Being one myself, I know what boys smell like. I sit beside them every day. They sweat more than they admit, and they often smell. It is natural to bodies that are transforming from boys to men, and where the hormones remain unbalanced. When they try to fix this, my schoolmates usually make it worse. You can taste the scent in the air by second period. It clings to the seams of their clothes. It settles into the plastic chairs and rises again when they shift.

Bryan Mercadente is right to reject this. I read his vinegar article with admiration. He’s historically aware and angry in a way that has force behind it. His disgust with the commercial hygiene industry is well-earned. His turn to vinegar as a weapon against all of it makes sense. I respect it. I even tried it.

But I don’t hate the boys around me the way he does. I’m aware of them. I see the mess, the half-washed skin, the deodorant applied over sweat instead of after a shower. But I don’t view them as enemies. I certainly don’t gloat over their actual or prospective deaths. They are just products of a system that trains boys to be helpless in their own bodies and then sells them solutions that don’t work.

We agree on the problem. I’m less certain about the solution. I used vinegar after reading Bryan’s piece. I tried white vinegar, rubbed into the skin after a shower, when the pores are open and the water is still evaporating. It works. I’ll be clear about that. The usual background odour vanished. There was no need to mask anything because there was nothing left to mask.

But then there was the smell of the vinegar itself. Some people tolerate it. Some like it. I didn’t. On me, it didn’t just smell sour—it turned into something else, something faintly chemical and artificial, even though it wasn’t. I smelled it on the collar of my jumper an hour later. And it wasn’t the smell of cleanliness. It was the smell of the process.

That’s when I started thinking about function instead of form.

Bryan invokes vinegar with historical weight. He brings in Pliny and the Roman baths. He describes it as ritual. But vinegar only works because of acidity. That’s the mechanism. It lowers skin pH, making it impossible for Corynebacterium and other bacteria to thrive. These bacteria are the source of body odour. Disrupt them, and the smell stops. That’s it. The historical associations are interesting, but not necessary.

Citric acid achieves the same effect. It does it with no scent, no sting, and no risk of smelling like you spilled a jar of pickles on your laundry. I’ve been using a citric acid spray for about three weeks now. One gram of powder, mixed with 100ml of distilled water. Sometimes I add a drop of tea tree oil for its antimicrobial qualities, but not for scent. I apply it after showering. It dries quickly. I forget I’m wearing it.

More importantly, so does everyone else. There’s no smell. No trace. No question of whether I’m trying to make a statement. It’s just absent.

Bryan quotes Pliny the Elder:

“Acetum in balneis utile est, odorem corporis reficit et fatigationem tollit.”
“Vinegar in baths is useful; it refreshes the body’s odour and relieves fatigue.”
— Naturalis Historia 23.56, Loeb Vol. VI, p. 458

And Hippocrates:

“ἐὰν δὲ ὀδμὴ πνεύματος δυσώδης ᾖ, ὄξος μετὰ ὕδατος… ἀναγαργαρίζειν.”
“If the breath smells bad, gargle with vinegar mixed with water.”
— Regimen in Acute Diseases, LCL Vol. II, p. 68

This is real history. These were real practices. But the Greeks and Romans weren’t using vinegar because it was beautiful. They used it because it worked. If they’d had access to pure citric acid in powder form, and a glass spray bottle, I suspect they would have used that instead. It would have been cleaner, less aggressive in scent. There is no moral obligation to smell like a salad dressing in order to be clean.

Some people want their scent to say something. They want to smell like danger, or discipline, or protest. I understand that. I just don’t want to smell like anything. Clean skin shouldn’t announce itself. It should allow the person to exist in a room without leaving a trace. I want to be able to sit down, stand up, move through a corridor, and not contribute to the air. That’s not purity. That’s practicality.

Bryan’s approach is valid. For him, vinegar isn’t just about cleanliness—it’s about resistance. I respect that. But if vinegar leaves a scent that follows you through the day, and you don’t like that scent, you don’t have to tolerate it in the name of tradition.

Citric acid does the same job. It doesn’t stain, it doesn’t clash with fabric, and it doesn’t announce your presence. You can be clean without spectacle. You can smell like nothing and still be free.