Our feature in the 4/5 issue of the New York Times Style magazine:
Samurai Shopper | By S.S. FAIR | April 5, 2010
Anyone out there remember soap? The Samurai Shopper does, and admits a sentimental affection for soap’s plain-Jane properties. Soap may not be the most voluptuous product you’ve ever used, but it is efficient, disposable, a marvel of minimalism. I, like many others, traded up to fancy-pants facial gels, foams and creams that smell expensive — and are. But washing with emulsions of Meyer lemon or fig makes me think: what do figs smell like anyway, and should I smell like one?
The Samurai Shopper won’t revert to gratuitous, self-mortifying austerities even now, but a bar of soap seems tempting, especially when packing for a trip. Watch me clumsily funnel product into teeny bottles, cursing those who’ve made air travel liquid-lite. And I share the melancholy in my native land: people pining for their what-me-worry past when beauty began and ended at the bathroom sink. Grab soap, wash face, pat dry, move on. It’s a Doris Day movie.
Of course, soap, along with hygiene, had barbarous beginnings and is still possessed of a crude alchemy: fatty acids — melted-down animal fat, usually beef — treated with sodium salts extracted from lye. (That’s sodium tallowate in mass-market parlance.) Cheap soaps do banish dirt; the trouble is they mess up the skin’s pH (acid/alkali) balance, which keeps skin supple.
We’ve bought the propaganda that all soap is bad from the neck up, but that’s a crock. Fine soaps use plant-based oils that have less detergent and are less drying. My face likes olive-oil-based soaps from Castile in Spain and Marseille in France that have been around for centuries. They’re mostly fragrance-, preservative- and animal-fat-free. They also have history and provenance. Whole Foods has a bevy of modern bars made the old-fashioned way that clean, exfoliate, brighten and moisturize with pure oils and butters, plus the occasional shot of milk, vitamins and herbal essences.
Mountain Ocean’s Skin Trip — under $5 — is ridiculously good for face, hair and body; use it and save up for the higher-priced spreads that stay on your face all day and night. Though I can’t claim any Nubian Heritage, that brand’s Carrot & Pomegranate and Coconut & Papaya Soap With Vanilla Beans (both $3.80) are superfatty, supergentle. One With Nature’s Almond Soap — under $5 — is invigorating. Ditto Alaffia’s Shea Butter & Goat’s Milk Daily Toning Facial Soap at about $4 — in travel-friendly three ounces.
Unless you have serious dermatological issues, dry-skin panic is just that. After washing your face, you know the drill: apply serums and emollient creams, and you’ll seal in moisture and replenish oils. And if you don’t do this, why not? New Yorkers with supersensitive skin and a 21st-century conscience can support local business with a perfect soap from 3Lab, based in Englewood, N.J. It’s called One Perfect Soap ($15), and it is. The Brooklyn-based McBride Beauty gets respect for its Soy & Coconut Cleansing Bar ($12), with six elementary ingredients.
Less-than-perfect soaps can leave a film that doesn’t wash off readily in hard water, ergo the dreaded “soap scum.” But whatever your water’s texture, Erno Laszlo’s devotees can work it. Laszlo’s iconic Sea-Mud soap ($39) has ruled the roost since Garbo, the Duchess of Windsor and Marilyn Monroe were clients. Washing with Laszlo soaps means following his splashing technique: 20 rinses with soapy water (formerly 30), plus 10 in clear water. A tad boot-camp-ish but not silly, since rinsing well removes soap scum and rinsing some more adds insurance.
Animal-righters are missing a real gem in Lanolin Agg-Tval Eggwhite Soap from Sweden. A single bar from New London Pharmacy ($4.50) used with Jane Iredale’s Magic Mitt ($15) will astound. The Magic Mitt removes makeup without cleansers — hence, magic — but I’d rather lather Agg-Tval, then circle with the Mitt to loosen any embedded debris.
Clinique’s Facial Soap ($11) is a staple in its lineup, but I’m not a believer. Clarins’s $15 soap is unremarkable, too, but both are bargains compared with Sisley Paris’s Phyto-Pâte Moussante Soapless Gentle Foaming Cleanser, at $105. In between are lush, handmade, triple-milled possibilities that raise the bar on soaps of yesteryear. So come clean. Admit it: A soap bar is easy, and the only thing it strips away is the fussiness of skin care.
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