Chandrika – Sandal Soap

“This & That”

This particular version of Chandrika furthers the Chandrika mystery. (Because there are several similar but different soaps with the Chandrika name.) It's tan, light brown, not green, but smells like Chandrika, but also sandalwood. The bar looks like the green Chandrika oval bar, but tan-brown. The smell is pretty sandalwood, classic sandalwood, but also a bit like Chandrika. I think it is really a combination of the two. That means a combination of two good soap types. The ingredients on the box are no help—it's not actually an ingredient list. Free from animal fat, at least. Look, I could spend the rest of today on the internet and solve nothing. I could spend the rest of my life chasing after the mystery of this soap. I could travel to India, and solve even less, because India is big place, and you'd need an expert to track this stuff down, and when it comes to experts, there are experts and there are experts. I'm just going to go by bathing with it for the time it took to dwindle. This is a good soap. It's probably not as intensely sandal as some other sandal soaps I've had, and it's not as Chandrika as the two varieties of Chandrika I've had (all of which are some of my favorites)—so maybe it's a bit of a compromise—but in itself, this is a fine soap, and inexpensive—you can't go wrong here.

Soap Review No. 106

No. 1 – Coconut and Neem Beauty Soap

“No. 67”

This is an inexpensive bar soap from the company, Godrej, which you might be able to find at your local Indian grocery store—it's pretty common, and not very exciting—but I like it infinitely better than any of the major giant company soaps at the supermarket or big chain drugstores. The package says “No. 1”—which means, “No. 1.” There is a picture of a split open coconut on the package, which just makes me want to eat coconut. There are also some pictures of leaves, which I assume are depictions of “Azadirachta Indica” (Neem) (Indian Lilac) which has medicinal qualities, for skin, and you name it. The ingredients also list Tulsi. The oval bar has a kind of boring green color, almost blue-green, and its fragrance is a little harsh, maybe kind of institutional, whatever that means. It's pleasant enough, as soap, but not very interesting or inspiring, or recalling of anything else. Just Soap. If this was the only soap I was allowed to use, I'd be happier soap-wise than 99 percent of the world—there's nothing to complain about. But alas, in the last 3 or 4 years I've tried out over a 100 bars of soap. It's impossible, really to rank them. There are about 10 that could easily be considered No. 1—but this isn't one of them. I could say, okay, I'll put this at No. 67—though that's admittedly a bit arbitrary. If they changed the name to No. 67—it would be the same soap—probably not sell as well—but I'd give them some points for sense of humor.

Soap Review No. 105

Pré de Provence – Violette

“Second Dessert”

This is another wacky variety from Pré de Provence—I'd really like to try them all, but it seems like they just keep making new ones, and I'm only one man. The color is a pretty, tasteful, almost subtle, kind of earth-tone purple. Isn't purple the craziest of all colors? I mean, in that there are some that are gross and off-putting, and some are compelling and beautiful. Very seldom are any just blah, though, like quite a lot of blues. It's got an insane fragrance—you almost get drunk just smelling it! Intense. And hard to put my finger on. I'd say it's the essence of violets, the flower, but that's a little too easy—and maybe I can't trust myself, since the power of suggestion is at work here. Let me try again. I just can't put my finger on it—it's the most intense smelling soap I've come across in awhile. Now, actually, I don't think it smells like violets, the flower—it's hard to say for sure, though, as I don't have any violets around to compare. I really think it smells like something you could eat. Smelling it again, I do believe it smells like some kind of baked good—maybe a birthday cake! Or maybe a soft drink of some kind. It definitely reminds me of when I lived near the Kool-Aid factory somewhere, can't remember where—and when you'd walk by it, you'd just taste the flavor in the air.

Soap Review No. 104

Swedish Dream – Seaweed Soap

“The Sea + Weed”

This soap comes in a really cute box with a lovely shade of blue, a white seahorse, and a fisherman highlighted in red—it makes you think of nostalgic children's books. The soap itself is an off-white hockey-puck with a seahorse engraved. There are enough non-English words to make you think it comes from Sweden, even though it's from Cranston, RI—which is at least near the sea, and I'm sure a lovely place to live. Everything about this says “yuppie soap”—but even so, it was really nice on my skin (it claims to contain marine algae for that purpose). Also, they just really scored with the fragrance—it's like in my top ten—I can't get enough. Among the mind-numbing chemically ingredient names, I see: “sea lily fragrance”—maybe that's it. Anyway, I keep going back to try to figure out why it makes me think of the sea, when I smell it. What does the sea smell like, anyway? Yet, it's undeniably evocative, and nothing else will come to mind, but... the sea. It could be all suggestion. The seahorse, after all. Sweden. Maybe it's all in my mind. But isn't the sense of smell, which happens in the brain, ultimately, “all in the mind?” Maybe I'm overthinking things. But what is it with The Sea? Shouldn't we fear the Earth's large bodies of water, particularly the saltwater ones—you can't drink it, we can't live in it, and there's only so long we can live on top of it—shouldn't “The Sea” be the horror of all horrors? Yet we have these fond, loving feelings about it. I guess there's a part of us that knows—that's where we came from, and that's where we're going back to, ultimately.

Soap Review No. 103

Shea Moisture – Dragon's Blood and Coffee Cherry

“Magic Brick”

This should have been my favorite soap—everything is good about it, from the fragrance, to the color, to the ingredients, to the feeling on the skin—but there was one element missing, and that is the ephemeral feeling evoked from fragrance. It didn't put me in a time machine or on a virtual journey, like some soap does. I guess I just have to admit that, when it comes down to it, fragrance is the most important element to me. Maybe I should test and write about perfume and cologne instead of soap—and maybe I will, once I either start making money at this or am able to get free samples. Anyway, the full name of this soap is Shea Moisture (Established 1912) Dragon's Blood & Coffee Cherry Shea Butter Soap, with Black Currant & Borage Oils. I don't know if it's really a company that old (there is a little history on the package, founded by a woman from Sierra Leone), and I don't know how much of each of those ingredients are in the soap, but it was a dense, deep red, kind of earth-tone—like red clay, with tiny black texture dots, which function as an exfoliant. The fragrance is subtle and slightly fruity. Dragon's Blood is a plant resin—and I'm not sure exactly of its source, and function here, besides the color—but if you want to believe it's actual blood from actual dragons, I'm not going to try to persuade you to think otherwise. Who am I to say something doesn't exist, even dragons?

Soap Review No. 102

Maine Beach – Organic Macadamia

“Nut Monument”

I'm a little wary of nut flavored soaps because I had one once that kind of bugged me after awhile. Which is to say, repulsed me, I guess. I know it's not fair to judge other soaps by that, and really, this one is okay. Actually, this one is pretty intense! Hard to put my finger on. Kind of exciting. Could be a nutty smell (or is that just my imagination?) It reminds me a little of laundry soap, which is to say, Tide. It smells a bit sweet, actually, and kind of fruity, too, and a little sour. It just occurred to me—I'm describing vomit. This soap doesn't smell like vomit—far from it! But it also doesn't inspire nostalgia, or take me to another place, or remind of me of being in love. Sorry to say. It's a giant, off-white soap though, and would sit very well in an upper-middle-class, suburban, McMansion half-bath. The real star here, though, is the box—which is heavy, grey cardboard with intricate silver decorations and lettering. There is even a fabric pull-tab, and a drawer slides out—it's elaborate and sturdy. I've had less substantial furniture. It's big, too, and besides storing shit, you might even find it to be an acceptable coffin for a pet rodent, or even a very small dog.

Soap Review No. 101

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