On February 23, 2026, Morning Brew published a report headlined Axe body spray wants to cut through the fog. I quote the opening paragraph:
Axe is looking to get out of the cloud business. The body spray company knows it’s infamous for making locker rooms look like cigar lounges, so it’s taking a lighter approach by redesigning its product to avoid overspraying.
This took me back. But it did not take me back to a cigar lounge. To the best of my recollection, I have never been in a cigar lounge, although I am just old enough to remember when New York City restaurants had smoking sections. No, this took me back to my home room in high school.
I submit for the record that I have never used Axe body spray. It does not smell good. It also has a tendency to merge with, rather than overpower, that which it is ostensibly intended to cover up. But while I never used Axe, many of the boys in my high school class were liberal Axe users. They were also creative Axe users. While Axe is marketed as a “body” spray, my classmates had the ingenious idea of using it as a ambient air “freshener” after gym class. Also in the area of hygiene products, they would sometimes take a glob of hand sanitizer from the Purell dispenser in the hallway, conceal in, and then shake someone’s hand. But let us focus on Axe.
On one occasion when I was in 12th grade, I was talking to a girl in the 11th grade classroom on the day the 11th grade boys had gym. One of the boys, who serves as one of multiple inspirations for Justin of my Justin and Justina dialogues (e.g., the source of the “conspiracy” theory that turkeys are just chickens that then-Vice President Dick Cheney painted brown) walked in after gym, singing a song while spraying himself with Axe. His classmate with whom I had been talking made a face and I commented on the olfactory offense of the Axe phenomenon. I specifically noted how it has a tendency to create new scents while ostensibly covering up old ones. The young man agreed, but he put a different spin on his use of Axe and its effects:
This is my enchanting musk.
Look, say what you will about the young man, but he had (and I assume still has) a way with words. “Enchanting musk” is a poetic way of describing what happens when excessive Axe body spray meets your post-gym, pre-shower skin. Times also change. If someone started waxing poetic about the “enchanting musk” these days, I suspect many people would think the phrase was a reference to the angular car designer and branding expert rather than the result of using Axe body spray. (Note: I referenced the enchanting musk story in a 2021 Justin and Justina dialogue.)
Neither me nor my non-musky junior were persuaded that his “enchanting musk” was a good thing, but there was no disputing that it was a 999 line (she probably disputed it, actually, but I had to hand it to him).
Of course, having a way with words does not guarantee that every line will land. In the NBA, some of the greatest passers in history also sport non-insignificant turnover rates. The great Hall of Fame point guard Steve Nash sported a 16.1% turnover rate in his last four seasons as the Dallas Mavericks’ full-time starting point guard (2000-01 through 2003-04) and a 20.5% turnover rate in his next four seasons with the Phoenix Suns (2004-05 through 2007-08). Of course, Mr. Nash won two MVP awards in those four seasons with Phoenix and finished second in MVP voting on another occasion, whereas in Dallas his best personal accolades had been two All Star appearances accompanied by All NBA Third Team selections. Mr. Nash’s turnover rate went up in Phoenix because the Suns gave him more room to run the offense, which resulted in more than enough good (the Suns finished 1st, 2nd, 1st, and 2nd in offensive rating in those four seasons) to overcome his personal uptick in turnovers. Mr. Nash was just one season removed from what was arguably his best season when the enchanting musk line dropped, so consider my now “retro” example appropriate in context.
Returning to Mr. Enchanting Musk, he got into some sort of back-and-forth debate with a friend of mine in the previous school year, the same friend with whom I would share a steak dinner with before a boxing match at Madison Square Garden a few years later. Mr. Enchanting Musk delivered a line which was intended to be a show-stopper:
You’re a muskrat who swims in rivers.
I was impressed with the line in one sense: He knew that muskrats can swim. He did have an impressive grasp of trivia, so it is no surprise that he knew muskrats (and mammals generally) can swim. I cannot swim. But I am the exception, not the rule. But enough about my swimming ability or lack thereof. While I was impressed that it would have even occurred to him to drop “you’re a muskrat who swims in rivers” on someone in a back-and-forth, neither my friend nor I appreciated it as a show-stopper. Instead, it became an enduring example of the fact that greatness entails taking risks, and risks necessarily come with potential down-side. The same man who earned begrudging respect for defending his copious Axe usage with the “enchanting musk” line could draw confused head tilts for calling someone a muskrat who swims in rivers. Who dares wins… sometimes.
