Cinthol – Confidence+

“Door to Door Salesman”

I'm guessing this is a “deodorant soap”—by the name, packaging, and especially by the smell, which reminds me of that old-fashioned kind of canned aerosol deodorant that might be used by an overly nervous, sweaty, balding, middle-aged aged car salesman. While the regular Cinthol is green and comes in a red package, which evokes, I don't know, Talking Heads: 77?—this white bar of soap comes in a sleek black package which I think is supposed to say: wealth, success, plain-speaking (“give it to me in black & white”), no-nonsense manliness. I like the name, Confidence+, with the plus-sign, that feels, I don't know, like, “I can do math, I'm not intimidated by math!” It says that in gold letters, which means wealth, obviously. Then, in smaller blue letters (the only blue in the packaging) it says: “Germ protection + Deo soap.” I'm assuming “Deo” means deodorant—but I've never seen that before. Is that a young people thing? Are they trying to get in with the under 55 crowd that this soap might not otherwise be reaching? By the way, I am overly nervous, sweaty, balding, and middle-aged—I'm not trying to make fun of a particular guy or type. And seeing how people have their mid-life crisis in their thirties now, I might be getting too old to call myself middle-aged. And balding might just be wishful thinking. The sweating is no exaggeration—I often look like a character in a less than subtle classic film noir who's on the verge of being at one end or another of a bludgeoning.

And do people even know what a door to door salesman is, anymore?—I mean younger people? Do those jobs exist? I would, at this point, kind of welcome one, if they came by—well, at least the idea. Not really. I mean, do NOT come to my door. Contact the concierge and set up a meeting downstairs in the Armada Room and I'll join you in my gold button blazer and tasseled loafers to see what kind of financing you can offer on that Kirby. If you smell like this soap, I might get out my checkbook. I kind of like it. I mean, there's sometimes a fine line between migraine-inducing and I'll buy two. You never know which way that crazy nostalgia-factor is going to swing. I mean, I don't necessarily recommend using the cologne that comes out of the machine next to the condom vendor in the Kocolene filling station men's room, but once in awhile, seeing how I was apparently never molested as a child by someone who smelled like this, the firm handshake of a chemical-y bullshit Godrej slick guy soap can warm your heart. Of course, sometimes there's a fine line between a fine line and a fine line, so watch out for that fast talkin'!

Soap Review No. 63