My dad used to take me to get donuts almost every Saturday. It wasn’t a regularly scheduled event, even though it ended up happening almost weekly. Rubbing my eyes on a crisp fall morning, I knew it was going to be a good day when he woke me up by saying “I think it might be donut day.” The smell of fried batter and sugary sweet icing today remains nostalgic. I fucking love donuts.  

So when I had the opportunity to try Native’s Dunkin Donut line of deodorant I jumped at the opportunity. If a deodorant could capture the childhood memories of me bundled in my pajamas and slippers giddy to eat a donut hole on the drive home, Native could have my money indefinitely. 

Unfortunately, the smell only reminded me of strawberry Lipsmackers that the bitches in middle school would wear (and that I wanted to wear but my mom didn’t believe in artificial flavors), and in turn conjured memories of me wearing an Ed Hardy t-shirt to the seventh grade dance because I thought everyone would also want to dress like Pauly D. At least chapstick makes sense to have a Jolly Rancher-like taste because you can actually eat it. Deodorant, last time I checked, is for smelling and not eating. Unless you’re Rago. 

My one positive review is that the solid deodorant didn’t clump in my armpits and stain my t-shirts. My sweaty girls get it.

Caroline Rutten

Having grown up and lived the vast majority of my life in New England, I was both intrigued and perplexed to see that Dunkin collaborated with Native to create Dunkin-scented deodorants.

Serendipitously, the Editor-in-Chief at UDD3R—perhaps trying to send me a subtle message—gifted me one of these fine sticks as a “thank you” for my service this past year. To be short, I was pleasantly surprised by this deodorant! The scent, albeit a little too in-your-face, boasts notes of chocolate and toasted vanilla, similar to that familiar smell of each and every Dunkin Donuts that my massholes know and love. In fact, when I close my eyes and sniff, it brings me to all Dunkin locations—the table full of towny octogenarians catching up on their gossip, the two construction workers in neon yellow sucking down their black coffees while they wait for their bacon egg and cheeses on everything bagels and their sides of hash browns, and the team of high schoolers serving customers and frantically making coffees: the backbone of all Dunkins. This is home.

That being said, the smell is powerful, THAT powerful. So powerful that it probably shouldn’t be caked on my armpits. I don’t want to walk around with that on me all day; it can be nauseating and oppressive. I could see this scent working great as a holiday candle that you break out after dinner to clear the potpourri of smells out of the kitchen. Well, this dominant Boston Crème deodorant can do just that—clear out a room.

Fantastic as a stand-alone scent yet shocking and off-putting as an underarm deodorant, this product receives a soft 3.5/5 stars.

Joel Papp

When we talk about the Fall of Rome, there is not a single agreed-upon event that caused the collapse of an entire empire. But perhaps we can agree on this- that the appearance, manufacture, and sale of a deodorant in the flavors of “Dunkin’s Best Selling Sweet Treats” might be a sign we are headed towards the same style of collapse. Bread and circuses is the term coined by Juvenal, a poet of the same great Roman Empire to describe the distractions and absurdity designed to keep the general public in a fugue state, one where we are apathetic, and even more worryingly, accepting of that apathy. Here, in America, thousands of years later, it’s much the same: the bread, a head scratching collaboration between a venerated donut chain and an environmentally friendly hygiene company. The circus? The advertisements, copy, and gleeful tone surrounding it. 

The deodorant itself is fine. I got vanilla sprinkle, and I’ll be damned, it truly smells exactly like that. There is a dark magic brewing here, around us. Resist. Show your strength. Do not waver.

Ilya Shrayber

As I woke up a bit earlier than usual to meet an old friend for breakfast, I found myself lathering my yawning pits with a blast of Dunkin’ Donut Blueberry Cobbler Deodorant. I was happy at least that the cobbler deodorant boasted having no aluminum in it. Yet immediately I was overwhelmed by an unnatural sweetness. It kind of fucked me up. Happily groggy on a cool morning, just to be put against the wall by Big Smell Co. It put my stomach at unease, so I threw a heavy jacket on, and some cologne to mask it. 

I thought of my cousin's birthday party when we were kids, where the party favor was a Reese’s Cup shaped and scented lip balm. All too dim witted, I popped it out of its container and took a bite. My mouth exploded with an unpleasant wet clay like consistency, and that odd sort of burn from the host of things that shouldn’t be on my tastebuds. I spit it onto the ground and my family around me laughed, you’re not supposed to eat that, they said. Oh, I said.  

I felt similar to the Blueberry Cobbler Deodorant. As I drove to breakfast, the sweet smell would catch me off guard and I’d briefly pop the windows open. I smelled vaguely edible yet ungodly and manufactured. Why have we crossed foods and the things that make us smell better? Am I out of the loop, is it hot to smell like something that one may or may not be able to eat? I didn’t feel incredibly edible. 

Nic Rago