Burberry Hero (Burberry)

If you ever look back at the early 1970s, you’ll see a world that embraced excess with a certain kind of reckless pride. Films were bawdy, vulgar, and all sorts of other things that begin with the letter “v,” but they were competently made and carried an undeniable vibrance. Even the most outrageous productions had craftsmanship behind them, and people took pride in their work—no matter what that work was. You didn’t watch movies in the comfort of your home; even the most risqué entertainment had to be viewed in public theaters, often in major metro hubs like Times Square. After the show, you could step out for a hot dog and then spend the rest of the afternoon shopping at Bloomingdale’s.

Perfume was that way, too. Brut. Jovan Musk. Pierre Cardin Pour Monsieur. Bawdy, bare-chested, ready for anything at any moment—brutal and assaulting the senses as olfactory assailants in their private romances. Yet they were produced on generous budgets using skilled perfumers, and despite their downmarket appeal, they were respectable and widely loved, not unlike the raunchy, provocative films of Jean Rollin. America and Europe had their many differences, but they could agree on their love for indulgence, and perfume was no exception. This was good for culture, good for art, good for society. People were freer, their sense of intellect was deeper, and their senses were attuned to finer things. I dare say that although it was a time before the digital age, it was a time when people were more advanced in their understanding of life.

Today, none of this is true. We have jettisoned art, jettisoned the vulgar, abandoned the wanton excesses of yore, all for the restrictive safety of risk-free sure-things. Movies are pallid ghosts of their former selves, devoid of humor, seduction, and sin. Perfumes have also shriveled up into little shivering weaklings, created not by people of knowledge and power but by scared little runts in off-the-rack suits who think that, because they’re European, sophistication is innate to them and need not be cultivated. They churn out the most focus-grouped garbage, boring sweet ambers, a dime a dozen, simply because an A.I. app tells them it will sell, and they sprinkle in whatever organic note the A.I. is kind enough to recommend. In Burberry Hero Eau de Parfum’s case, it was pine.

Burberry Sport For Men (Burberry)

Some fragrances are so unpleasant that they make me wonder if their creators are clinically depressed. Burberry Sport for Men is one such item, a dry-spicy citrus fragrance with the usual woody gestures (cedar, juniper) and an overdose of ginger. I'm starting to think of ginger as the "note du jour" for pretty much every house's sport release, with the pickled approach being an obvious way to bypass the swamp-ass effect, ginger's main shortcoming. Ginger usually winds up smelling very watery and weak after a few minutes on skin, but an analog of sushi-style ginger lends the note a camphoraceous warmth and intensity that isn't easily outdone. Such is the ginger in Burberry Sport, but I'm still not impressed. This fragrance is boring.

Does it deliver as a sports frag? Yes and no. On the one hand, its grapefruit, ginger, and woods structure is coherent enough to wear through tough work-outs, and it survives sweaty skin with no problem. On the other, there's no reason to choose this over any one of the bazillion other sport scents out there, many of which are cheaper. I can think of one right off the top of my head - Sport Field by Adidas. Amazingly this ten dollar cologne possesses a better (more realistic) ginger note, a grassier evolution on skin, and a more cheerful fruit accord that waffles between pink berry and unripe banana. That's preferable to the angry, hissy grapefruit in Burberry Sport.

Another better option is Polo Sport. At least with Polo you're getting an honest-to-goodness fresh fougère with a sprightly pineapple, to pucker the lips of the staunchest Aventus lover. And there's always Aqua Quorum, which is my sport scent of choice. I have limitless respect for how well it deals with Calone in conjunction with the original Quorum's herbal-piney heart accord, which is made fresher and breezier for summer heat. I'll take all of that over Burberry Sport's indeterminate chypre-esque form and generally unpleasant astringency. I do like how the Burberry avoids the predictable trappings of heavy Calone and "aquatic" notes, but whenever I wear it, I feel like it's the sort of thing my seventy year-old commercial graphics professor would wear playing racquetball. He was smart, but lacked an anus, as does this frag. Too bad, but nice Darth Vader bottle.

Brit for Men (Burberry)

It's been a hell of a week so far, with fallout from the school shooting settling into our daily lives like a bad case of gout settling into an alcoholic's joints. Weird analogy? Everything's weird now, sorry. From the locked-down buildings at work, to the news that one of the slain was a teacher who worked at my company only a couple of years ago, to the disturbing fact that the children, of all people, must not be exposed to the truth about Friday's events, unless they ask about them first, and even then only as far as specific queries go. It makes sense, but at the same time I can't help but wonder if pretending nothing's wrong is itself wrong. Guess we'll take it on faith that it's the right thing. Meanwhile, we're all hoping peace returns to Connecticut.

Only about a week before Friday's nightmare occurred, I wore Burberry's famous Brit for Men, expecting quite a good fragrance prior to application, but at the same time remembering that Burberry makes mall juice. My expectations were ramped up due to the fairly good press this scent gets in forums. Lots of guys and gals enjoy it, and many find it to be a sophisticated woody oriental. Rumors of a big rose note also precede it, so I was eager for that. As for my opinion, I like Brit, I think it smells good, and I understand the love for it. But it's not something I'd ever wear on a regular basis. This boils down to personal preference, not any beef with the fragrance itself. There isn't much I can find wrong with the stuff, although there is one over-arching issue that I'll get to in a moment.

I'd like to say this, though - the packaging for Brit is awful. The faux plaid theme is downright obnoxious, a weak designer stab at looking chic and au courant. I understand the idea behind it, the European associations, following the British penchant for textiles that cross over themselves, but really now. It's not on. Couple this sentiment with a seething distaste for an all-grey color scheme, and it's double trouble. Why plaid? Why grey plaid? Just plain why? I give up. I guess when it comes to market testing and demographic research, Burberry found that teenagers and twenty-somethings think plaid is "adult", but still "cool." I'd love to see the details on that study.

The fragrance itself is a powdery-woods concoction, with a dry bergamot/ginger accord on top that speedily segues into a baby-powdery combo of tonka and rose. From the get-go, this top is permanently wedded to cedar, patchouli, and musk. Sweet spices, presumably nutmeg and cardamom, are detectable, but within thirty minutes they've whispered themselves into tonka's semi-sweet fog, becoming lost to the perfume's smoothly-sanded wooden underpinnings. There's a husky veil of white rose powder, like scented talc spilled over cheap maple furniture, that comprises most of Brit's character. The rose, the spices, the woods, all smell nice, but lack definition, seemingly on purpose. Everything in Brit has a distorted texture, like a pretty face seen through an unfocused camera lens. The result is a rather blobby effect, albeit a pleasant blob. If you're a woman who is into evanescent and powdery floral orientals, and want a more masculine effect, Brit for Men is something you should try. But guys, really, Royal Copenhagen costs $16 at Walgreens. If you're going this way with fragrance, go retro, or go home.

Weekend for Men (Burberry)

It's always hard when I test a fragrance that closely resembles another fragrance, especially when the tested doppelgänger isn't as good as its progenitor. Even if both fragrances are of equal caliber, there's still the question: why not just wear the original?

The House of Burberry is the odd man out in masculine fragrance, a third wheel in the commercial hemisphere of Chanel and Armani. There are many Burberry fans, and the scents seem to do considerably better than some of their competition, but in the end their offerings feel mediocre, aspirational, uninspired. Burberry for Men is nice enough, but I'd never buy a bottle for myself. There's nothing wrong with it, but its violet leaf-to-cedar overtures get no awards for ingenuity. It's impossible to say whether or not BfM is a clone of something better, because its thematic components are so pedestrian. It shares shelf space with hundreds of others like it.

Weekend for Men is another story. This is Brut, more or less, with the original Calone molecule added, two or three extra citrus fruits, and a white musky veil thrown over everything. The top is bright and fizzy, and then a grandiloquent haze of white musk, jasmine, lavender, and a sprig of mint appear in the drydown. It's far too muted to be memorable, and isn't nearly as enjoyable as that ambery fougère from 1964. 

Burberry For Men (Burberry)

I've always avoided the House of Burberry, a company with an inane public image, made worse by inane advertisements. The whole tartan sleeve motif really grinds my gears. Tartan sleeves? Really? My perfume is more sophisticated than yours, see? Cuz it's wearing a kilt. Is yours wearing a kilt? Yeah, I didn't think so.

Thankfully, the flagship masculine in Burberry's lineup eschews all things tartan, favoring traditional glass instead. Nothing embarrassing there. Released in 1995, Burberry For Men is a true '90s fresh fougère, packed to the gills with minty citrus, clean lavender, and sweet woods. It opens with a bright puff of peppermint iridescence, made astringent by bergamot and piquant floral notes. This opening reminds me of Tom Ford for Men's, minus the lemon. It's fresh, smooth, and a little hard to smell. It's just an inoffensive fizz, which makes for rapid olfactory fatigue. This is demure stuff.

Eventually tobacco and cedar notes appear, forming a pleasantly staid heart accord of dry, sweet woods. The woodiness is prominent for the duration of the scent's life - I get about six hours out of it. The far drydown yields an amenable vanillic musk, very soft and bittersweet. Burberry isn't the most exciting fragrance, but it's a good scent for the workplace. It's something an introspective and serious-mannered high school senior would wear while perusing the sports section of the library, utterly oblivious of the librarian's longing gaze.

Try this scent, before it's discontinued and gone forever . . .