound choice. Thirty years ago, certain fragrances could be chosen, and one's peers would wordlessly nod their approval. Eau Sauvage. Yes, go boy. Azzaro Pour Homme? Nice, see if you can rock it. Cool Water? Get 'em while they're young.
Other fragrances would get short shrift, not because anyone considered them bad, per say, but because their caché was very much as defined: hidden. Old Spice? Yeah, an old standby, but really? Canoe? I mean, if you're that confident, and we meant that in a bad way. English Leather? Sure, I guess, if you're competing with thirteen year-olds. And Brut? Brut, the stuff in the plastic dark-green bottle? Bottom shelf at Walgreens? At least you didn't pick Lilac Vegetal, so I suppose it could be worse. The attitude back a few decades ago was that Brut and its contemporaries (and near contemporaries) was a lazy guy's pick. Sure, he could wear it, and nobody would mind. But it's for going to the mall, or just chilling with buddies, or playing cards. You don't wear Brut to stand out. You certainly don't wear it to smell like a winner.
At 62 years old, Brut continues to sell globally in no fewer than 7 different formulas. Despite all odds, and millions of young people turning their noses up, Brut has achieved something even Old Spice couldn't manage: truism status. Brut is obviously a winning perfume. It has continued across 6 decades to rake in millions of dollars and retain slow-but-steady market share growth. Despite the comings and goings of other much newer things, stuff in the Axe line, the designer realm, and even the haute couture niche space, Brut endures, and it endures solidly. You could chalk that up to luck in the 80s, in the 90s, and by the 2000s you could mark it down to a crumby economy and luck, just as you might pin an ever-hitting pang of nostalgia in the 2010s. But in the mid 2020s?
It's not luck anymore. Nostalgia doesn't really have anything to do with it, because most of the buyers aren't old enough to remember Brut in its prime, and the economy has been stable for years. At this point, Brut exists because Brut has earned it. And it hasn't earned it by being financed despite floundering sales, or by simply being so ubiquitous that even in discontinuation, it moves endlessly inexpensive units. Brut has made it to the objective and inarguably solid status of being an excellent fragrance, a genuine masterpiece, something that actually smells way better than everyday folks realize. Brut smells great. Brut smells masculine. Brut smells clean, fresh, green, powdery, sweet. Brut smells classy.
We buy expensive and post-Aventus masculines because we live in a post-Aventus world, and of course, there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. The men who buy and wear Chanel Boy aren't wrong. But you might debate the merit of Chanel Boy, and that conversation could be won in divergent ways. Not true Brut. There's only one right answer with Brut, and that answer is, "It smells good." Now, you can argue, "Yeah, but Aventus smells better." But I'd ask the ladies to weigh in, on a blind sniff test. I've received compliments from women while wearing Brut. Aventus doesn't even elicit a look from them. What's good for the gander isn't necessary good for the goose.
You're won't win awards for exciting, or get points for sexual bravado with Brut. You won't knock people on their asses and have your neighbor's husband asking you what it is you're wearing so he can find a bottle to impress his wife. Brut doesn't blow minds. But dress in a tux, cufflinks, smart car, the whole bundle, and then splash a little Parfums Prestige Brut aftershave on your face, and step out. That woody vanilla accord will embrace you in the cool night air, and its perfect balance, its beautiful simplicity, its absolutely anonymous masculinity, will elevate your aura and smell both classic and modern. A few spritzes of the EDT on your dress shirt seals the deal.
Brut will smell better than any Amouage. Sorry, hate to bust your bubble after you spent $300 on that bottle of Omani art. Brut will make the single girl at your table wet. The artsy-fartsy oriental will likely repel her. And Brut will match any Creed. Sure, you can do pretty well with Original Santal. You'll do just as well with Brut. Furthermore, Brut works in the tradition of minimalist masterpieces like Rive Gauche pour Homme (now hundreds per bottle), Acqua di Parma Colonia, and Pen's Sartorial, and yet it's absurdly easier to use because it's ten times cheaper and infinitely more powerful for one simple reason: women will have a "This Man" moment of recognizing what they can't name or identify, and yet on a subliminal level they'll equate it with strength, confidence, and safety.
Brut is, put simply, a basic traditional fougère with two unique flourishes—stearyl acetate on top (fresh-green) and soft white flowers in the mid (jasmine and ylang accord) that never gets too sugary, or too creamy, or too loud. The rest of Brut is structurally unremarkable, a simple anisic lavender with a splash of lemon, sweet coumarin, and woody vanilla, but the blend and balance are perfect. Your luck may depend on which formula you're using, but I recommend Unilever's Parfums Prestige neckchain version for straight-up best quality and execution of all the aforementioned accords. The squat bottle Unilever EDT, the Unilever aftershave, and the plastic bottle splash-on from High Ridge Brands are also all recommended.
Brut is a great fragrance, and it's classy, black-tie worthy. If you're tired of wearing things that only satisfy in one or a few stages, but fall short in others, than Brut. If you wish your fragrance lasted without needing to be loud, than Brut. If you want to wear something that is endlessly versatile, than Brut. Yeah, I know. It's awfully cheap. How can a guy feel good about splashing a $9 cologne from a plastic bottle when he's going to a high stakes formal business event? Get over the package, and the price. Go with the smell. That smell has been carrying countless men to promotions since the Mad Men era.
Remember, cheap has nothing to do with it. Not when the blend is perfect. And Brut's blend, as time has shown, is eminently flawless.