Caesars Man: Nuclear Freaking Deathbomb

Posted on | June 3, 2008 | No Comments

Ah, Caesars Man.  You were almost my first online purchase, almost.  Especially at $11 for a big ol’ 4.0 oz bottle.  And in your immediate defense, you don’t sound all that bad, with notes of Lime, Oakmoss, Sandalwood, Amber, and Musk.  Imagine my joy when I spot you at the local TJ Maxx.  $9.99 for the same 4.0 oz bottle!  I’m sold!

And that’s where it all went wrong.

Of course, I can’t be too much of a prick about this, at $2.50 an ounce it’s the cheapest cologne in my wardrobe.  The initial burst is even rather pleasant!  Nice crisp citrus with the edges slightly rounded by the sandalwood base.  And I love sandalwood fragrances.  Give it about 30 minutes though, and you start to see another side.  That citrus note gets a little too sweet, almost rotten, and it starts picking up a new note, which to me smells like fir or mint or pine.  Something in that area.  And then the base vanishes.  So you’re left with rotten oranges and pine (rotten orange pine-sol?), and this will be the state of affairs for the next, oh, 15 hours.  On two sprays.  And I’d really rather not project this stuff, so of course it’s one of the great sillage monsters of my wardrobe.

Or it was, anyway.  I gave the bottle to my Dad as I knew I honestly would never wear the stuff again.  He took it with him on a vacation to Florida.  When he returned a week later, he took his shaving bag and tossed it up on the counter.  About a minute later I started smelling something, and something not particularly good either.  With a lurching suspicion, I approach the bag and the scent grows stronger.  I open the zipper and see a puddle of Caesars Man in the bottom of the bag.

By the way, just so you know, it’s a screw-top.  And apparently it can work itself loose of it’s own volition.

Our bathroom smelled like Caesars man for every bit of two weeks or more.  I would choke on this scent every time I went into the bathroom.  After a while it’d literally make me sick to my stomach.  I don’t really ever want to smell it again.

Bottom line:  Friends don’t let friends wear Caesars Man.

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