B-Pure – African Black Soap Shampoo Bar

“Black in Back”

The fragrance is subtle and there’s a fine grit from the charcoal powder (“removes impurities and soothes the scalp”) and it’s a little, black, square. There’s a cornucopia of ingredients, some of which are shared with African black soap—but otherwise, it’s from Akron, Ohio (known for black tires)—though it’s made in China—both are continents that are not Africa. The most authentic African black soap (from Ghana), I’ve used, resembled a fruitcake. If I had my way, I’d keep my hair so short that I could use any soap as shampoo—but hair is weird—it’s kind of hard to get a handle on your own—you never really see it. My local barbershop closed, and instead of trying to find another I wouldn’t like as well, I bought a hair clipper, and when I shorn most of my hair off successfully, that was quite satisfying. I can’t remember what Woody Allen movie it was, but I always remember that scene where he’s freaked out by someone having black soap, in his Woody Allen way, like it was a sign of the end coming. Kind of like when someone in a movie, of that era, would be introduced to quiche for the first time, like it was a betrayal of edible food. I’m guessing the soap he witnessed was some variety of hippie soap like my mom used to have (still, I can’t remember). I like how the charcoal element kind of forces you to clean your bathtub occasionally—it really shows up. I have a puddle dripping from wet soap, both from my sink and tub soap holders, that cumulates in a corner, and I just let it build up there and eventually remove it whole by peeling up with a knife. The problem with that is—and especially when added to by the charcoal version—eventually, it looks like a grim pool of filth, even though, what could be cleaner? Someone saw this, once, in my apartment, and I insisted that it was “Soapy Corner” (that’s what I call it) and they were horrified—though I don’t know if from my name designation—or the actual accumulation of soap. Oh, well, if that ends up being one more piece of evidence toward getting me committed, I trust that this review will stand in my defense.

Soap Review No. 215

Man Bar Mini – Hair + Body – Redwood + Clove Fragrance

“Tiny House”

With a name like “Man Bar” I was expecting full-on traveling salesman aftershave—but no, this is a lovely, gentle soap with a subtle, enticing fragrance. Like some of the best fragrances, it’s hard to nail down. I’m at a loss to say what it is—except that it’s mildly nostalgic, clean, and wholesome—maybe something in nature. Well—it says right in the name, redwood, and clove—and the description on the box adds saffron and nutmeg—so that’s all quite a combo. They were wise to go easy on the clove, so it doesn’t overpower the redwood and make you feel like you’re in a 1980s coffeehouse. More text on the box insists that it’s suitable as both a shampoo and body soap—no place you can’t use it! Except on women—I guess. But if I was a woman, I wouldn’t listen to that “man” nonsense, and I’d use it. Of course, you need an amateur magician to figure out how to get the soap out of the rugged, fancy, faux-leather box. (It took me awhile—there’s a hidden magnet in play!) The smallish bar will soon be a fond memory, but you can’t just throw this sturdy box away! But what shall I use it for? The rings I don’t wear? My dice collection? It almost seems like it would be an ideal home for a pet cricket or flea, or maybe an imaginary, invisible, trash-talking, go-anywhere companion.

Soap Review No. 214

Zum Bar – Winter Pine

“Evocative Mysteries”

A lot of mystery here—this is a fairly ubiquitous soap—anywhere with a health-food store—but where does it come from? I look up Zum, and the internet tells me it’s a transportation service, but it’s also an app (everything is), so that’s no help. I try spelling it backwards. Muz—slang for a roommate who never buys their own soap, but just uses whatever’s left in the shower—interesting. It just occurred to me that its signature shape, with the easy-to-handle ridges, somewhat resembles the name itself—I wonder if that’s how they named it? Anyway, I love this soap—this one, with a North Woods holiday theme—though, in reality, the fragrance strikes me more as “middle-aged salesman in a cheap suit and too much aftershave” than it does “Christmas-time Yule-log cabin fire”—which sounds like a criticism, but really, I like it no less for that. Goat’s milk is the base of its make-up, so that’s good—but got me thinking, how much goat milk is milked compared to cow’s milk? I don’t often notice cartons of goat’s milk for drinking. I’m reading a kids’ book right now about a goat—and that goat is Trouble. Finally, it just popped into my memory, riding my bike 80-some miles to my new home of Kent, Ohio (1981) when I came upon a country farm market that sold delicious goat’s milk fudge—which has ever since been the gold fudge standard, in my book.

Soap Review No. 213

Ayéya – Empower

“Saltwater Taaffeite”

Still kind of a new product that you can buy at Whole Foods, this is an African soap, I think from Ghana, produced locally there in a manner that is sustainable and benefits the local economy—this according to their website. I can’t find the specific soap line, online, so I’m not sure about ingredients, but I trust they are fine. It’s a really nice soap, with a great feeling—I’ve been liking it. They have several colors, each with a different name and fragrance—I don’t remember offhand the other names—but I’ve purchased another, which I’ll start soon. This one is: “Empower” —and I love the fragrance, but I’m not sophisticated enough to nail it down. Could it be Frankincense? Wild guess, probably wrong. Anyway, it’s nice. Also, inexpensive, at Whole Foods, and has no packaging whatsoever (they provide little paper bags with their odd eyeball logo, if you want). The funny thing is, there is a product code engraved on the bar next to the name, and that’s what the cashier enters to ring it up (two cashiers, so far, didn’t know this)—I don’t know what you do if you’re self-scanning—I guess just pocket it. Just kidding, don’t do that. The number on this one was “127888”—which is also a postal code in Singapore, also, the product code for some nerd eyeglasses, and, as well, Alex’s inmate number in Clockwork Orange. Just kidding. Of course, the number has disappeared, as well as the name, and logo—but it’s still soapy, foamy, good-smellin’ and friendly, and it looks like a perfect little purple jewel (well, big jewel) worth its weight in happiness.

Soap Review No. 212

Zest – Toronja & Albahaca

“Subtle Clues”

You don’t have to spend much money to get fairly exotic soap—I got this at the Cermak grocery store, in Milwaukee, for the price of grocery store soap. It’s Zest, but it’s Mexican Zest—ingredients in Spanish, but I don’t know what most of them are, anyway. It’s a translucent pink glycerin soap, and it smells really good. The “Toronja” in the name is grapefruit, and since the package shows a big, sliced grapefruit, no mystery there. That’s also, partially, what it smells like. There are some other flavors going on as well. The Albahaca is a little more mysterious—and there’s a green leaf, on the package, next to the grapefruit, and it looks like albahaca. I’ve got to ask the Big Brain about that one—so what I think it is, is a medicinal plant, similar to basil, that has more uses than gin on Sunday. This is a fun soap that’ll wake you up and leave you refreshed. It also has that weird shape that I’ve seen before (maybe a previous Zest?) that reminds me of a 1960s telephone. Or something like that—anyway, you can’t call collect—use it as a soap!

Soap Review No. 211

Yellowstone Park Company – Hotel Bar Soap

“Jellystone Mess”

A hotel bar soap with a beautiful wrapper from Yellowstone Hotels and Lodges—it’s yellow and black with a realistic rendering of a menacing bear towering over a landscape. I mean, it’s probably not menacing, but don’t go to the park and put honey on your kid’s arm for a cute photo-op with a grizzly! The soap is Ivory—still reminiscent of my childhood. Don’t take it into one of the thermal pools to bathe—even though it’ll float—you might be cooked like a lobster! I have to admit that I grew up being confused about Yellowstone—thinking it was a fictional place—since we never visited there. I can’t be hard on my parents—we did visit Colorado. You’ve got to really like to drive to visit Yellowstone, as it’s as middle of BF Nowhere as anywhere in the country. Anyway, my confusion was because of Yogi Bear’s Jellystone Park—which I likely thought was Jell-O-Stone—and possibly a real place. Adding to that confusion was the baseball player, Yogi Berra, who I knew to be a real person—even if he was larger than life (and considerably more funny than Yogi Bear). I never cared for Yogi Bear, the cartoon character, for some reason. Thinking about it now, I’m guessing it was because, to me, he didn’t seem remotely like a bear at all—he seemed like a particularly unpleasant man.

Soap Review No. 210

Saponifico Varesino – Green Vetiver

“Peter Joshua”

This “Triple Milled Artisanal Scrub Soap” is from Italy. It’s a big one, yet it fits in your hand—like a brick that you’re poised to throw through a window. It’s slightly exfoliating, the way a brick would be if you took it into the bath. The star here, however, is the fragrance. I’m writing this while watching Charade (1963) on TV—and I can imagine Cary Grant smelling like this soap. For that matter, James Coburn would, as well, just not in this movie. Audrey Hepburn would not smell like this soap (though I’d love to know what she does smell like). This is manly soap, for sure, not for the ladies, I’m afraid, and that’s due to the fragrance. Cary Grant with his raincoat, spray-on grey hair—that scene where he’s taking a shower with his clothes on. The fragrance is at least in part Vetiver, which is supposed to evoke the leatherbound study, decanter of whisky, pipe smoke, old books, money. This soap does it times XXX. If I went to a fancy department store with this bar of soap, I bet I could match it to one of the high-end men’s fragrances—but I’m not going to attempt it—I’m afraid I’d look a bit crazy walking around with a half-spent bar of soap, sniffing here, sniffing there.

Soap Review No. 209

Organik Botanik – Orange Blossom & Manuka Honey

“Don’t Panik!”

Get used the goofy name with the goofy spelling because I bought this soap in a set of three and still have two delicious flavors to go. Australian hippie soap, I’m all for it, and I’ll believe the beneficial claims of the “Manuka” honey. Just how much of this soap is made up of the magical nektar remains a closely guarded secret—but its formulation of basik ingredients treats my skin nicely and it has a lovely floral fragrance (orange blossom, after all!) with possibly a comforting undertone of honey (Manuka!). Actually, I don’t know what half the ingredients are—and I don’t have a lot to say about this soap, so I’m just trying to be funny by replacing hard c’s with k’s—fortunately the soap has had more life than this review. Nektar was a pretentious prog-rock band I liked in the early Seventies—though I felt they went too commercial after only a few albums—and some version of the band exists to this day!

Soap Review No. 208

Papoutsanis – Greek Pure Olive Oil Soap

“The Last Soap”

Comes in a cute cardboard box with a lemon-shaped hole in it, to reveal the soap—which is exactly the same color as the box—ha! Most of the lettering is in excellent looking Greek. You have to be a detective to even find the brand name in English. (Been in business since 1870!) A really nice, pure, olive oil soap—almost no fragrance (smells like olive oil soap)—though it doesn’t float, like the crazy Aleppo soaps. I bought this at the cash register at the legendary Omega Restaurant, on South 27th Street in Milwaukee, on a rare, these days, visit. It used to be my favorite diner in town, but I don’t get out there much lately. I’m all for stuff like this—selling Greek soap at a Greek family restaurant—why not? And especially because it’s only a couple of dollars—and it’s fine soap. Olive oil soap is the best—especially for people with sensitive skin. If I lived out there, and didn’t need to keep exploring a new soap variety every couple of weeks, this place might once again be my hangout, and this the last soap I’d need to buy.

Soap Review No. 207

Weleda Shower Bar – Ylang Ylang + Iris

“Ylang Ylang Ylang”

A really nice, use-for-anything, glycerin soap from Germany (Weleda “Since 1921”)—I don’t know if I’ve had any German soap yet—this might be my first! It comes in a simple cardboard box with a lot of print on it. Description on the back in 10 languages! I mean, personally, I use it sparingly because it’s a smallish bar and I want it to last. Like to wash my face. Its best quality is the enticing fragrance, floral, but subtle. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Well, it does smell like flowers, though I wouldn’t be able to guess which. Is it the Ylang Ylang or the Iris or a combination? Maybe I should look those guys up! Iris spelled backwards is Siri (for whatever that’s worth). Ylang Ylang spelled backwards is Gnaly Gnaly—which is most certainly a band name, somewhere. Normally, you think if Iris, the flower, visually—but of course it has a fragrance—and it’s a nice one—I mean, I don’t think it smells like chopped liver (rotting or otherwise). Ylang Ylang, however, is considered “The “Queen of Perfumes.” And “So nice they named it twice.” It’s also widely considered to be an aphrodisiac. Believe it or else. I know that all might seem like nonsense, but it is the loveliest smelling soap I’ve had in a while.

Soap Review No. 206

Cremo Exfoliating Body Bar – No. 2 – Sage & Citrus

“Cremo Wheat”

The full name of this soap (on the box, anyway) is: “Cremo Astonishingly Superior Exfoliating Body Bar – Made with Shea Butter – No. 2 – Sage & Citrus – A Revitalizing Combination of Bright Mandarin, Dry Herbs, and White Cedar.” What’s with the lengthy soap names? It’s a lengthy trend. With some of them, like this one, I could just type the name of the soap and that’d be wordcount enough to serve as a review! The brand name, and the fact that this soap has wheat as an ingredient, reminded me of “Cream of Wheat” breakfast cereal, or porridge. Which reminds me of a joke—which I more or less stole from Jimmy Nelson—that I’d soon like to be preforming with my partner, “Peter Franks,” my ventriloquist “dummy.” Peter: “Last night I had a dream I was eating cream of wheat. All night long… eating cream of wheat.” Me: “Yeah?” Peter: “Yeah! And when I woke up, half the mattress gone!” Fortunately, the soap is more pleasant than my “comedy.” Interesting fragrance—one word: Aunt and Uncle’s house, late Sixties. (That’s six words. I can count.)

Soap Review No. 205

Pears – Pure and Gentle Bathing Bar

“Pears AF”

A nice, inexpensive, glycerin soap with a slightly inevitable and nostalgic fragrance—not real strong, but evocative—exactly what I think it should smell like—from some past situation. The box says “98% Pure Glycerin & Natural Oils”—does that mean the other 17 or so ingredients make up only 2% of the soap? Or that it’s mostly pure, but 2% impure? If so, it’s that 2% that worries me. Soap is from Unilever, India. I like the idea of a “bathing bar” as a place where you drink and bathe—though, maybe not the drinking part. What does “Pears” mean? An unusually satisfying question to look up and read about—it’s named after an Englishman, Andrew Pears, who invented transparent soap. A true classic, it’s been around a long time, since 1807! A lot of soap under London Bridge! I probably used this same soap, more or less, as a child, which wasn’t nearly so long ago, of course. I gotta say, this soap is really pleasant when it’s wet—so I’ll overlook the lies on the box (“Look Young/Stay Young”), the 2%, what I imagine as the Unilever factory, and the “Pears” font. I’ll visit that bathing bar, especially if Lillie Langtry is along.

Soap Review No. 204

Crabtree & Evelyn – Gardeners

“Chauncey Gardiner”

I love the green color and the oval shape of this soap, and the classy Crabtree & Evelyn logo carved in, and the name, “Gardeners.” But I’m not crazy about how, as the soap is used, it separates into a top and bottom, like a hamburger bun—a quality which (whether I’m right about this or not) I associate with factory made soap. Of course, it’s all (well, most, soap, that is) made in a factory of some type (except for the truly homemade soaps)—but this one rubs me the wrong way. Maybe, in part, it’s because I don’t love the fragrance—it’s not terrible, but it just doesn’t do anything for me—and for that reason I spent very little time “researching” this brand. It sounds like they sold the company, and then it was sold again, and again and again… until… well, who knows. On a sketchy website there’s a rather creepy photo of two soapy hands washing each other—taking a somewhat disturbing posture. What’s it mean? Hopefully, nothing. What’s any of this have to do with Chauncey Gardiner? (From the 1979 movie, Being There.) Nothing at all—they’re not even spelled the same!

Soap Review No. 203

Auromère Ayurvedic Soap – Lavender-Neem

“Hippie Aunt”

A nice, little, soap bar from India that came in a “3-pack”—three different “flavors” (look at those ingredients, you might want to eat it, but don’t!)—one of which I’ve previously reviewed. This one says “All Skin Types”—but really? I suppose it is very mild (some people can’t tolerate ANY soap, which is like me with food [and criticism] [ha!] and probably aren’t avid readers of my soap nonsense musings)! It comes in a nice package, too—my only criticism is that the bar is small and disappears all too rapidly. I might have said in the past that I’m through with lavender—didn’t really mean it—but I’ve had so many lavender soaps, it becomes somewhat commonplace. But this particular iteration of lavender is a revelation—it’s quite fragrant but also as lovely as lavender should be. I’m sure I’ve noted in the past that Indian soaps have the best fragrances—and seeing how Indian food has the best flavors—that kind of makes sense. I might have said that same exact thing before—but after 200 soap reviews it’s understandable that I might repeat myself a little.

Soap Review No. 202

Utah Motel Motor Park – Salt Lake City – Hotel Bar Soap

“Traveling Salesman”

Another hotel bar soap with Cashmere Bouquet inside. The star of this one is the simple line-drawing on the wrapper, thin red lines, suggesting the motel. It’s barely a representation of anything, but the horizontal lines put you in mind of a Fifties-style motor hotel, one or two stories. It says Motor Park on the “roof”—which indicates you can either park in a carport or right up to your door. There’s a vertical “Motel” sign, suggesting “space age” up-to-date-ness, such as TV, AC, and a shower. And then there’s another vertical sign that says: “Utah”—this part is shaded light yellow—intimating considerable class (for a motel)—the sign increasing in size as it ascends—U on top—with horizontal arrows running through it. The whole thing conjures neon lights as much as a soap wrapper can. Salt Lake City on bottom is the only location clue. I’m guessing the place is either long gone or has a different name, because a quick search turns up nothing. Once again, the soap itself—from the Colgate-Palmolive-Peet Co. in Jersey City—is incredibly nostalgic as only smells can be—a solid clue that this particular fragrance was a vivid part of my lost childhood.

Soap Review No. 201

Institut Karité Paris – Almond & Honey Perfume Shea Soap

“Pukey McDookie”

Don’t be put off by that “nickname”—like I said before, the hardest part of my job here is to come up with that few-syllable “tagline”—as if I’m some ad agency douchebag. On the other hand, feel free to be put off by this one, because it accurately hints at my reaction to this soap. Honestly, I almost just threw it away. Like I said before, with soap fragrances, watch out for nuts and sweet stuff—and this one has both. Also, watch out for lead-footed perfumers. Nothing against the French. I love the French. But this soap smells like a time machine funeral parlor in a gothic exploitation comic book. Also, it’s been brought to my attention by the underpaid Speen-dot-com staffers that this is “Soap Review Number 200” on the Soap Exotica page! Am I supposed to jump for joy? Well, I’m not falling for that celebration of the base-ten system—it’s just a number. I don’t care more about 10 than 3 or 7—why should I? Until there are 10 days in a week, anyway. And why not? Why 7? It’s totally arbitrary, not based on any celestial orbiting balls and shit. The good thing about having a 10-day week is we could then have a 5-day weekend—every week—and no one could complain! Anyway, I guess 200 is a lot of soap reviews. You’d think I’d feel a little cleaner than I do.

Soap Review No. 200

Alquimia Holistica – Horchata

“No Tomorrow”

When I bought (at a little pop-up place at the Milwaukee Walker’s Point Zócalo Food Park—a place I visit far too infrequently) the other bar of Alquimia Holistica soap (named: Greens, which won the Soap Exotica fragrance of the year Golden Nose Award), I was allowed to pick this bar up out of the free box… but it’s had to wait its turn! I have to admit, as well, that I was a little afraid of this one. Why? Because I have found that sometimes soaps that are styled after a delicious, sweet, confectionary, turn out to be scary and gross. I don’t know why this is. But imagine, a soap comes your way that’s called: “Vanilla Ice Cream Cone”—danger Will Robinson! Horchata can be a lot of things, I guess, but what I’ve usually had is a Mexican version that’s a delicious, cold, rice drink that’s sweet and flavored with vanilla and cinnamon. Somewhat of a non-dairy vanilla milkshake dessert. Almost too good. It disappears out of your cup like there’s no tomorrow. But when it comes to soap, I’m wary of vanilla, wary of cinnamon, and wary of anything based on a sweet food. All of my fears were dashed, however, once I finally started to use it. The fragrance is subtle and sublime—it smells exactly like horchata without being gross. It’s a smooth, luscious, clean soap. Good on your skin, too. Could it possibly win this year’s Golden Nose? Well… little chance of that… because I just made up that Golden Nose business. But in a more delicious world, absolutely!

Soap Review No. 199

Pacha Soap Co. – Jasmine Gardenia

“Girlfren”

Ever since I had a gardenia scented soap (forgot which brand, now, offhand) I’ve kept on the lookout for a similar fragrance—not that you can ever match anything, exactly—especially a heightened memory. But you don’t see them every day—and one gardenia soap I had was kind of gross—in the way that floral scents can be cloying and overwhelming. But this one is just very pleasant, a pleasure to use in the bathtub. At first I thought it was too subtle, but then I realized that its restraint was part of the fragrance success. Maybe gardenia and jasmine are a fine combination, as well. You can pretty much count on Pacha soaps to come up with balanced and lovely fragrances, I think. I’ve not been unhappy with any I’ve tried. You can also count on them to shrink too fast—sometimes I wish they were larger. Or cheaper. Or, me, wealthier. But that’s just a small quibble. I always like how their soaps look, too—this one is a very attractive two-tone—light brown and off-white. I also like, as usual, that they don’t have any packaging. Jasmine Gardenia—that’d be a good name for a character in a story, as well.

Soap Review No. 198

Royal Pine Toilet Soap – Hotel Bar Soap

“Camping Trip 1974”

Coming up with these dumb little “taglines” or “subtitles” (above, in quotes) is sometimes the hang-up of these soap reviews—they have to be short and not totally off—otherwise, I can blather on and on. So, when one pops in my head, like this one, as soon as I opened the soap, I respect it. Even if I have no idea what it means. This little motel soap comes in a simple white wrapper with the name in an ancient font (looks hand printed) and coat-of-arms-looking logo with a crown and pine tree—all in green. The only other print is “Iowa Soap Company, Burlington, IA”—which my limit on searching turned up nothing. The little green bar has “Royal Pine” engraved in cursive. It looks like it could be older than me, easily, but still smells, I’m guessing, like it did when you opened it in whatever motorcourt motel you drove up to, hot running water, etc. I drank tea made from pine needles on a camping trip, slept in bed of soft pine. But the soap probably reminds me more of driving to Florida, or across country—those motels. It doesn’t really smell like pine (and certainly nothing like those nasty car air-fresheners, which came later) but like a motor hotel shower after a long day driving with low water pressure and a tiny scratchy towel and hard but clean sheets and your best sleep ever.

Soap Review No. 197

Good Soap – Cherry Blossom

“No Moon at All”

Always a solid option when you’re shopping at Whole Foods—this inexpensive “Good Soap” from Alaffia is usually near the checkout. The flavors I’ve tried have had good fragrances, the soap is gentle, and there’s no packaging whatsoever. This Cherry Blossom is the cutest one I’ve seen—it’s pink with irregular red flecks throughout—so it looks like nothing so much as an enticing cherry ice cream. I kind of wish it was, right now. The weird thing about this soap is that it has absolutely no fragrance! I was momentarily afraid I’d lost my sense of smell. But no. I have a lot of soap around that provides a control group. I looked at their website to see if they advertise it as being for those “No Fragrance” freaks—but no—they say, “a delicate spring floral”—so I guess they made a point of subtle scent. Maybe they are aware of people like me who are repulsed by aggressive cherry fragrance, so they went easy on the smell. Too easy! This one is too subtle—because no smell at all is simply no smell at all.

Soap Review No. 196