A few days later, however, we here at the DK received comments and emails bearing the same email address.  This time, she revealed her identity as a Wieden + Kennedy employee (the ad agency who handles the Old Spice campaigns for Procter & Gamble) and went on to say that their client loved the piece and could they send me a bunch of OS swag to show their appreciation?  Sure.  Why not?  Who doesn’t like free shit?

But here’s what’s up.  1.) Why anyone over there enjoyed my post—which expressed my deep disappointment in their recent product changes and at least one time referred to them as ‘hacks’—is beyond me.  2.) Attempting to leave comments under the guise of a random reader when you’re actually involved in the promotion of a brand is LAME.  3.) These guys must think I’m 16 or something, and that a few lousy belt buckles and t-shirts can bring me back to 100% brand loyalty.

‘Fraid not, guys.

What they probably don’t know is that I’m a grown man, complete with a marriage, mortgage and a paid-off car to boot.  They probably don’t know that I hold a BA in advertising and have—when I chose to work in the field—enjoyed great successes in marketing.  I know exactly what they were trying to do: Buy me off.

Now, I don’t expect this or any of my previous rants to change P&G’s plans for the OS brand.  I understand that they need to appeal to a younger demographic to perpetuate the brand.  And I have worked in corporate America enough to know that ultimately it’s the shareholders they answer to.  But again—what they seem to have lost complete track of is the men who made the brand what it was in the first place.  And as for W+K?  They just advertise the shit, so I suppose they’re just doing their jobs.

But to both P&G and W+K, I say this: Thanks for the free stuff, but you completely miss the point.  The OS brand has become so diluted with myriad teenage-boy-smelling products (that After Hours sample made me gag, BTW) and very little left for those of us who loved what made Old Spice Old Spice.

Tell you what, P&G—this post might serve as one of the most unsavory cover letters you’ve ever read, but I’m always available as a hired gun for the right price.  You want to create a clear brand identity?  Want to appeal to males of all ages without alienating one age group or another?  Want to save on costs while upping volume by sharply focusing the ridiculously bloated line-up you know offer?  Drop me a line.  Let’s talk.

—Brent

Old Spice Classic scent body wash is no exception.  In fact, it has arguably the best iteration of the old-school OS scent of any of the current products (deodorant, shaving cream, etc.).  It fills your bathroom with the masculine smells of confidence and adventure as you shower.  It delights the senses and emboldens the spirit, prepping you to go build that garage or save wayward babies from traffic.

That’s why I was dismayed to find that two of my local Target stores stopped carrying it.  While luckily I was able to deplete the stock of a nearby Walgreen’s, I fear that the product is going the way of the dodo.  After all, it only took P&G a year from introduction to kill off Classic scent body spray (which, BTW, makes for a glorious room freshener).

Yet another letdown.  Watching Old Spice follow the trajectories of Axe- and Tag-like manfumes marketed to adolescent boys is supremely disappointing.  Maybe that’s what required for the brand to stay viable with younger generations, but Jesus… What about us Original scent loyalists?  Are there really so few of us as to relegate our fancy to merely deodorant and aftershave?

I’ll be keeping an eye on this and reporting developments as they unfold.  Old Spice still features the product on its site, but disappearing store stock has me worried.  Fellow lovers of Original scent, please feel free to comment with your observations of local availability.

—Brent

Turns out I didn’t even need three.  I made the switch back to the twin-blade Gillette Sensor Excel recently, and I couldn’t be happier.

First, the razor handle and cartridges are simple, utilitarian and look nice.  No big honkin’ ‘ergonomic’ handles.  No batteries or switches with which to turn your razor into a fucking vibrator.  The Excel features only a simple, grippy, nicely weighted round handle, and a straightforward, low profile cartridge that actually allows you to see what the hell you’re doing.

Second, the shave is (wait for it…) excellent.  Like really excellent.  For years I figured I was getting superior shaves with various iterations of the Mach 3 because 1.) Gillette told me so, and 2.) more blades HAS to mean a better shave, right?  So wrong.  With decent technique, The Sensor Excel delivers unbeatable closeness.   It’s also quite comfortable; though Gillette equates more blades with greater comfort, I have experienced much less irritation and fewer ingrown hairs (read: none) since coming back to the Excel.

Third, Sensor Excel cartridges are reasonably affordable compared to the the latest blades.  A quick scan on the interweb indicates that a 4-pack of Fusion cartridges will set you back roughly 14 bones, or about $3.50 per cartridge.  I picked up a 25-pack of Sensor Excel cartridges at Costco for around $30, or about $1.20 per.  Do the math, kids – a Fusion cartridge is 292% more expensive.

Admittedly, I have never tried a Fusion.  Don’t care to.  Perhaps I’m missing the best cartridge shave of my life, but I doubt it.  As was my experience with the Mach 3, more blades were not better, and I hear similar complaints from others about the 5-blade monstrosities out there.  For me, I’ve got the Best a Man Can Get right in my bathroom cabinet, and she only sports a pair.  I can’t recommend the Gillette Sensor Excel enough.

—Brent

Meh.

Though possibly a nice break from the same-old for some Barbasol users, the scent is nothing special.  More comparable to your garden-variety “sport” cologne – generally crisp and clean, if mildly juvenile – than the sea, Pacific Rush falls flat.

Additionally, like the Original Barbasol, Pacific Rush contains no aloe or lanolin.  Sensitive mugs used to the Soothing Aloe or Skin Conditioning varieties may experience a less-comfortable shave.

Bottom line: I applaud Barbasol’s attempt to diversify, but the superior shave and classic, masculine fragrance of Soothing Aloe (my personal fave of the Barbies) will have me reaching for the green stripes once again.

—Brent

Wow.  Remember the Dopp Kit?  Thing got off to a rip-roaring start, only to fizzle out as quickly as it fired up.  What can we say?  We’re busy dudes.  Well, mostly Craig and Pat are busy dudes.

Regardless, thanks to Pat for resurrecting this old heap with yesterday’s post.  After a very long, tough winter here in the Mitten, I’m coming out of my shell and ready to contribute again also.  I’d wager to say Craig can find a few moments to share his latest insights as well.

Thanks again, Pat. Welcome back to the Dopp Kit, all.

—Brent

I don’t give a shit about personal grooming products. Maybe I oughta—lord knows the ladies seem to prefer a well-moisturized fella these days—but I don’t.

With one exception.

I love Dr. Bronner’s castille soap (I usually get peppermint, but the almond is nice too). It’s the stuff in the big bottle with the crazy proselytizing script covering every inch. And, yes, I recognize that this label, which mentions “spaceship earth” in several places, can be a turnoff to those like me who tend to shut down at the first mention of anything new-agey. But there’s also something old-tyme-medicine-showy about the whole thing that redeems it. It’s almost messianic, too, which makes for good reading.

And if you look a little closer, that same label spells out the magic that makes Dr. Bronner’s my favorite item in the personal-care section of any store: You can use it as a shampoo or a floor cleaner.

You can do dishes or laundry with it. You can use it as a regular soap, and you can brush your teeth with it. It can function as a natural “pest spray,” deodorant, shaving foam or pet shampoo.

I bet it makes a hell of a cocktail when you add dark rum and Swiss Miss powder. But, seriously: shampoo and floor cleaner in one! This must be the product Tom Waits is shilling in “Step Right Up” … you know, “It disinfects, it sanitizes for your protection/It gives you an erection/It wins the election/Why put up with painful corns any longer?”

I’ve used it on my hair, gotten out of the shower and mopped my kitchen floor with it. By the time the floor is done, my hair is almost dry. And that’s when I love ol’ Doc Bronner the very most. Because that’s when I can run my fingers through my hair and actually hear it squeak. I mean it; it fucking squeaks! My hair: literally squeaky clean.

And my floor smells like peppermint.

—Pat

“You look exactly like someone,” he shouted. “Yeah, someone famous.”

Then to a fat woman across the parking lot — his common-law wife perhaps — “Hey, who does this guy look like?”

I knew the guy he was thinking of, but I didn’t want to help him out. I just shrugged and smiled and walked by him. It was hot and I had limes to buy; cachaca drunk straight is intolerable.

But I digress.

Because of my high-school-football-player-gone-soft physique, my sunglasses and my mini-fro-bushy-sideburns combo, I am often told that I remind people of noted slapsticker Jack Black.

—Brent

—Brent

That danger is part of the goatee’s allure. Once you’ve invested the days or weeks it takes to grow one, you then must commit to exerting a master’s concentration while shaving. The man who consistently pulls off a balanced goatee has a clear eye and a steady hand. That’s a man you can trust.

But no longer. Because now, some entrepreneur has gone and invented the GoateeSaver, training wheels for the unskilled shavist. I don’t quite know how it works, because it’s stupid, but a “man” basically affixes a device to his face that creates a perfect goatee boundary, ensuring that the razor won’t take off too much on one side.

I can’t argue with the aesthetic results. So long as you’re intelligent enough to stick the GoateeSaver on the center of your face, you’ll end up with a balanced, well-rounded goatee. But at what cost? The loss of a daily exercise in manual dexterity? The antiquation of pride in the free-hand grooming a perfect goatee? The fact that every morning you have to wear something that looks like a pacifier in a David Cronenberg movie?

Yes. All of that.

And more: The GoateeSaver is antithetical to everything The Dopp Kit stands for, namely the ultimate freedom a man has when he runs a deadly sharp razor against his throat and face. If you shave with a GoateeSaver, that goatee is no longer yours. It belongs to the people who run GoateeSaver Co. LLC of Little Rock, Ark. You don’t determine the shape and balance, they do. At that point, why not just shave corporate logos into your beard?

Remember, men: Your face is yours and yours alone. Don’t allow shaving-industry creep to overtake your mug!

(But if anyone wants to go into business for a sideburn mold, call me!)

Out of Dominica’s bay rum and interested in trying other brands this summer, I was pleased to find Pinaud Clubman Virgin Island Bay Rum at my local Walgreen’s.  Coming in at about $7 for a 12-oz. bottle, I couldn’t resist.  Though I’ve logged less than 24 hours with this after shave, I already feel compelled to offer up a review:

The Ingredients: Unlike my beloved Dominica, there don’t appear to be many natural ingredients in the Pinaud.  In fact, the ingredient list (and some of the ingredients themselves) is mildly disturbing.  But hell, this is a manly after shave, and real men scoff at danger.

The Scent: Spicy.  Pinaud’s offering has long been popular among bay rum lovers, and I can see why.  Its fragrance is assertive and masculine, heavy on cinnamon and clove.  Upon taking a whiff, Mandy immediately reported “It smells like a pirate ship.”  I’d have to agree.  The scent settles down quickly, but retains more presence and lasts longer than the all-natural stuff.

Uses: Like many bay rums, Pinaud promotes this as “a classic all-purpose fragrance,” and encourages the user to “splash freely all over the body.”  I took that advice following this morning’s shower, which leads me to the next point…

The Burn.  Dear God, the Burn: The burn of Pinaud Virgin Island Bay Rum is legendary.  It burned upon application to my face yesterday, though it had been hours since I shaved.  Hell, it burned my face this morning though I hadn’t shaved at all.  But the really disconcerting sensation followed the all-over application.  Sweet Moses, my huevos were set alight in a manner exceeded only by toxic dollar-store Gold Bond and Ben-Gay knockoffs.  I can only imagine how this stuff is gonna feel directly following a shave.  Not for the faint-hearted.

The Packaging: Awesome.  I have to take off points for the plastic bottle, but the shape, cap, labeling and colors are glorious.  With a sails-down galleon gracing the label and the liquor bottle shape, the packaging exudes the imagery associated with bay rums and well, actual rums for that matter.

The Bottom Line: I had reservations about this after shave – especially with all the more natural bay rums out there that consistently receive rave reviews – but I’m pleasantly surprised and this will surely find a spot in my rotation.  With its classic, lasting scent, its hellfire burn and aesthetically appropriate packaging, Pinaud Bay Rum is well worth the money.

-Brent

It’s not that I don’t care about my appearance. It’s just that — like every decent Midwesterner — I feel horribly uncomfortable admitting that I care about my appearance. It doesn’t matter how manly today’s lotions and gels are; they’re still lotions and gels. And decent people just don’t talk about that kind of thing.

In the ensuing weeks, however, I’ve found myself checking The Dopp Kit more than I expected. And when I read Brent’s brilliant essay on lake shaving — what could be more masculine than that? — I felt compelled to add to the discourse.

Which brings us to the crux of the matter, the heart of the thing, the brass tacks: barber shops and why they remain culturally relevant.

I have this debate with my girlfriend all the time. She doesn’t get it, but I cannot, I explain to her, get a haircut at a salon or a stylist. I must go to a barbershop, and the experience must include:

• A barber pole outside, preferably a real one not one that’s just painted on the window.
• A barber, preferably an elderly gentleman whose political beliefs are far to the right of my own.
• At least one dead animal on the wall. It can be a fish — I’m not particular — but I recently got a haircut from a guy in Idaho who had a stuffed cougar mounted on the wall. Great haircut. And, yes, he had killed the big cat himself and eaten it. It’s like pork, he said.
• Sports magazines.
• Hot shaving cream.

There’s logic in this list of must-haves, even if it’s not at first apparent.

Most importantly, experience has taught me that I tend to get better cuts from these kind of chop joints. I have, under trying circumstances, gone to salons and stylists, and the results have been invariably disastrous. I tell them from the jump that I don’t want any kind of product in my hair. They usually ask how I can style it without product. And I usually just tell them not to worry about me; I’ll be fine. What I really want to say is, “I don’t ‘style’ it. It’s my fucking hair. I get it cut and then leave it alone for another three months. I comb it with my fingers, for christ’s sake.”

And, of secondary import, I like the barbershop because it’s manly. And I am not. I am of a generation of “men” who don’t know how to build a bookcase or repair an engine. I am normally OK with this. But sometimes I get these vestigial urges toward old-school masculinity. I want to howl at the moon, roll up a pack of cigarettes in the sleeve of my grease-stained T-shirt and drink so much whiskey I can barely make it to my job at the docks the next morning. But make it I will, because I’m a man and a man does his day’s work, damn it.

Anyway, I think that’s why I like barbershops.

—Pat