Lynx Julia Raeside Saturday June 9, 2007 The Guardian

Advertisers used to tell young women that if they smelt nice, young men would give them flowers. But now they're telling chaps that a spray of sickly guff in a tin will have chicks pumping their pelvises at them before they can say, "How do you do? My name is Chris. Would you like a spritzer?"
If "Chris" spent less time in front of the mirror, dousing himself in Lynx Knob, he might know there's very little pulling power to be gained from something which costs £2.50. The latest Lynx campaign depicts a series of women who smell Lynx and immediately dry hump the men wearing it. An excess of Lynx usually causes people to move downstairs on the bus, not rise from their seats and start air-shagging. And each display of primal groin grinding is preceded by the instantly wearing catchphrase, "Bom chicka wah wah", sung to a tune as instantaneously unshakeable as the closing bars of the Grange Hill theme tune. Consider your internal jukebox well and truly violated for the rest of your life.

The most irksome ad sees a supermarket drone going about his business in the perishables aisle when a leggy model with an Afro sniffs his musk and loses all sense of propriety. She puts on the full tail-feather display, jiggling her bumper hither and yon while he stares at her arse like an astonished goat. He doesn't look aroused - just afraid. It's not chewing-gum or jeans or a tin of man perfume that any of us actually use to get each other into bed. It's alcohol. A campaign of adverts for strong cider where people sniff a pint and start rutting on the pub floor would be nearer the truth.