We Tried Every Soap On The Market And Are Plagued With Regret
The right bar of soap can make your whole day better. But with so many options to choose from, how do you know which soap is right for you? We decided to find out. We gave ourselves a fun little challenge in the process by trying every bar of soap we could get our hands on in a 24 hour period. Which left our skin smoothest and freshest? And would combining so many soaps produce interesting scents and sensations?
The execution was simple. We entered our local Suds Scrubs & Sundries store, had our test subject relax in one of their sample tubs, and brought them every soap available. From Goat’s Milk Lavender to Honeysuckle Harmony, they tried them all. What follows is their test log, which is full of innovative skincare insights!
I’ve tried a dozen soaps so far, and while I’ve had to employ the unorthodox bathing method of opening the drain while running fresh water to keep the bath from growing too slimy, things have otherwise gone well. Early front-runners for my favorite soap include Lemon Lamb’s Breath and Magic Midnight Mint. But the most intriguing combination has been Cucumber Comrade and Zucchini Zeppelin which, when used in sequence, give my skin both a strong earthy green scent and the undeniable sensation that I’ve just stepped out of a luxurious soak in the 1910s. More experimentation will be required.
My skin has taken on a semi-transparent glaze that I can only assume represents extraordinary health and cleanliness. With nearly 100 soaps applied to my body, I have acquired layers of scent beyond my wildest dreams and I suspect that were I to leave the confines of my tub I would be immune to conventional dirt, foul odors, etc. for at least a full day. The only downside is that I have become so slippery even subtle motion sends me splashing wildly about the supposedly slip-resistant tub. Advanced anti-slip technology may be required were this process to be developed into a standardized wellness routine.
As I pass the 250 soap mark, my scent profile has evolved into something chaotic yet divine. I simultaneously smell like a brisk autumn’s day, a mother’s embrace, fresh rainfall, nostalgia for one’s youth, ripe eggplant, and a solar eclipse. People who pass by me in the store initially look confused, but then a great peace falls upon them. I can no longer see my skin through the soapy membrane that has formed over it, but who needs the sight when the smell is so magnificent?
I may have erred. In combining Beehive Blueberry, Buzzing Baby’s Breath, Heather Hive, and other soaps that invoke flowers and honey, I have begun attracting bees to my tub. Being in a suburban strip mall I assumed myself safe from such aromatic side-effects, but the smells have become so powerful that shoppers have stopped approaching me and have instead begun giving me a wide berth while covering their faces. While the bees initially had trouble landing on my smooth soap membrane, they are beginning to learn and adapt and appear to have considered those lost to the bathwater beneath them an acceptable casualty for the opportunity to seize what they must consider a king’s ransom of pollen. I will attempt to soap myself out of this.
Carefully, so as to not disturb the bees, I applied Blueberry Blast, Mosquito Marmalade, Seductive Sunflower Seed, and other soaps along those lines. If my scent had grown so powerful that I could attract bees, it stood to reason that I could also attract birds to eat the bees. I was not wrong, however, I did not anticipate how much my truly overwhelming scent would disorient the birds, making them ineffective at the task I have summoned them for. At this point all other human occupants of the store have been driven away, citing the olfactory impact and “inhuman sheen” of the surface that has now nearly doubled the thickness of my body. Even my assistants have abandoned me, albeit not before dumping piles of soap at the side while screaming “Clean yourself! Clean yourself!” Being far too slippery to escape the tub, I have no choice but to continue the experiment. It is growing dark, and I am hungry.
After careful experimentation, I have concluded that the dark, musky scent of Midnight Malaise bests disguises the reek of bird offal. However one also cannot discount the way Cherry Tomato Bomb gives the bath water a far more soothing red tint than that caused by the blood which has been mixed into it. I have sampled 750 soaps and can no longer recall the natural look and feel of my skin. Soapy residue has been layered with bird feathers and bee limbs to form a crude, all-natural armor capable of luring creatures in with a pleasant smell, then trapping them within the muck. It is unclear if I will ever be able to leave this tub, but it is clear that I can survive in here indefinitely. It is a testament to the quality of all these soaps that I feel so relaxed during this adjustment to my new life. On the whole, I’d have to say that my favorite was Carrot Coquette!