Claus Porto LIZE Morning Glory Bath Soap

“Realize”

Another soap from Portugal—quite by chance, it seems, I've purchased a lot of soap from Portugal, lately. Is Portugal the soap capital of the world? I've never heard that, but someplace has to be, right? I would have guessed... I guess I have no guess. Anyway, this enormous bar of pink-orange soap is the size and shape of a dinosaur egg. Actually, that's probably not true—I've never seen a dinosaur egg. I guess some have been found, fossilized, which would make them heavier, right? And also unhatchable, but still. Two feet long... so I was over-estimating. You could fit a dinosaur egg in your carry-on luggage, but I think the airlines frown on that—just because, why ask for trouble. This soap might be more the size of an ostrich egg, and after using it a month or so, a small ostrich egg (one would still suffice for an omlette). It also kind of resembles a football in shape and color, though an orangish football. And smaller. I guess closer to the inside of a healthy durian. Though it smells nothing like a durian, and in fact smells quite lovely. It's a luscious floral smell, like walking past flowers on a wet spring morning. Presumably, morning glories—which I know nothing about, really—the internet says it's the name for over a 1000 species of flowering plants—so that's not exactly nailing down the fragrance. The packaging (very pretty, a floral, presumably morning glory, pattern) says its aromatic composition is made in France. So I guess this soap is a European collaboration, in a sense. It also claims to be “milled” seven times, which is the same amount of times I get up, in the morning, in a week. Its full name is Claus Porto Sabonete Aromático LIZE Morning Glory Bath Soap. Some of that might be redundant, when translated, but I like the sound of it. I'd trust that guy with my personal matters. Don't drop it on your foot, do use it in the bath or shower, or even as a hand soap, and enjoy the fragrance, because it'll be around a lot longer than some pop stars.

Soap Review No. 131

Castelbel Porto – The Gentleman

“Randolph Scott”

Another 300 grams bar soap from Castelbel Porto, a Portuguese company that makes a lot of soap, apparently—from A to Z (literally) and beyond (not literally). This one comes in bold black and white striped packaging that evokes an old-west barber, perhaps, and says “manly” before you even smell it—also because it's subtitled: “Grooming Soap Bar.” And also because it's called “The Gentleman.” Referring to it as “Soap Bar” is significantly different than “bar soap” in that it implies more of a specialty item. The word “grooming” is also loaded—personally, cats come to mind, cleaning themselves. That's the good connotation; the more negative one is the idea of a person being “groomed” for a particular task—and for some reason, it's always sordid or evil. A person is “groomed” to be an assassin, but never a math teacher. “The” is also significant (rather than simply “Gentleman”)—“The Gentleman” implies a product that's intended for a unique, specialized use. For the discriminating soap dude, all of this might be quite a buildup. Me, I just warsh with it. I find it odd that fragrances sometimes have specific gender connected to them. Maybe that's kind of interesting in itself, but I'd never limit myself to exclusively “male” fragrances—how sad would that be! But it's hard to imagine this being a woman's favorite soap—but why not? Its fragrance profile is: “Bergamot, Lime & Patchouli.” I don't smell a lot of patchouli in there, but maybe it's in combination—anyway, the fragrance is not subtle, but I find it extremely pleasing. It really reminds me of something my dad used, though I'm not sure what that would be. Unfortunately, I can't recall any of his products beyond the usual Noxzema. At one point, when I was pretty young, some relatives got me an Old Spice gift set (which this reminds me of, a bit)—and I got to really like that fragrance—but later came to be repulsed by it, for some reason. I guess it would be interesting to revisit, at this point. I suppose there is a nostalgia factor involved with me liking this soap—that's undeniable. I know that many people tend not to trust nostalgia—but I'm okay with it. I wonder if men are more susceptible to nostalgia than women are? Oh, well. I guess this soap brought up a lot of unanswered questions. That's okay. Keep the questions coming!

Soap Review No. 130

Pacha Soap Co. – CBD Grounding Bar Soap

“Could Become Daily”

Just a few years ago, some people would have worried that washing with this soap would lead directly to heroin addiction. I suppose that some people still do. People believe a lot of things that might seem bizarre or crazy to some of us. It's been nice, during my lifetime, seeing changes in the acceptance of cannabis (as glacially slow as the changes are). Personally, I'm all for it—though I'm not a user of anything remotely mind-altering—in fact, I've even quit using sugar (which is something I think everyone could benefit from). Anyway, the use of CBD oil is quite a trend—and its controlled use has been shown to have many benefits (not going into it all). I'm not sure how much benefit it has in soap form, in as much as I don't (as much as I'm often tempted to) ingest my soap. So trying out this one had some scientific purpose—and I have nothing dramatic, though, however, only positive things to report. It was good on my skin, and each time I used it in the bath I took a little holiday in Peaceful Village. Of course, seeing how taking a bath and using soap that inspires me has much that same effect, it's not exactly been a controlled experiment. One thing is for certain—the aromatherapy quality of this soap is undeniable. It's made with cedarwood essential oil, and also bergamot, to be sure, but I could detect more—some of this might be the hemp seed oil, and certainly there is some patchouli in there. I have to say, I've enjoyed this soap as much as any I've used in the last year (can't remember back, olfactory-ly, before that). It's a little pricy (relatively, I mean—for an otherwise unemployed, humble, unpaid soap reviewer), but if my ship ever comes in, and manages to stay afloat, I may just always keep a bar of this around.

Soap Review No. 129

LovLab Natural Beauty – Night

“After Hours”

A delicious berry-scented soap from LovLab Natural Beauty that is gentle on your skin and long-lasting—that is, if you don't eat it first! Wait. Don't eat it... it's soap. I feel like I shouldn't have to point that out, but people get confused, especially while intoxicated, and this is an intoxicating fragrance, to be sure. I definitely don't bathe and drive. It started out as an organic-looking, hand-cut, pale-purple square, but as I've used it, it's transformed into a shimmering, slightly sparkly, deep purple, smaller square—that seems like it might conjure up who-knows-what, given the appropriate incantations. “Night” is a fitting name—did I mention when wet it's subtly-sparkly, and deep, deep purple. Depending on your age group, I might quote either: “Though you're gone, your love lives on when moonlight beams,” or : “with the Rolling truck Stones thing just outside...” The LovLab website lists: oils of palm, coconut, olive, castor, almond, and cocoa butter—and the fragrance a mixture of boysenberries, elderberries, strawberries, guava, and pomegranate. The last time I tasted boysenberry was in the form of pancake syrup, in one of those syrup Lazy-Susans at the IHOP. And the last time I had elderberry was in the form of wine—well, actually in the form of a song about wine (“cooked black-eyed peas me”). The mixture here works out nicely. It's fruity, berry-like, and delicious. Also, a “trace of soft vanilla”—and I appreciate going easy on it because, you know, a little vanilla goes a long way. Vanilla is best when it's like the scent left on a pillow by a dreamworld lover who's not going to text later on.

Soap Review No. 128

Shore Soap Co. – Coconut Bikini

“Coco Whatever”

This is a really lovely little square of bar soap from the relatively young company, Shore Soap Co., in Newport, RI—with ingredients including coconut oil (naturally), olive oil, shea butter, sea kelp extract—and excluding chemical-y bullshit. Oh, it also includes coconut shell powder, which I believe is what gives it this rich, pleasing texture. I love the smell—coconut, of course, and something else—I'm cheating by reading the description—there's (thankfully) subtle vanilla, and also musk—which is what might give it this kind of intoxicating, heady quality. If you should sail the old schooner into Newport you can stop by their shop and pick up the cargo yourself. This particular bar soap, its packaging, name (“Coconut Bikini”), and descriptive paragraph might evoke a kind of paradise to most humans, and why not. Me, personally, I'm a little weird, and immune to ad copy (and most humans)—so I usually compose my own ad copy—and did so in this case while in the bath that I shared with this dissolving little bit o' art. Something like: “...on any beach I feel safe, regardless of the foliage, is the one place where the big old sun is welcome. And just because I haven't touched a drop (of alcohol, not sun) in 27 years, doesn't mean I can't still remember the waves lapping, the piña colada girlfriend, and drinking rum from the coconut shell! Even if I forgot where I hid the cash.”

Soap Review No. 127

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