Asquith & Somerset – Woodland Shea

“Boromir”

Once more a big old (300 gram) white bar of soap—this one from English soap company Asquith & Somerset. This soap comes across as fancy, but it's reasonably priced. There's no point in buying the uninspired soap at the grocery store or chain drugstore when you can get much more fun soap for essentially the same price if you hunt a little bit. I probably bought this at TJ Maxx, which I know is a chain store, but as far as soap goes, you never know what bizarre brands they will have—all usually really inexpensive. It's kind of like a rolling soap garage sale. Of course, the very best place to buy soap is at locally owned stores, if you're lucky enough to have them around. There you might find anything. A&S specialize in fun packaging, and I'm all for that. This one has nice paper and a kind of cartoon drawing of some animal with big ears, wearing a scarf and earmuffs. I don't know what the animal is, exactly—perhaps a “Woodland Shea.” Likewise, I'm not sure what the fragrance is—perhaps woodland shea. This is another one that faded a bit, but I don't mind so much. After all, you don't want to wake up in the middle of the night and think Sean Bean is in your apartment. I used it in the bath, and my skin thanked me. I thanked my skin back by not smoking and drinking plenty of water. Wash, or don't wash, people, but stay hydrated!

Soap Review No. 126

Castelbel – Teakwood & Amber

“Ship's Cargo”

This was one of the big-ass (10.5 ounce) white bars of soap from Portuguese company Castelbel that comes in bulletproof-looking packaging with a little tag tied to it with the name—effective enough approach. It's got a decent lather, allegedly due to karité butter, and I used it in the bath with no ill effects, and it lasted forever. I found the fragrance to be manly, but not overly aggressively so. Really, quite a subtle scent, but it's there. With old-school male fragrance, you don't want it to be too cheap or dominant—you don't want to think that door-to-door salesman is still hiding in your bathroom. This one's okay. Maybe just okay, in that it hasn't given me flashbacks, or even aroused memories—aching, crushing, bitter, or sweet memories—no. Who knows about these things. It certainly gives it the old first day at college try, with the teakwood (you're on a boat that's being dragged through a forest) and amber (a can of worms—watch for my upcoming book and lecture series: “What the Fuck is Amber?”) The same way that a little can go a long way, sometimes a little too much restraint goes a little too far. But if you expect a home-run at every bat, you've probably come to the wrong sports-bar.

Soap Review No. 125

CST – Almond Scented Bar Soap

“Still Christmas”

Each variety of bar soap has an identity, which I usually introduce with the brand name, then a dash, then the particular flavor or variety. This one—which is essentially a Christmas gift bar—doesn't so much, as it's a bit anonymous. It's made by CST, which stands for Commonwealth Soap & Toiletries, a big (I'm assuming) company, located on the East Coast. You only discover that in the small print, as if they don't really care if you know or not. The important thing here is the packaging—it comes in a wrapper depicting a Christmas scene—a cute, little, retro camper in the snow with a Christmas tree and a snowman at either end. Then on top, there's a little, toy Christmas tree, on its side—so it looks like it's strapped to the top of the camper. When you mix 2-D and 3-D artwork like that, it kind of goes the extra mile, if you know what I mean. Charming. You can toss the little Christmas tree, or save it with your Christmas stuff. I set it on top of my wall clock, where it actually looks like it wants to be. Well, I'm glad there was something to relate about the packaging, because the soap, itself, isn't that striking. It's a medium sized, white bar, does what soap is supposed to do, and had a subtle almond scent for a while. The fragrance didn't last as long as the soap (of course, I extend soap life by using about 10 bars simultaneously) but that's okay. There's a sliver left (which now smells like “soap”), and it's springtime, and my Christmas lights are still up.

Soap Review No. 124

Nomarks – Oil Control Soap

“Mind Control”

I didn't expect much from this soap, in that the featured ingredients—Aloe Vera, Turmeric, Lemon, Neem—are all fine for your skin—but I assumed, the combination of, might smell citrusy, which is not my favorite. It's essentially an acne soap, I assume (“Oil Control”), and is from the Bajaj company in India, and cost under two dollars. What I didn't expect was to get totally obsessed with the fragrance, which caught me off-guard. Not that it's unusual or weird, but because it evokes something, and I can't put my finger on it. I will try again. It continues to cast an odd spell over me, yet I can't say why. The best way to experience it, as with a lot of soap, is to wash your hands with it, then cup your hands over your nose and mouth and take it in. Then the soap smell mixes with your skin and doesn't smell as harsh as just sniffing the bar itself. I've been doing this for months with this bar of soap, not wanting to use it up—because I find it so mysterious, and I'm afraid that I'll never be able to find it again. Though I do have pretty good soap record-keeping, so I know that I bought this one at India Food Mart on Drexel Ave., in Oak Creek—so maybe they will have more.

I'm not likely to ever figure out what the fragrance reminds me of. I honestly thought, for a while, that I'd just blown it out of proportion, and had a particular day—you know, the day when everything seems magical—broccoli is the best food you've ever tasted, crap coffee tastes like it came from the gods. But this soap has been consistently freaking me out with whatever its olfactory reference is. This reminds me of the problem I have, in general, with my powers of smell and taste reference and description. I'm not one of those people who can sip some particular coffee and say: “Bing cherries, saddle leather, and pigeon-coop.” I mean, I know what I like, but it's hard to explain why.

So... I'm at a loss with this soap to say anything other than it ignites the nostalgia centers of my brain. For that reason, one might not trust it—but nostalgia can be a very strong emotional trigger. I just wish I could figure out what—nostalgia for what. My only theory is that the fragrance producers in the West are constantly tinkering and updating fragrances of everything from toothpaste to laundry soap to bar soap to room deodorizers, etc. And over time, certain formulations of smell have passed by the wayside. But in India, some fragrances are utilized that might be very similar to what used to be produced in the USA five decades ago, but the times and current fashions have moved on, over here. India might be kind of a “time machine” for certain things like that. And so, maybe this soap is reminding me of a soap, or detergent, or that of a friend or relative, from my childhood. I've said similar things before—that smells like that take me back to the my childhood, or say the 1960s and 1970s—those things can evoke a very strong emotional response. This is the way we can legitimately time travel.

Soap Review No. 123

Good Soap – Apple Cider Vinegar

“Damn Good”

I've always been happy with the Whole Foods brand, “Good Soap” (from Alaffia)—when your big, colorful display is there by the checkout in the grocery store, you don't need packaging or additional advertising. I've tried a few—sometimes there's an oddball flavor, like this one—Apple Cider Vinegar. It smells just like apple cider vinegar—which is both satisfying (as it's the only soap I've used that smells like that), and a bit on-the-nose disappointing—but what did I expect? For it to smell like victory? Or teen spirit? Or the waning hours of a summer's day? It's the same exact pink as my bathroom tile, and there's little, darker pink, prickly texture, which is nice. A fine soap, all around. Words like fine, nice, and good, while positive, almost sound sarcastic, for some reason, and I don't mean it that way. I (heart) this soap. If I had any complaint, it would be about the name “Good”—just because I can't get out of my mind that it's akin with the “Generic” craze back whenever that was—remember the all white packaging with black letters—do they still do that anywhere? I wonder if they, back then (or now) had one that was “Soap.” That would be something to get ones hands on. Anyway, I just feel like they could have named the soap better—it's almost as if “Good” is the height of generic. If it was called “Soap,” that would he weird. “Great” would be worse than “Good.” Okay, I give up. That's why they pay those “creatives” so much dirty money to come up with that shit.

Soap Review No. 122

Pré de Provence – Tiare

“Polynesian Scandal”

I was particularly excited to find this soap because I had no idea what Tiare is. Regardless, I've been using it, and I'm sad to say that I'm not a fan of the fragrance. I love the Pré de Provence soaps, and this one is fine on my skin, has the little, rough, plant particles—but the color is an uninspired beige, and the fragrance is just kind of sickly-sweet and mildly pukey. I looked on the Pré de Provence website—they've been going hog-wild with their flavors lately—and oddly, this one is nowhere to be found. Perhaps it was an experiment that went wrong. But what is Tiare?

I looked in my dictionary (Merriam-Webster's Collegiate, Eleventh Edition)—oddly, not there—nothing between tiara and Tibetan! So then I looked on my google, and the first name that came up was Tiare Jennings, who, at the moment, is an awesome collegiate baseball player, with the Sooners. Which got me thinking—if there was a professional, women's baseball league, I'd watch that. Especially if the games were on TV (unlike our local team, the Brewers). So... I tried again, and I got to this Wikipedia page for the Gardenia taitensis, aka, Tahitian gardenia, or tiaré flower. Yay! Which is curious, because awhile back, I had some Gardenia scented soap, and it was my favorite ever fragrance—yet this one, I'm sorry... pukey.

Oh well. I also read that in some island traditions, a Tiaré flower worn on the left ear means “taken,” and on the right ear, “available”—I think I got that right. Better double-check before making any moves. Oh, and the weirdest thing, in Tonga, the plant's bark infusion is used to treat “ghost sickness.” So, of course, I looked up ghost sickness—and it turns out I have ALL THE SYMPTOMS! Except for one, that is—“loss of appetite”—so maybe I'm okay. Oh well, I guess I didn't get to the bottom of this soap. You probably can't find it anyway—but if you do, perhaps you'll allow the fragrance as presentable—we all have different preferences. And you might enjoy the mystery.

Soap Review No. 121

Pacha Soap Co. – Super Shrooms Bar Soap

“This Island Earth”

I usually buy Pacha soap at the store, no packaging. Minimal packaging is nice, but the only way to do better than “no packaging,” I guess, would be to travel back in time and somehow reverse the insane packaging trend that happened, at some point. If any soap could send you back in time, it would be this one—not that it did that to me—I stayed in the same timezone, but traveled somewhere. Anyway, you have to look at their website for ingredients. It's a good website. It says this particular soap features: “adaptogenic reishi and chaga mushrooms with activated charcoal powder.” If that means anything to you, great, explain it to me over coffee. I trust them, and I'll just take the easy route and say, “shrooms” in a stoner voice.

Someone at that Pacha company has it going on with the fragrances, or else I've just gotten lucky (haven't tried them all, of course!), but this is another one that almost freaks me out, I like it so much. I can't say it smells like mushrooms, though maybe it does, but there's a lot of different mushrooms. It definitely has a really compelling earthy fragrance—that's my best attempt to describe it. It's that kind of “take your breath away” earthiness and intensity. Just about my favorite in quite a while. The color, too, is quite beautiful—it looks like an abstract desert painting, or layers of earth. Four shades of brown, one on top of the other—from dark brown to tan. Or maybe dessert as much as desert. I don't know if I'd go so far as to say I'd eat this soap, but I'd wear it, travel with it, exhibit it, get lost in it—I'll stop now before I start to sound weird.

Soap Review No. 120

Original Products Botanica – Go Away Evil Soap

“Pascal Lite”

This is a bar soap that's intended to remove evil and negativity, and comes from this place in the Bronx, New York, called Original Products Botanica that has been selling various spiritual, new age, and occult products for over half a century. The New York Times said it best: “A veritable home depot of spirituality.” Nice package, in red and black, with a “Devil” wearing a suit, and a crow. The soap itself is fine, no fragrance to speak of, which is probably appropriate. Their website says it best: “Stop evil dead in its tracks! This soap gets rid of all the evil around you from your enemies, the dead, demons, and other evil sources.” As far as I can tell, it works, too. Do I believe it? Sure, I believe in everything—which I think makes the most sense. To believe in “nothing” is still a belief, but you're just back to where you started. Or behind where you started. I figure you can apply a version of “Pascal's wager” to this soap. Even if it doesn't actually get rid of the evil, it cleans whatever body parts you apply it to. That's what we in the soap review racket call a “win-win” situation.

Soap Review No. 119

SoapRocklets – Turquoise

“Mechanical Shark”

This soap is a bizarre mystery right down to its name! It had no packaging other than being wrapped in cellophane, with the name “SoapRocklets” printed on it—packaging which I've since lost. So I'm only going by memory (and the picture I posted on Instagram (see my soap review IG for pictures of all these soaps)). It's an odd-shaped rectangle bar of soap that is turquoise at on one end, with a black stripe around the middle, and then clear glycerin soap at the other end. Through the clear part you can see some sparkly metallic, copper-colored object inside. So what it looks like is there is a half turquoise, half clear soap built around a sparkly rock, and sealed with a black band. As the soap wore away, I expected the rock to be exposed, but it never was. As it got smaller and smaller, there was less and less copper, as well—which led me to believe that it's all a magic trick—an optical illusion. Eventually, the turquoise part and the clear part separated, leaving me with a little turquoise soap that looks like a shark's tooth. It's all been very disturbing. But not bad! This is a fine soap! It's nice on your skin, and the smell is a pretty intense floral fragrance of some kind—one I love. I'm not sophisticated enough to name the floral source—but then I don't even know the name of the soap, for sure. All that not knowing never stopped me from enjoying this soap!

Soap Review No. 118

Himalaya Herbals – Moisturizing Almond

“What Everest”

I love almonds—I'm eating them right now—but I don't think of them as particularly oily. So, I don't know how many it takes to make almond oil—a few, I suppose. I also love almond fragrance, and almond soap—as long as it's subtle. Like fake vanilla, fake almond is one the puke-ier things around. This one is good—and subtle. Maybe too subtle—it's not very distinctive. This soap is from United Arab Emirates—which isn't exactly close to the Himalayas—nor similar in terrain, I don't think—but no matter. There are way too many ingredients, listed on the box, to discuss them all, but included are: Indian Madder Root Extract and Triticum Vulgare Germ Oil—which are at least awesome on paper. This was a fine, usable soap, and it also comes with Directions: “Wet body and face, apply generously and rinse.” I considered nothing else, but it's good to be reminded—lest you find yourself eating soap and bathing in almond chicken.

Soap Review No. 117

Badger – Shave Soap

“Close Shave”

If you're in Wisconsin (like I am) you might think this soap is local, given the name (knowing that this is the “Badger State”)—but no—it's from Gilsum, New Hampshire. I looked up that town, and it's in the middle of nowhere—I wouldn't mind being there myself, right now. I ended up using this as just “soap,” since I don't have a shaving brush, and I wasn't about about buy one. There are instructions for shaving on the back—maybe one day I'll do all that stuff—when my fancy-pants ship comes in. Anyway, it's a nice soap, beige, hockey-puck shaped, with a fine lather and subtle fragrance. Maybe too subtle. It's got some nice ingredients, including Bergamot, Cardamom, Sandalwood, Black Pepper, and more. But it's all but fragrance-free. The box is nice—it's got a cartoon badger in aviation garb, holding a spyglass and sextant. I guess there are badgers everywhere, not just Wisconsin, and everyone loves badgers. Actually, I have no idea where all the badgers live, nor do I know how people feel about anything. I'm guessing there's an infinite variety, but the ones with the two-tone, striped faces definitely look awesome.

Soap Review No. 116

Dudu-Osun – Black Soap

“Fruit Basket”

This is a fantastic bar soap, good on your skin, and I love the fragrance. I'm not sure how it compares with the other black soaps I've used, but it's right up there—it's high on my list, period. The full name is: Tropical Naturals Dudu-Osun Black Soap. It's from Ikeja, Lagos, Nigeria—the full mailing address is on the box, as is their phone number, if you want to give them a ring. It's says it's made “the traditional way by hand”—and here are some of the ingredients: “Pure Honey, Lime and Lemon Juice, Shea Butter, Osun (camwood—you knew that), Cocoa pod ash, Palm bunch ash.” And “no artificial colour”—which you want to hear, because the black color is intense, as are the gray suds it makes. The bar is a rough, weird texture—like you almost feel like you'll come across larger particles, but you don't—and you can almost see colors in the soap's shiny blackness, like jewels in deep space. What I like best is this soap's fragrance... and I have no idea what to compare it to. It's pretty heady, earthy, somewhat floral, and especially, fruity—I'd say “intoxicating,” but that might be too strong a word. No, okay. It's intoxicating.

Soap Review No. 115

Plantlife – Pumpkin Spice

“Tasty Trouble”

This a fine, natural, “aromatherapy” soap from the company, Plantlife—based in California, I guess. It has been a pleasure use in the bath. I made a point of starting it in October, and using it up through Thanksgiving—pumpkin season. It both looks and smells exactly like pumpkin pie—so much so, that I had a little mishap. I was enjoying some Thanksgiving leftovers in the bath; turkey sandwich, cranberry sauce, a Brandy Alexander cocktail, and a slice of pumpkin pie. Unfortunately, I had no whipped cream, so my pie and this soap were virtually indistinguishable—and I accidentally bathed with the pie!

There is nothing about that story that is true, including the menu. The soap does resemble pumpkin pie, or perhaps a pumpkin “dessert bar.” And the smell—they got it exactly. When I was a little kid, had my mom used this soap to wash out my mouth for swearing (you were allowed to do that, as a parent, back then), it wouldn't have worked. I'd have just eaten it! As it turned out, a mouthful of Ivory or Kirk's didn't do much to dissuade me from the foul language—I used to swear like a sailor! Had I pursued a nautical career, rather than opting for olfactory analyst, I would have had the cussing part down, at least. But I'm not complaining. I'm clean, my bathroom smells like candle shop, and once in awhile I get to spin a yarn.

Soap Review No. 114

Patchouli – Moisturizing Bath Bar

“Alien 7”

Weighing in at 12 ounces!—this was the largest bar of soap I've ever owned. (I have used larger ones, cat-sitting in the North Woods, where there was soap the size of a cinder-block.) It's a huge, white egg—I'm not sure if there are eggs in the animal kingdom this large—I guess ostrich eggs are bigger, and of course dinosaur eggs. The box is an impressive oval-shaped thing which resembles a small hat box. I'll have to find a use for it. This soap was kind of fun to use, being that large, though you wouldn't want to drop it on your foot—and a couple of times it slipped out of my hands and went flying! The patchouli fragrance was profound. I wasn't always a fan of patchouli; there was a time I found it a bit much, not unlike the some of the hippies who sported it. Now, though, I love it, which, I guess, means I'm a hippie. So be it.

I had one odd adventure with this soap. When it got down to maybe a fourth of its original size (which took awhile!), I was taking a bath, washing with it, and suddenly its fragrance was gone! I thought maybe I'd lost my sense of smell, instantly, at that point, but no... I could still smell other soaps. So, suddenly there was no fragrance! Then after a bit, the fragrance returned, but it was much more subtle. I suppose it was a matter of layers, as in the fragrance wasn't distributed equally throughout. Is that possible? If so, could you make a soap that, as it wears down, changes fragrances, and changes colors? Kind of like the “Everlasting Gobstopper.” That would be amazing. I bet there is a soap out there that does that—I'll have to keep an eye out for it.

Soap Review No. 113

Kirk's – Gentle Castile Soap

“Memory Implant”

Kirk's “Since 1839” 100% Premium Coconut Oil Gentle Castile Soap is one of the soaps from furthest back in my memory—it's one I'm sure my parents had in the house pretty regularly—and also, I don't remember anything from before 1839. I suppose they made soap with animal fat back then, and this Kirk must have seemed like a real hippie. When I was a kid, my impression of it was that it was hard-core—just because it didn't seem as wimpy as your Ivory and Dove. I didn't realize that is was actually gentler than those other soaps, less chemically, less weird—the ingredients being about as basic as you'll see from a mainstream product. When I was a little older, I'd treat myself to this soap occasionally—when I felt rich enough to actually buy soap. I could make one bar go about six months, unlike these madman days. My impression of Kirk's now has been altered by my considerable soap experience, and it does't do much for me, though it is as gentle as hell. It's also the whitest of the white soaps—it almost hurts your eyes. The fragrance couldn't be less distinctive—it's not quite “fragrance free” (though they do make one FF, if you're really going for it)—but the original scent—what does it (barely) remind me of? Not even soap, really—maybe it subtly recalls a far-off notion of cleanliness, from some time long ago, and from a place that no longer is a reality, called home.

Soap Review No. 112

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