Castelbel – Lily of the Valley

“Le Muguet”

I really like this soap a lot—it's one of my very favorites, lately. They were not afraid to put the fragrance right up front, with this one. It's one of those giant, ten ounce bars of lily-white soap from the Portuguese beauty product giant, Castelbel—yes, one of those for your half-bathroom—but I've been using it in this shower, this summer, and it's giving me fond and comforting memories. If you were to go to a crowded church and sit right next to an older, well-dressed woman, this is likely what you would smell. Some old-time, rich lady perfume—something that makes Chanel seem modern. I know some people despise this grandma perfume, but I love it. It's definitely, unapologetically floral—I can't say for sure if it approximates actual lily of the valley flowers, but I'll just imagine it does. It reminds me of how a flower shop smells, or how the van would smell when I used to deliver flowers (one of the better jobs, at times, I've ever had). The packaging of this is really nice, too—the heavy paper is totally covered with detailed, artist's rendering of little, white lily of the valley bells. This one also has lasted forever. Every once in awhile I'll go into the bathroom and just inhale its fragrance and just be intoxicated by nostalgia. I may as well admit, floral fragrances are my favorite. I guess that makes sense, because I love flowers, just about more than anything. I love flowers more than money, (most) people, travel, success, sex, adulation, movies, beer, and pizza, even. I almost love flowers as much as coffee.

Soap Review No. 100

Tilley – Australia – Lemongrass & Paw Paw (with Natural Yellow Clay)

“Custard Apple Bob Wire”

This is a perfectly nice soap from Australia—the company is Tilley, they have a website, make a lot of beauty supplies. All organic ingredients—and it came a long way—it should have been more expensive. I ate some paw paw fruit once, and it was pretty good, but I don't remember it having a distinctive fragrance. Likewise, I couldn't identify lemongrass, offhand. The soap's fragrance is pleasant—maybe plant-like fragrance—or maybe I'm just thinking that because it's green. Maybe it's just a soap-like fragrance, or maybe I'm just thinking that because it's soap. It's not real strong or distinctive, so it's hard to nail down. The green color is kind of earthy, and indeed, Australian clay is one of the ingredients. This is probably the nicest soap I have, yet it's hard to get excited about it. I have to admit that I have a slight bias against bar soap that has a certain green shade, because in 1982 I got this terrible rash—never found out what it was from—but the doctor suggested soap—and at that time, I was living in a house with multiple people and I had used someone's green soap in the shower. (Yes, I used to be so cheap, cared so little about soap, I'd just use what was there.) I realize this is totally unfair, but earthy green soap has an uphill battle with me. And that was nearly forty years ago! No wonder we're so slow to evolve. Well, anyway, I've used a paw paw soap—and that's something, when I was 22, I never thought I'd say.

Soap Review No. 99

Asepxia – Moisturizing

“Asepxia AF”

It's good for you to have things in your life that you don't know how to pronounce. And sometimes, they don't even cost an arm and a leg. I'll say this again. An exotic life, via personal hygiene products, is not beyond the realm of possibility. You can go to the grocery store to buy soap, and there are maybe a dozen to pick from, if you're lucky—you know, the usual ones—Ivory, Dove, Dial, etc. You might buy a 12-pack, or 48-pack of one of those, dirt cheap, keep in in your closet and not have to think about buying soap for the next six months. But your life could be so much better. Even if you're the ultimate cheapie, there's always the “dollar store,” which is where I bought this soap. I don't remember if it was the dollar store where everything is a dollar, or the dollar store where things are all different prices, but still alarmingly inexpensive—but this soap cost so little, it may have well been free. The box must have cost more to manufacture than the soap—it's got an oval window cut in it, and multiple colors, including a very silvery silver stripe, with the Genomma Lab logo—which looks like an organization James Bond would be up against. The scent of this one is plenty strong, but not particularly pleasant. The word “medicinal” comes to mind—kind of nasty, like an industrial cleaner. I mean, it's not that bad—it smells clean—but it evokes a disinfectant—it smells like something you'd clean a floor with. I guess I'd go so far as to say: Asepxia.

Soap Review No. 98

La Florentina – Agrumi

“Maybe It's Because”

This is a big (10.5 ounces—considerably more than 10cc), off-white bar of soap from Italy, stamped with the “La Florentina” logo—the variety is “Agrumi”—which is citrus—there are pictures of lemons and oranges on the packaging—and the soap has a subtle citrus scent. The packaging is really beautiful—I could probably flatten it out and write a letter on it or something. For all that, this should be a soap I'm really excited about, but it's just been kind of a ho-hum soap for me. Maybe I'm just spoiled because I have, in the past few years, used so many fantastic soaps. I'm sure that's it. But also, maybe my olfactory sense is just not that sophisticated—and that's a genetic thing—and it will never be, even with practice, and training (though training, in this case, is an exciting idea). At any rate, the fragrance of this soap just doesn't excite me. It's just not extreme enough, or groundbreaking enough, or nostalgic enough. It's fine, but really, just fine. Maybe citrus doesn't lend itself to soap fragrance as effectively as some other floral scents—or maybe, with this one, they just didn't hit it. I recall visiting Florida in the dead of winter and just being intoxicated by the smell of the orange groves (though it probably helped that I was literally intoxicated, as well). But you know, scratch the peel of a fresh lemon or lime or orange and is there anything better? Or maybe—and this may be—just maybe, the Italian version of citrus is different than the one I've grown up with—and so we're talking about a cultural difference. After all, appreciation of other cultures often requires immersing yourself fully in order to appreciate. Well, I did immerse myself into this soap, for as long as it took to shrink down to a sliver, but it's still just okay, to me. It's a good friend, but I'm not in love.

Soap Review No. 97

LovLab Natural Beauty – Sea Glass / Ocean Shores

“Psychedelic Communicator”

This lovely soap, that I received as a gift from friends, comes from Tucson, Arizona, where I lived for a week in 1982 in a biker rooming house while I failed to find a job, and yet I have nothing but fond memories of the place. I want to begin by emphasizing that this is a fine soap—good for skin, pleasant fragrance, and striking appearance—before getting on to its mysterious nature. LovLab has a website, though I can't find this soap on it, now, or elsewhere on the internet. The label is Earth-friendly and almost non-existent, with just the address, company name, “Sea Glass” and then in smaller letters, “Ocean Shores”—and these ingredients: “Oils of palm, canola, and coconut with shea and cocoa butters.” Obviously there are additional fragrance and color ingredients (or else, someone performed some magic), but that's not even the most mysterious thing here.

First of all, the name “Sea Glass”—which is old glass that washes up from the sea, smooth and frosted. It's a nice name, but it doesn't connect, in an obvious way, to this soap, which has a swirling, purple, red, blue, and pink pattern like the marbled endpapers of some old books. I don't know what the name of that pattern is; maybe it's sea glass. Anyway, the real odd thing is that there are three red dots—that, as the soap went along, I realized were translucent, and went through the entire bar (so are obviously, red cylinders). This became more intriguing as the soap got smaller. Also, the colors seemed to retain their intensity, and indeed become more saturated as the soap got smaller. I have no idea how they pulled all this off. Then there's the fragrance, which is totally familiar to me, but I can't put my finger on it (perhaps just due to my deficiencies in this area). Maybe it's the sea, but what does the sea smell like? Definitely a pleasant and kind of beguiling smell; at first I thought of cheap wine, then I remembered the smell when walking by the Kool-Aid factory in Columbus, Ohio, in 1982. Kind of fruity and floral at the same time. I know that might sound gross, but it's nice.

All of this leads me to believe that this soap was put here by space aliens, whether by space travel or time-travel, and is thus not of this Earth. It could be some kind of communication device, or spy device, or maybe something we don't even have a concept for. Which doesn't mean it's bad—in fact, I want to believe that it's for good. After all, what good does it do to worry, when you're so clearly outmatched? This soap proves that! On the other hand, maybe it's just some really advanced soap, and as I learn more, I'll figure out how it's made—in which case, I'll get back to you.

Soap Review No. 96

Santoor Gold – Sandal & Saffron Extracts

“Reblochon”

This is a relatively inexpensive sandalwood soap made in India—and it's likely easy to find—I bought it at a local Indian grocery store. The box is decorated with a lot of metallic gold, along with a logo that reminds me of another time period, but I can't place it—maybe like an automobile from the 1930s. I like it. The name, Santoor, is in metallic purple—it's really kind of grand looking. Besides the usual cheap-soap chemically stuff, the ingredients include sandal and saffron extract—I don't imagine it could be a lot, given the price—but a little of those go a long way, right? Also, “perfume,” which makes me wonder how much of the intense sandalwood fragrance is artificial. Anyway, it really smells like sandalwood soap—which is one of my favorite soap smells. I was thinking, I would like to always have some kind of sandalwood soap around. One of those essential things to always have in the home, like butter, mayonnaise, and whiskey. Well, I don't have any whiskey around, anymore, so maybe I get an extra soap. This one has a nice feel to it, and a really pleasing pale orange color. The shape is a slightly oblong disk, and at one point, after using it for awhile, it really resembled a little French cheese. That's another thing I'd like to have around the house at all times, but rarely do. So maybe I get another soap. I think I'll try all the various sandal soaps I can get my hands on. Of course I will.

Soap Review No. 95

Santa Fe Soap Ranch – Dead Sea Mud Soap

“Ancient Spa”

I love this soap, sorry to see it go, so I'm trying to make it last. It's one of those that was a little off-putting to me at first, because it's a little intense, but it soon grew on me. It's got a pretty heavy scent—I'd call it “earthy,” but that seems too easy, what with “mud” in its name, and being tan to brown with very dark brown or black little squares throughout. But it does have that essence—I guess it reminds me a little of chocolate, too, or a flavored pipe tobacco. Nice ingredients, all good stuff, including shea butter, hemp oil, and mud from the Dead Sea. How much mud, I don't know—that can't be cheap, if it really comes from the Dead Sea. I had to read something about the Dead Sea, of course—it's fascinating, and I could sidetrack half a day there, if I let myself. It sounds like that mud is mineral rich and very good for your skin. I've had no complaints. Lately, I've had some kind of knee problem, and if I had enough of this soap, maybe it would help. Santa Fe Soap Ranch has a very good website—if I ever get to Santa Fe, I'll stop by their store. There's kind of a mind-boggling array of interesting looking soap on their website. It kind of got me thinking—along with attempting to sample every soap in the whole world, maybe I should start making soap. My goal being, to come up with some variety of soap that no one has ever yet made or even thought of! But what would that be?

Soap Review No. 94

Phebo – Raiz do Oriente

“Ruby My Dear”

Friends brought this soap back from Brazil for me—I'd never seen it before—it's easy to find online, of course—but I've never seen it in a store. I saw a website where nine different varieties were for sale—each with the same packaging, but different colors—and that's kind of charming. I like the heavy paper wrapper—it looks kind of old-fashioned, or from another era—or country—and it is both of those—“Desde 1930,” it says the label—so I guess this company has been around for 90 years! This version is “Raiz do Oriente”—Internet tells me “raiz” translates from Portuguese as “root”—so, Eastern root, or Oriental root? You would never see a soap in English described as “root”—what would that even mean? So I'm thinking Raiz do Oriente must mean something more specific—maybe the fragrance will tell me. I kind of love and am repulsed by this fragrance—at the same time. It reminds me of when you have a tent stored in an attic and then get it out for camping—that particular smell of the inside of the tent—I've never been able to figure that out. I guess the one word that comes to mind is “medicinal”—but it also makes me think of some kind of disinfectant or cleaning fluid. But this soap has something else, too—entirely lovely, perhaps edible and delicious—but just beyond my ability to recall. This is a glycerin soap, so it's clear, and feels like a glycerine soap. It's an intense, deep red color, and looks like the world's most valuable ruby (or else a giant red Gummi). This is a fun soap. If I happen to see any of the other varieties in a store (which, now, I will notice), I'll definitely try them.

Soap Review No. 93

Liril! – Lime Rush

“Grandfather Lime Misty”

This Liril! “Lime Rush” (note the exclamation point after the brand name, rather than Lime Rush!) was pretty inexpensive at an Indian grocery, and it does come from a big company (Unilever, who make like half the stuff in your home) and the ingredients are chemically, but I did enjoy this soap. The box is nice, too, and might cost more to make than the soap. The soap is spring-bud green, kind of a wedge shape, with flecks of darker translucent green to suggest, I guess, an organic element, or broken glass. The smell is definitely lime, pleasant, not overpowering—though, personally, I would have liked it to be more overpowering. The most odd thing about this soap is the color being kind of a flat, milky green, rather than deep or translucent like either a lime or a sliced lime. The only thing I could think to compare it to are those drinks at dairy bars where they mix slush and vanilla ice cream, with kind of a “Creamsicle” effect—I believe at Dairy Queen they're called “Mr. Misty Freeze”—but I can never remember for sure, so every time I go to a diary bar, DQ or otherwise, I have to describe what I want to the person young enough to be my great-granddaughter, and she looks at me like, “What kind of an asshole comes to a dairy bar and doesn't know exactly what they want, and by name?” I'm exactly that kind of asshole—that describes me perfectly.

Soap Review No. 92

Thayers Witch Hazel – Rose Petal

“Hooray for Hazel”

I shortened the name of the soap a little to be reasonable—the full name is: “Since 1847 Thayers Natural Remedies Witch Hazel Aloe Vera Formula Body Bar Rose Petal.” I've seen this soap and other Thayers products at heath food stores forever (I mean, not since 1847—I'm not that old—but is that for real? 1847?!) but I can't remember if I've used any before this. Probably, but not since this soap project. I liked this soap a lot, actually, and will probably buy more. It had this beautiful pale beige and pink color—it seemed to change colors a bit, or maybe it wasn't uniform—mostly beige or light yellow with pink highlights—very pleasing to the eye. Not strong, fragrance-wise, but a slight, pleasant floral, rose smell. It was good on my skin, as far as I could tell—I liked to think that was the benefit of the witch hazel in the ingredients, and the aloe, as well. I used to always have a bottle of witch hazel around—it seemed to be good on insect bites—I'll have to get some again.

I decided to look up something about this company, just out of curiosity. They have a website, of course, but it's impressively no-nonsense—not interested in impressing you—maybe that's a strategy—anyway, its mostly informational. There's a lot there—including the company history—you can look it up for yourself. I'm going to do a little more reading another time—maybe the next time I buy a Thayers product. But anyway, the most fun thing, for me, anyway (I know, I'm weird) is there's a street address, both on the soap box and the website—it's in Easton, CT, which isn't really even a town. I looked it up, and naturally looked at the online map, and street-view, and it's pretty much a farm out in the middle of nowhere! There's like a regular mailbox out front, and an “Honor System Organic Farm Stand!” I mean it's not really in the middle of nowhere—essentially no where in Connecticut is—you get off the Merritt on Easton Turnpike, and zip right up there. But it's on one of those country roads you can probably feel good biking down, as long as there's not some farm dog trying to bite your heels. It almost made me feel like the whole thing is a ruse. But that's just because most companies seem to want to keep everything about them hidden, secret, or fictional. Maybe this is just a company that's right there, out in the open. I'll have to look into this further.

Soap Review No. 91

Cinnamon Rock Soap

“Beach Stone”

This soap comes wrapped in plastic like it's a muffin and the only label is a 2”x2” square with a tiny photo of beach stones and some micro-printing. There's the name and, then, directions: “Apply to your body and rinse off.” I suppose there are people out there who think it might work just by setting it next to you, and others who don't realize you're supposed to rinse it off... but still. Even without the suggestion of the beach rocks, that's the first thing you'd think of, holding this hand-size oval soap—it's the perfect intimation of a pretty exceptional (and big—8.82 oz.) beach stone—and a beautiful one, with tiger stripes of brown red, red-brown, and beige. The smell is next—and yes, no doubt, cinnamon. I don't really smell anything else, there, and it's somewhat subtle, but definitely cinnamon. I kind of expected to not like it, but I really love this soap. I searched for it for a time on the internet and I can't find it. It says “Handmade in Thailand” and there is a street address, email address, and phone number. The ingredients are in a language I don't recognize (except for the word “oil”). I'm almost feeling apprehensive I won't be able to find this soap again, now, because I like it enough to buy it again, but I can't find it for sale. That's okay, though, I guess—it will turn up or it won't. As the soap reduces down to a little oval, it starts to hollow out a bit, little cave-like openings form—just like it was an actual rock—maybe it is!

Soap Review No. 90

100% Laurel Halap – Soap

“Sea Jewel”

This is the last cube of Aleppo olive oil soap I have—so I'm ready to go out and look for more, because this style of soap has become close to my favorite. This one is odd because it doesn't seem to have a name (though there is, I believe, Arabic on the package, which I can't read) just a description: “100% Laurel Halap Soap”—so I guess the description is the name. It's also different than the others I used because this one is from Turkey. The entire packaging is this one, small square of paper that has five stars, a jar of olive oil, phone numbers of U.S. and Canadian distributors, a Turkish address, a gmail contact, date and expiration, and ingredients (97% Olive Oil – 3% Alkali) (though it also contains, apparently, Laurel oil). Then in a big all-caps text strip it says: “By Syrian Experience and Hands.”

People love this Aleppo olive oil soap, and I think all or most of it includes Laurel oil, as does this one. It's a lovely fragrance, one of my favorites. So I guess this soap is made by Syrian soap makers (they say) and it certainly has the same properties as the others I had. It's a brown, rough square, and then when you start using it, a beautiful green underneath. It's super hard and lasts forever. In the process of making it they stack it underground (I'm guessing because it's so hot there?) and age it for like a year. It should be the world's most pricey soap, but we can get it here in the West for cheaper than the chemical crap that comes from multi-national death factories. I don't know if there is any political (or soap-world political) significance of using this Turkish version. I'm not olfactory-ly sophisticated enough either, to tell a significant difference between this one and the last version I had that was from Aleppo. All I know is that I've been using this soap for a couple of months (off and on, of course) and it's still pretty substantial in size, and the scent is just so pleasing—really my favorite soap I have right now.

Also, this one floats, as did the Aleppo version I had last. I looked on the internet for the reason it floats, and the meaning of that—I couldn't find anything that didn't confuse me. It might be that no one, living or dead, knows—and it's beyond science. It might be mystical, or just one of those things. Or there might be a good answer, and I need to keep researching. Which I will do. I'll look for other versions, too. Shopping, researching, bathing, floating, smelling, washing, luxuriating, living, dying—all in a cube of soap.

Soap Review No. 89

Soap Fixx Co – Bucking Bronco

“Perce Howland”

This is a local (Milwaukee) soap maker and this soap is so pleasant and sane it brings up the big questions for me: first, why buy anything but local soap? Most likely there are several, if not a-very-lot of people making soap in your community, and if there isn't, it could be you. I was looking at this person's sites and pages, and it sounds like they make soap with a cold process, and which I believe is basically mixing lye and an oil, which undergoes a chemical reaction that makes soap—the cold process taking more time than one involving heat, which speeds things up. Is that right? I'll have to really read about it sometime. Then it's up to you, the soap maker, to decide the degree that you want to use ingredients that are vegan or not, organic, sustainable, and local. And then, what would be my favorite part, experimenting with fragrance. Anyway, you can find this (as well as other local soaps) at craft fairs and independent stores that sell locally made products. Isn't that where you want to shop, anyway? Yet, probably the majority of people buy the same uninspiring soap (made with heinous chemicals in overseas factories that bypass environmental regulations) (because they don't like changes and want to save a few cents) at stores that exploit labor, or worse, even, via Amazon—was there ever a more sadly ironic name for a company? I realize that, for my project, here, as impossible as it is to include everything, I'm checking out everything from Dial to the bathtub batch made one time on a whim by my next-door neighbor (Room 237) (that's entirely hypothetical, but I like the idea). Look, you can get by with no soap whatsoever. I like that idea, too. I'm a fan of fanatically austere—I've quit more things than makes sense to most people. Part of why I started trying all these soaps is so I could find my favorite of all time, and then maybe settle. But I see now that settling is not going to happen (until they settle my lifeless form into its grave), and this has been a case of the more you learn, the more you need to know, and the more you experience, the more hungry you are for more experience. I'm sure that eventually I'll have my favorites that I go back to (I already do), but I'm going to keep wanting to find more, and especially the local stuff. And who knows, this might eventually lead me to taking up making soap myself.

That said (at length over Saturday morning coffee), I don't have a lot to say about the fragrance side of this particular version of Soap Fixx Co bar soap called Bucking Bronco. The name might make me think of sports teams and automobiles (I'd rather not) or the movie The Misfits (1961)—which gives me a tremendous idea for my first line of soap (look, I've got to move to a bigger place before this gets started...) called “The Misfits,” named after the five main characters in this movie: Roslyn, Gay, Perce, Guido, and Isabelle—who are played by Marilyn Monroe, Clark Gable, Montgomery Clift, Eli Wallach, and Thelma Ritter—and how I imagine them to smell, with their respective character's fragrances and sweat. If you have seen this movie, or care to watch it now, you'll see what I mean. This is such a good idea, I almost want to keep it to myself, but if someone reading this wants to steal it, please tell your friends that you got the idea here, and our love will be mutual. Anyway, this soap is fine and subtle, it's described as Citrus, Spice and Wood, and I can get that, but it doesn't hit you over the head. For those of you who want a gentle fragrance that is still outdoorsy, you might love this. They don't use palm oil. The ingredients listed, beside the sodium hydroxide and water, are olive, castor, and coconut oils, as well shea butter and fragrance oils. I'm going to try more from this company, by and by, but I've only got so many baths left on Earth, and I'm going to be thankful for every single one.

Soap Review No. 88

Asquith & Somerset – Winter Pine & Clove

“Essence of Voban”

I actually have a few large (they're always large) bars of this Asquith & Somerset soap, which you can find at TJ Maxx and Marshall's, sometimes, which I assume they buy in enormous bulk when it's overstocked somewhere. You can get some good quality stuff at those stores, as well as crapola bullshit—it's up to you to know the difference. I am assuming this soap actually does come from England (which doesn't mean good, necessarily, as Coldplay also comes from England). Oh, I see, it's “designed” in England, meaning nothing. It's made in Portugal, which doesn't necessarily mean good, even though my favorite writer and favorite liquor come from Portugal. And this is, again, one of those suitable for the half-bath in the pink, ceramic shell soapdish. On the packaging, there's a children's book illustration of a couple of cherubic rug-rats sledding. I expected a lot from this one, as “Winter Pine & Clove”—two of my favorite things. I mean, pine! And I love clove oil, cigarettes, and clove in food—I love it. The weird thing is, I would never smell this and say pine or clove—I just don't smell those at all. What I would say, offhand, is puke—though maybe that's being a little harsh. It does smell pukey, though, really pretty harsh, kind of sharp, like digestive acid. Or maybe it's that powder stuff they put on puke in grade school. Anyway, that's making it sound worse than it is. I've been using this soap for a month, and I keep kinda liking the fragrance (at least it's strong and bold), and I like how my hands smell after washing my hands with it—like a middle-aged man who works in sales. The ingredients list, however, is a little alienating, so we'll just gloss over that at present. Curious, now, about the other A&S varieties. Bummed this one doesn't transport me to a pine forest, smoking a Djarum.

Soap Review No. 87

Eiwit Zeep – Eggwhite Soap

“Death Do Us Part”

I allowed myself to buy a second egg of this soap (the first was a gift, after all!) for research purposes, because the first one was snow-white in color, and then I noticed, in the store, the same soap (or same box, anyway) and the soap was now yellow. I suppose depending on what light you're under you could say the one was off-white and this new one was pale yellow—and as I've used it, the yellow has faded, and it looks closer to white—but there is definitely a difference. Anyway, so I've been using this new version, and as far as I can tell, it's pretty much the same except for the color. Of course, that means asking myself to remember the fragrance, for comparison, which is kind of funny, since that is the elusive thing about it that has me so beguiled. But I'm going to say, yes, it is the same, because it gives me the same warm, evocative, nostalgic feeling every time I smell it. So this has been a successful test, I guess. And I still have yet to try out the Swedish version of this soap, which has different name, different ingredients, and is from a different country—so I'm expecting that to smell different as well—but we'll see.

For the sake of this project (continuously trying new soap), I have to sometimes ask myself when it's okay to go back and revisit a favorite—both to see if the soap has changed, and if I've changed—and I will do that, from time to time. I did that once in the past with Chandrika, and put an addendum on the review, but seeing how I don't expect that people are going to go back a read old reviews (addendum or not!) (and I'm lucky if anyone is reading any of this at all!), I think, now, and in the future, if I revisit some soap, I'll just put up a new entry. Speaking of my favorites, and my ghost-readers, are you interested in what my top ten are, so far? So here it is (rough, and off the top of my head) as of the beginning of 2020: 1. Chandrika. 2. Eiwit Zeep. 3. Caswell-Massey Jockey Club. 4. Chami Laurel Soap. 5. Pacha Pines & Needles 6. Barr-Co. Willow. 7. 100% Laurel Halap. 8. Soap Shop Honeysuckle Gardenia. 9. Caswell-Massey Newport. 10. Pré de Provence Cashmere Woods. It's interesting to me that two of those, the Soap Shop and the Barr-Co., feature gardenia, which makes me think I should make a beeline toward my next gardenia soap, and perhaps gardenia flowers, for that matter.

But anyway, this Eiwit Zeep has a strong position at number two, which makes me think that I should try once more to nail down the fragrance. I just don't know. I mean, it's not so different than baby powder, I guess, yet it is. There is the quality of something you might find in your grandma's bathroom, yet maybe not. I wish I had a lot of money to set up an olfactory research facility and I could pay acute smell experts to come in and take surveys—but no chance of that ever happening. That gives me an idea, though—maybe I could invite over volunteers to continuously smell and take surveys of whatever soap I happen to have going at present (I usually have about 10 at a time). I'll have to come up with some kind of good survey form. I'm going to do that! Okay, then, once more I'll try to describe the smell of this one (of course, it's not just the smell—when you use it, it feels pretty magical). “Clean” comes to mind—but no. And perhaps, “Soap”—but that's a little general? That smell! If I ever find the soul that fits that glass slipper, it'll be like, hell yes! It's okay, baby, I'll attend this month's PTA meeting. (That's a comic metaphor called getting waaaay fucking far ahead of yourself.)

Soap Review No. 86

Fern & Nettle – Geranium + Calendula

“Can of Geraniums”

Once, a few years back, I got a little obsessed with geraniums—not to the point where I really did anything, like grow them, or even learned anything about them—I just thought a lot about them—kind of in a different way—not taking them for granted. When I was a little kid my parents had geraniums in the built-in flower bed in the front of the house, so I guess I considered them the most boring flowers of all time—also, because they didn't have a striking fragrance, like the roses they had around to the side, and the lilacs out back. So, now again, I just looked up something about geraniums and saw the phrase “often confused with” (regarding the confusion with pelargonium) and stopped myself right there, at that particular rabbit-hole warning. I've spent entire days that way—starting with an interest, and then that phrase—so at this point, if I'm going to learn anything about these flowers—maybe any flowers—it's got to be from a person. Almost the same experience with calendula, just now—something about marigolds—okay, I'm rushing out to breakfast (not literally, that's an expression). I've had some calendula soap in the past, I think? There is some medicinal value, maybe, good for your skin.

I bought this soap at a craft fair—you can find it around Milwaukee—Fern & Nettle is a local company, handmade skincare products. It's a simple, rough, rectangular, beige bar with a very subtle fragrance. I suppose I picked this one, among the many options, because that geranium obsession came back into my mind. And now I've used my first-ever geranium soap. There is a fragrance, though almost not there, and I'd never be able to identify it—but I'd call it floral. If you're someone who is afraid of perfumes and likes a light touch, you might love this soap. I love it, actually—sometimes I'm in that mood. It feels soft and trustworthy. The ingredients are organic palm, coconut, and olive oils and goat milk, as well as calendula flowers and essential oil of geranium. This is someone's favorite soap, I'm sure, and I'm happy with it. Of course, I can't settle, and most of the time I'm in the mood for something that spins my head around, even if occasionally that means not being able to outrun it.

Soap Review No. 85

Sudamala Seasalt Soap

“Bali Beachfront Mystery”

This simple, off-white bar of soap comes in an odd, ornate, silver tin box, too flimsy for any other use except maybe to bury a deceased pet mouse or small gerbil. There's a simple round tag attached with minimal information, the name, and then: “Handmade in Bali, Indonesia.” I looked up Sudamala, and got tired of searching beyond a resort by that name, in Bali. There is a company address, literally too small to read, and the minimal ingredients, coconut oil being the first one, then some other oil I never heard of (oh, I looked it up, and it's African palm oil), and a few other things, glycerin, and sea salt. There is no fragrance to speak of. No added fragrance. Some people—a lot of people—prefer products with no added fragrance, and I can understand that—particularly with things like lotions and detergents, but with soap, it's one of my chief pleasures in life. I won't be insensitive and say it's a mental thing, because when people infer that my wheat gluten intolerance is a mental thing, or a fad, or a choice, it really irritates me—seeing how I was there, and I was the one who almost died. So I respect sensitivity to fragrance. I wonder if people who are highly sensitive to fragrance can detect the subtle fragrance inherent in anything—nothing is totally fragrance-free. This soap, for instance, it does have a very particular smell (as with other fragrance-free soaps), and I'm guessing it's the smell of the coconut and palm oil. It's slightly unpleasant to me—or is at first—but as I use the soap, I start to appreciate it more and more just for what it is, and ultimately I really kind of love it. Every time I use this soap, I like to just take it in. It reminds me of a place, maybe just cleaned, and I can feel the space, it's a little bit mysterious. Or maybe it's a person—and all people, if you take the time to look, are mysterious—each one with their own tragic agenda, and magic tricks for keeping it all afloat.

Soap Review No. 84

Sunrise Showers – Lilac

“Norma Desmond”

I only recently discovered Sunrise Showers Soap, a local company with a very handmade looking label—in a kind of style that makes me think of one of those odd restaurants run by individuals who design their own menus to reflect their busy mental sensibility. I mean, it's not that extreme—it's nice, kind of homemade. This is more or less Milwaukee soap—their address is a little outside of town. I can list the ingredients, as they are minimal: olive oil, coconut oil, rice bran oil, castor oil, shea butter, cocoa butter, ground sandalwood, lilac fragrance oil, and sea salt. Sounds like you could eat it! They make a point of “No Palm Oil”—and I'll have to admit my ignorance on this issue. I looked it up, and a lot of companies and environmental minded people are avoiding palm oil products because of the palm oil industry's bad agricultural practices and destroying of rain forests. So I'll be more aware of this from now on. I realize it might look like, with all my soap reviews, that I'm a culprit, but I have to point out that I use all the soap I buy—down to the end; I'm not a soap reviewing conglomerate. I don't use any more soap than the average guy—I just use a different soap every time, and I write about every one. But in the future, I'll pay more attention. The soap also says it's “Gunk-Free”—and I have no idea what that means—I don't think it refers to Gunk, the band. Maybe it means it's free of what I often refer to as “chemical-y bullshit.” I'll guess that's what it means. Correct me if I'm wrong about any of this. Anyway, it seems to be! (free of chemical-y bullshit—see ingredients list, above).

I was really excited to get a lilac soap because lilac is one of my favorite flowers—when I was growing up, my parents had lilac bushes in the back yard. I've always loved that smell. Then later in life, I used to use Lilac Vegetal aftershave, which seems like a product from a century ago. I think I might go back to it, too, if I can still find any—I think it's still out there. This soap has a just beautiful appearance, with a white or cream color swirled with a deep and varied purple-brown. The light color is smooth and the dark color is rough textured. It's exciting, pleasing soap to handle. The lilac smell is unmistakable, not at all subtle—a pretty strong lilac smell. There is no mistaking it. The weird thing, though, is that I found it almost repulsive at first—the smell was kind of cloying and overwhelming to the point of being unpleasant. But I kept with it, and I got used to it, and the smell maybe mellowed a little, I'm not sure. Anyway, over time, I had no trouble using it and even got to enjoy it—but always in an odd way where it kept pushing me away, then drawing me back in, then rejecting me again. I've known people like that. I love it, but I could never love it.

Soap Review No. 83

LUX – Magical Spell

“Untuk Lama”

This LUX soap is very much a factory made soap, with a sculpted form and smooth, uniform purple appearance, and a really pleasant floral smell—it reminds me of some kind of candy. I bet more than a few little kids have taken a bite out of this one! There are just tons of words and details on the package—looking at the fine print, this particular product is apparently from Singapore. LUX is owned by Unilever, I guess, a giant company, whose logo is very hippie looking “U”—but for fun, I looked up their HQ on London, and to no one's surprise, it's a frightening sci-fi looking building. This soap is okay, and I like that it's purple. If I had to buy factory made soap with a chemically bullshit ingredient list that just keeps going into the sunset, sure, I'd buy this one—it looks and smells as friendly as superior customer service.

The most mysterious thing is the packaging—it's all black and purple, with LUX in metallic gold. There's a really dark picture of some kind of scary-looking orchid-like flower. It says “Fine Fragrance,” and then there's a little trademarked perfume bottle image—like we're supposed to believe they really put some kind of $100 an ounce perfume in their cheap soap! Ha! “Magical Spell” is in script letters—can't go wrong there. Then it says: “For a long lasting, enchanting fragrance.” Why not. Then it says: “Untuk keharuman mewah yang tahan lama”—I don't know what that means, but I'm hoping it's good clean fun. Under that, it says: “Dengan Fragrance Pearls of Exotic and Essential Oils.” More nonsense! Anyway, I've always shied away from purple, but lately I've embraced it. I don't know if you can say I've become a purple guy, but why not! Maybe I'll name my band: Untuk keharuman mewah yang tahan lama, while I'm at it! Though probably shorten it, a bit, because that's a plateful.

Soap Review No. 82

La Florentina – Limone Lavanda

“Emonslay Avenderlay”

This is another of those huge, white, elegant looking fancy soaps—and I've said this before, but it's the best way to describe it—it's one you would imagine your grandma or aunt putting in the downstairs “half bathroom,” for the imposing look and nice fragrance—almost assuming that no one's even going to use it. At 10.5 ounces, you have to be in pretty good shape just to pick it up. And the fresh, unused bar is so elegantly sculpted, with with the name and ornate seal, and lots of curlicues and design—on back, too—you might feel guilty getting it wet, opting instead to use the disposable hand pump soap on the other side of the sink in the half-bath. Of course, me, I immediately took it into the bathtub and felt like a rich person with money to burn. It wasn't expensive, though, because I bought it at TJ Maxx, and the ingredient list, if you're allergic to strange, unknowable and possibly heinous chemicals, might keep you up worrying about rashes. I get more skin irritation into fall and winter because of the dryness, so it's always hard for me to know, but I kind of suspected this one—but since it's impossible to nail down what gives you skin itchiness, I can't really accuse it. It does have some good stuff in there, olive oil, shea butter, glycerin, and it's a nice feel and lather. The fragrance, though, is the best part.

This soap comes in a box that may have cost more than the soap to produce. It's so big and substantial, you might save it for other use, like burying a small pet. It's got multi-colored printing, a drawing of some lemons and some lavender. There's a fancy company logo and other printing in metallic silver. It's from Italy, and it says “Limone Lavanda” on the front, which I assume is Italian, then on one side of the box it says “Citron Lavande,” is that French? And somewhere else: “Zitrone Lavendel”—I don't know what that is, but I'm going to use that as a character name sometime! And then on the other side, Lemon Lavender, which kind of spells it out in plain English. The first thing you smell is the lemon, and it's kind of intoxicating. I wouldn't want to use a citrus soap every day, but I wouldn't mind always having one around. But then you smell the lavender underneath the lemon, and it's really pretty magical. I love lavender, but it's the most common of all soap fragrances, at least I feel like I see it more than anything else, so I've been kind of avoiding it lately, just for variety's sake. But this combination of lavender with citrus, and in particular bold lemon, it really works. They kind of hit a home run, here, with the fragrance. This is like Reese's Peanut Butter Cup level divine combination alchemy.

Soap Review No. 81