Cloud Nine Soap Co. – Blossom Leaf + Bud

“The Winner”

This is quality, handmade soap from a local company—I bought it at a craft fair—intrigued by its heady fragrance. It's a simple, roughhewn rectangle, kind of tan-beige. I have been stingy with it, trying to make it last until I figure out what it smells like, or whatever in the world it makes me think of. I've considered putting the (now small bar) under my pillow while I sleep to see what my dreams tell me. It's called “Cloud Nine” after all. What Blossom Leaf + Bud means, I have no idea, but I like that name. I just looked at their website again, and I don't see it. Was it discontinued? When something disappears like that you wonder if it's because it was unpopular, or too popular, and sold out.

After being initially intrigued by the fragrance, for a while I was repulsed by it. It's intense and strange. Then it started growing on me, more and more, each day—out of control. Now, I'm obsessed with it. I want to figure it out, but I'm still unable to! I believe that it is floral, to some degree, but I'm not even sure about that. I don't recall ever smelling a flower or plant that smells like this soap. I bet it's too much for a lot of people. I bet, for some people, it sends them to a bad place. Maybe I'm wrong. Not me. I'm addicted to it. Maybe it's the smell of addiction. Does addiction have a smell, the way wealth and love do? No, they don't! It's making me crazy. It inspires me. It excites me. It's just plain weird. It transports me somewhere, but I don't know where. Maybe Oz, or Xanadu, or Shangri-La, or Wonderland, or Paradise Island, or El Dorado, or Springfield, Ohio! I don't know! I give up! The soap has won!

Soap Review No. 111

Alchimia Soap – Floral Bouquet (Bouquet di Flori Sapone Vegetale)

“Victorian Cluster”

It says: “Vegetable Soap Handmade in Italy” on the packaging, along with images of flowers, and a yellow ribbon, and some costume jewelry—a cluster of nine diamonds! That sold me. I know I say this a lot, but this is the extreme version of grandmother's powder room soap. I would bet more of these sit idle than actually get used. That would be too bad, because I found the fragrance to be lovely. It's a big white bar, with good lather—does it dry my skin? Who knows. I felt like it was fine. I know some people would be put off by its intense floral fragrance—I mean, it just about knocks you over—but for me, there's a time and place for that—and I found it cheered me up—perhaps, again, sinking into the deep childhood nostalgia when I visited elderly relatives. There's a fine line between loving and cloying—and I suppose this soap rides that line. Also, I wouldn't necessarily assume those diamonds are fake—there's a good chance that jewel smugglers used the diabolical scheme of decorating innocuous soap packaging with actual, fine, cut gems in order to smuggle them into the country—hidden in plain sight! It was a brilliant scheme. What they didn't count on was some weird guy reviewing over 100 brands of soap for a website—not content with the five options at the drugstore. Now, I will use this immense landfall to buy more soap to review... more and more... until I can no longer bathe.

Soap Review No. 110

Nirmal – Aritha Shampoo Soap

“Aunt Damyanti”

This is a small shampoo bar soap from India—it comes in an attractive box and costs almost nothing. You don't have to use it as shampoo—you can use it as hand soap if you like—there's no soap police that are going to swoop down. I tried it as shampoo, a bit, though. It didn't make my hair thick and silky, and exactly like the woman in the picture on the box—had it, we'd have to “report the miracle.” The ingredients are as follows: “Soap Noodles, EDTA,TiO2, Perfume, Filler, Colour, Aritha Ext.”—which, while perhaps could be considered some form of poetry, tells me absolutely nothing about the makeup of this soap. On the box, besides the amazing-hair woman, are three little brown things. If one was to guess, out of context: apricot pits, bonbons, buckeyes, Milk Duds, meteorites? No. What they are, are soap nuts, the source of Aritha powder, which is the essence of this shampoo soap.

The soap is a kind of unnatural bright orange color, that mildly says “industrial.” The fragrance is harsh, intense, perfume-y, and not entirely pleasant, but also, to some degree, nostalgic—it reminds me of something—I can't place it! I would like to figure it out—it's a strong association. I want to say “public restroom”—but that sounds gross, and it's not gross. Okay, I know some people wouldn't like it, the smell, but I like it. I think it's been growing on me, too, as the smell-memory deepens. Can nostalgic memory build that way? I wonder if one of my relatives, as a kid, had perfume that smelled kind of like this soap (or soap that smelled like it, or rooms that smelled like this, in their houses)? I wish you could get out old smells and sit around and reminisce with them, the way you do with old photographs. That would be something. I could directly compare those old smells (I might have hundreds!) with soap, and then we'd be able to nail it. As it is, though, I just have to make an assessment—and I say, Yes!—and let its mystery reign.

Soap Review No. 109

Asquith & Somerset – Spiced Orange

“Sad Cocktail”

Another big-ass, 300 gram bar of soap for grandma's powder room, designed in England, made in Portugal, and bought and used in the USA. The packaging is pretty striking, bold colors, dark greens and deep orange, with images of cutaway oranges, and metallic gold print. The initial fragrance is not real exciting to me—I mean, it smells exactly like what it claims to be: spiced orange. I guess I'm just not that into citrus scented soaps, and I should know this by now, but you're always hoping this is going to be the one. Yes, you're always hoping this is going to be the one. Will this be the one? You hope, you pray, or maybe you don't pray, but will this, will this, will this be the one? And the answer is always no. Always no. Whenever you find yourself asking, will this be the one?—you know you're already sunk. This is a fine, large, white, fragrant, lathery bath or hand soap. But the fragrance, at least for me, doesn't work. I'm able to use it, but it's never going to make me too happy. I'm someone who will combine all kinds of stuff that other people find inedible or gross, but there are some taste and fragrance combinations that go together like canned soup and the employee lunchroom. Not fatal, but... you know what I'm talking about.

Soap Review No. 108

Sunrise Showers – Bandits

“Tomb Raider”

I think this is the second variety from local soap company, Sunrise Showers, I have tried. On the packaging—along with the goat and the duck—there's a picture of a masked, Western “Bandit”—and I'm always amused by how bandits and pirates are considered romantic, even though they're criminals and terrorists. But what really got my attention is a fairly long (for a small soap wrapper) paragraph about how the essential oils in this soap are inspired by the secret formula used by the “4 Bandits” in the 15th Century for warding off the “decimating plague” that they might otherwise contract from corpses while robbing graves! That's just one of the weirder sales pitches I've heard in a while. Of course, the bottom line is the ingredients, among them: clove, cinnamon, eucalyptus, lemon, rosemary, madder root, and sea salt joining the oils of argan, avocado, castor, olive, and coconut, as well as colloidal oatmeal, shea butter, and goat milk. All of that someone has worked into a roughhewn, little bar—tan, with irregular streaks of reddish-brown. It's a fine soap, with good lather, and just the best fragrance. I wish... I wish... I wish I could have this one around all the time. (Sneak a bar of it into my coffin!) It reminds me somewhat of my bay rum aftershave, and also, you know, those grave robbers.

Soap Review No. 107

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