The first cologne I ever bought was Drakkar Noir, which I’m not proud of, but it was 1998 and I was sixteen, so cut me some slack. I bought it because the guy at the Macy’s counter told me “chicks dig it,” and because I’d seen the black bottle in my older cousin Matt’s bathroom and thought it made him look sophisticated. What I didn’t realize was that every other sixteen-year-old in Chicago had the exact same bottle, and we all walked around in clouds of it, like some kind of awful chemical warfare experiment targeting high school dances.
My dad caught me applying it before a date—basically hosing myself down with the stuff—and physically removed it from my hands. “Jesus, Jack, are you trying to fumigate the house?” He took me into his bathroom and showed me his own modest collection of fragrances, demonstrating the “two sprays, max” rule that would have saved countless teenage girls from olfactory assault had someone taught it to me earlier.
That night I learned that cologne wasn’t about volume but about subtlety. It wasn’t about announcing your arrival to everyone in a three-block radius. It was about someone leaning in close and thinking, “Damn, he smells good,” not “Dear god, who let a perfume counter explode in here?”
Twenty-plus years and probably fifty fragrances later, I’ve learned a thing or two about finding scents that work. And let me tell you, it’s a weird world out there. The fragrance industry is built on mystique, pretension, and marketing nonsense that would make even the most shameless tech startup blush. “Notes of Calabrian bergamot dancing with Madagascar vanilla on a bed of Lebanese cedar.” What the hell does that even mean to the average guy? It’s like wine descriptions written by someone having a stroke.
So let’s cut through the crap and talk about how to find a cologne you’ll actually wear, that suits your life, and that won’t make your significant other develop a sudden interest in nasal surgery.
First things first: Forget what you think you know about “cologne” versus “eau de toilette” versus “parfum.” Yes, they indicate concentration and how long they last, but that’s about it. Parfum is strongest, then eau de parfum, eau de toilette, and finally eau de cologne. Stronger doesn’t mean better—it just means you need less of it. My friend Diego, who runs a fragrance counter at Bloomingdale’s, puts it bluntly: “The guys who come in demanding the strongest concentration are usually the ones who shouldn’t be trusted with it.”
The idea that certain scents are strictly “masculine” or “feminine” is also largely marketing BS. There are plenty of women who wear traditionally “masculine” scents like vetiver or leather-based fragrances, and plenty of men who can pull off a floral note without their manhood spontaneously combusting. Your body chemistry, personality, and preferences matter way more than what the bottle says or what section of the store it’s in.
That said, if you’re just starting out, the men’s section gives you a more manageable range of options to begin with. No need to make this more complicated than it already is.
Now for the actual selection process. Here’s how to do it without losing your mind:
Never, ever buy a fragrance without wearing it first. I don’t care how good it smells on the paper strip, how much your friend raves about it, or how attractive the sales associate telling you it’s “perfect for you” happens to be. Fragrances smell different on everyone because they interact with your skin chemistry. That Tom Ford that smells amazing on your brother might make you smell like you fell face-first into a spice cabinet.
Last year, my buddy Trevor bought a $300 niche fragrance online because some YouTube influencer said it was “beast mode” (apparently this means it’s strong and lasts forever, which, as we’ve established, isn’t necessarily a good thing). It arrived, he sprayed it on, and his wife immediately asked if something had died in their HVAC system. Three hundred bucks down the drain because he didn’t sample it first.
The proper way to test: Spray once on your wrist or the inside of your elbow. Now wait. Seriously, wait at least 15 minutes, preferably an hour. Fragrances evolve on your skin—what you smell immediately after spraying (the “top notes”) will fade within minutes, revealing the “heart” or “middle notes” that stick around for a few hours, followed by the “base notes” that might last all day. If you buy based on the initial impression, you might hate what you’re left with later.
I’ve got a ritual when I’m seriously considering a new fragrance. I sample it, go about my day, and check in with it every hour or so. How’s it developing? Do I still like it? Is it giving me a headache? Is it still detectable or has it vanished? By the end of the day, I know whether we’re compatible for the long haul or if it was just a brief infatuation.
Let’s talk about seasons and occasions, because yes, they matter. The heavy, spicy scent that feels perfect in December might make you (and everyone around you) nauseous in July. The light, citrusy fragrance that’s refreshing for brunch might disappear entirely during a dinner date. This doesn’t mean you need twenty different colognes—three or four will cover your bases nicely.
For most guys, having a “signature scent” for everyday wear, something lighter for warm weather, something richer for cold weather or evening, and maybe something specific for special occasions is more than enough. My rotation is pretty simple: a versatile woody-aromatic for most days (Terre d’Hermès), something fresher for summer (Acqua di Parma Colonia), something warmer for winter (Tom Ford Oud Wood), and a wildcard that I wear when I’m feeling particularly fancy (a small-batch cologne from a perfumer in New Orleans that smells like old books and whiskey, which is either pretentious as hell or perfectly on-brand for me, depending on who you ask).
The price thing is tricky. Yes, there are excellent fragrances at every price point. No, more expensive doesn’t automatically mean better. Some of the most complimented scents in my collection are under $50, while some three-figure disappointments sit gathering dust. That said, the ultra-cheap stuff tends to have poorer longevity and can smell more synthetic. The sweet spot for quality versus value seems to be in the $50-125 range for a standard size (50-100ml).
When I was broke and just starting out at Style Authority, I discovered that many high-end fragrances have perfectly respectable “inspired by” alternatives. I’m not talking about counterfeits—those are garbage and often contain sketchy ingredients. I mean legitimate brands that create similar scent profiles at lower price points. Websites like Fragrantica let you look up almost any cologne and see what users consider similar but cheaper alternatives.
Now, a word about application, because this is where so many guys go wrong. The goal of wearing fragrance isn’t to ensure everyone in a fifty-foot radius knows you’re wearing it. It’s to create a pleasant experience for people who are already close to you. My rule of thumb is that your cologne should be discoverable, not announced. Someone should have to get within personal conversation distance to really appreciate it.
For most fragrances, this means one to two sprays, max. One on the chest under your shirt, and maybe one on the back of the neck or on your wrists (which you then press together, not rub—rubbing crushes the molecules and changes the scent). If you can smell your own cologne clearly an hour after application without bringing your wrist to your nose, you’re wearing too much.
My friend Marcus, who has a collection that would make most fragrance enthusiasts weep with envy, puts it perfectly: “Cologne should be a reward for getting close to you, not a punishment for being in the same room.”
Let’s talk about longevity, because it’s probably the biggest complaint I hear from guys. “I spent good money on this, why can’t I smell it after an hour?” Here’s the thing—olfactory fatigue is real. Your nose literally stops detecting scents it’s constantly exposed to. Just because you can’t smell it anymore doesn’t mean it’s gone. Ask someone else before you reapply.
If you genuinely have issues with fragrances disappearing quickly, try moisturizing your skin before application (dry skin doesn’t hold scent well), or apply to clothes instead of skin (just be careful about potential staining with darker juices). You can also look specifically for fragrances with better longevity—generally anything with prominent woody, amber, or oud notes will stick around longer than citrus or aquatic scents.
Finally, the most important advice I can give: Wear what makes you feel good. Not what’s trendy, not what the guy at the counter pushes on you, not what gets the most compliments on Reddit. The best cologne is one that makes you feel more confident when you wear it.
My most complimented fragrance ever wasn’t some expensive niche scent—it was a $65 bottle I bought because it reminded me of hiking with my dad in Michigan when I was a kid. Something about me genuinely loving it made it work on a level that no amount of marketing could achieve.
So start simple. Hit a department store with no agenda except to explore. Spray a few testers on cards, find which general family appeals to you—woody, fresh, spicy, oriental—then try one or two on your skin. Walk around, live with it, see how it develops. Don’t let anyone pressure you, and for god’s sake, ignore all the ridiculous French adjectives on the box.
Remember, the goal isn’t to smell expensive or trendy or like someone else’s idea of masculinity. It’s to smell like the best version of yourself. And if sixteen-year-old me drenched in Drakkar Noir could figure it out eventually, I promise there’s hope for everyone.
