A Word About Shower Products

I am, according to my doctor’s opinion, as clearly stated by him by means of a mark in a check-box on my physical chart, a male. Let us be absolutely clear on this point, lest there be any confusion. For my part, there is no question: I am certain beyond a reasonable doubt that my X chromosome is complemented by a Y chromosome.

Now that we have that out of the way, let’s talk about showers (why is it that any talk of chromosomes always ends up leading to discussion about the shower?) … because I am a male (and if you doubt me on this point, see the paragraph above – and continue seeing it until you stop doubting), I am perfectly content to enter my shower armed with two, and only two, cleaning products: a bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap. These two items pretty much meet all of my scrubbing and/or sudsing needs.

Imagine my frustration and, let’s be honest, my deep hurt, when I enter a shower that is encased in a house where any form of woman also lives. This happens more frequently than you might think – perhaps you are married to a woman, perhaps you are visiting your aunt, perhaps you still live at home with your parents, or, in my case, perhaps you frequently sneak into your neighbor’s house while she is at work and use her shower (Frieda, if you’re reading this, I’m only kidding; I use your silk robe for my trips to the sauna, but I would never use your shower).

It is practically impossible to climb into the female shower, because its tiny space is jam-packed, from fiberglass floor to ceiling, with various “shower” products. I say “shower” in blatantly sarcastic quotes because I feel blatantly sarcastic about this subject. I do not deny that what resides in these thousands of bottles, all stacked neatly according to category and color, qualifies as product; you will get no quarrel from me on this. I will argue, however, that this product is not really “shower” product.

To demonstrate my point, let me walk you through, in moistly naked detail, the average shower experience that takes place in a female-inhabited house.

As the water reaches a basically user-friendly temperature and begins cascading down my back, I instinctively reach for the bar of Coast (or Irish Spring, if you want to smell like an Irishman almost never does – I always thought that Irish Spring should smell vaguely like Guinness malt and corned beef), but I stop myself. This is to be a feminine shower experience, I remind myself, and so I reach instead for the nearest bottle of shampoo.

Problem number one presents itself.

There is not one, single bottle of hair wash, there are approximately thirteen bottles. I am immediately confused. Do I want my hair to be anti-dandruff, or hydrating? Isn’t the prospect of having hydrating hair somewhat dubious to begin with? Will my hair spontaneously begin to water itself during the day if I use this shampoo? Should I instead reach for the full-body shampoo (which I imagine to be somewhat more rich, robust, and dark than the average light shampoo)? Perhaps I ought to be using the replenishing shampoo, with the anti-residue formula? But do I want the unscented brand with the 2-in-1 conditioner, or do I want the clarifying shampoo with the super-sensitive formula, even though it is scented?

Deeply offended, I mix all thirteen shampoos together in a goopy mess on my head. I then spend the next 162 minutes washing the incredible amount of suds out of my hair.

Next, it’s on to the joyless task of cleaning my body at large (and no, that is not a fat joke). Again forgetting myself and reaching for a normal bar of soap, I realize that, in fact, there is no bar of soap in this shower! Of course! It’s a woman’s shower!

I begin rummaging through the stacks and stacks of available bottlery, and quickly become disoriented. Am I in the shower, or am in line at the buffet? It is difficult to tell anymore, because – I swear this is true – I am staring head-on at a bottle that says Brown Sugar and Vanilla Body Wash.

This sounds fantastic, and I now wish I had brought a stack of pancakes into the shower with me. Alas, I did not, and so I move on to the next bottle, which reads, White Chocolate Macadamia Butter Scrub. The label helpfully informs me that this product is a “luxurious body scrub made with rich, buttery, white Belgium chocolate,” which is “melted with Hawaiian Macademia and Kukui nut oils and lavished with Shea butter and Cocoa butter.” The label promises, “This will leave your skin feeling smooth, soft and moisturized.”

Tasty! Mmmmm! I look for the Nutritional Info label to see if I can find a calorie count, but I cannot locate it. Being somewhat health-conscious, I pass on the chocolate nut body spread.

The next bottle practically falls off the shelf into my hands (which are now shaking from the insulin rush created by contact with the body butter) – I am now holding a container of Body Icing. The label claims, “Creamier than a body lotion but not as thick as body butter!” Ah, good, I think to myself, I was looking for a liquidy body syrup that was simultaneously creamier than lotion, but not as thick as body butter. In terms of texture, you usually want your Body Icing somewhere between “lotion” and “butter”, and this is not an easy balance to strike – so I salute the accomplishment represented by this product.

Of course, I ate three handfuls of the body icing before the Titanium Dioxide, Methylparaben, and Triethanolamine got into my bloodstream and caused a violent seizure. I would do it again. The Strawberry Kiwi flavoring was to die for.

Finally, I located what I thought would possibly make the most logical substitute for plain bar soap (which, by the way, I have never been tempted to eat) – a product calling itself a “Body Wash”. Seemed about right. “Body” … yes, my body is the object which I would like cleansed … “Wash” … indeed, washing is what I would like to do to my body.

And then I read the fancy, curly-font decorated letters, as my eyes widened in horror: Grapefruit and Bergamot Shea Butter Body Wash. I was not entirely clear on what, precisely, a “bergamot” is, so I stepped out of the running shower, found an encyclopedia, got slightly distracted for about 27 minutes by a fascinating entry on “Battle of Bull Run”, and then discovered that “Bergamot” is a small fruit-tree found in Italy, the fruit-peel of which contains an essential oil that can be extracted “by cold expression.” (I wasn’t aware that the bergamot fruit peel could even tell the difference between a warm or cold expression, much less that it cared enough to start secreting its oil when faced with the latter).

Shea Butter, of course, is tree-fat that comes from the Shea Tree, and is widely praised for its anti-inflammatory properties.

I returned the shower mostly at peace with the idea of rubbing a product on my body that contained grapefruit, bergamot, and shea butter. But the temptation was indeed very strong to use the product in a fondue dipping sauce recipe later that evening.

All in all, I was mystified by the experience of this feminine shower. I suppose I got clean … I think I got clean … and I certainly smelled like a French bakery when I was finished. But doing this on a daily basis would be extremely difficult. I now understand why women take, on average, 300 Kajillion times longer than men to get in and out of the shower.

So, thank you, Feminine Shower, but I’ll just go ahead and stick with the tried-and-true, bar soap and shampoo bottle strategy from now on.

–Jacob Michael
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