Skin Milk Body Polish: too much milk, not enough polish

Skin Milk's slick packaging caught my eye immediately. I like the spare coloring, the sans-serif font, the homey blue-and-white, the subtle shape of old fashioned milk bottles (on some items -- not this one)(sorry the photo's so terrible; that's all I could find on Google Images). I would have tried any of their products just because the packaging was pretty, but I was specifically looking to test out a new facial scrub. The price also was rather appealing: the Body Polish was $2.59 on clearance.

Maybe that should have told me something.

On first squirt, I noticed the pearly-white sheen of the scrub and thought "hm, that reminds me of something. But what?" Turns out, that "something" was yeast infection cream. This scrub has the exact same appearance and viscosity as Monistat -- and yet, I'm supposed to slather it all over my body? Ew! But I did it, in the interest of science (and blogging). Well, okay. I tried it on my legs. And boy am I glad I went the leg route, because...

The next thing I noticed was the fragrance. Vanilla. Really sugary-sweet cloying vanilla, that smacks you upside the head. I double-checked the packaging -- y'all know how much I hate the smelly products, and vanilla in particular -- and sure enough, the front label doesn't say anything about being vanilla-scented (turns out it's all over the website -- but that's not particularly helpful when you're standing in the bath products aisle). The ingredients list "fragrance," but there is no mention of what kind. I was glad I'd only put it on my legs, because they're the farthest from my nose.

So now I'm grossed out and also vaguely annoyed at the company.

The scrubby texture of the product itself isn't bad. But there's something about the slippery feeling of the base -- it's probably the milk itself, what with all those proteins and whatnot -- that made me feel like I was counteracting the scrubbiness itself. Like the proteins made a barrier that didn't let the scrubby-bits get all the way to my skin. It just didn't feel like it was as effective as it should be. Kind of like putting on lotion but then immediately washing it off. What's the point? I didn't feel "polished." I didn't even feel "mildly buffed." I just felt like I'd wasted a minute of my life.

I really want to be able to recommend this product, because it looks pretty on the shelf and is widely available in grocery and drug stores all over the country, but is also affordable and isn't produced by a big "family products" conglomerate. And milk is good for your skin. Hell, 5% of their gross proceeds goes to Heifer International, which is a program I've been supporting since I can remember. I like all of that.

But I can't say that using the actual product was an enjoyable experience. I cannot tell you that I felt adequately "polished." And really, who wants to be reminded of yeast infection cream when you're supposed to be getting clean? And vanilla... yuck.

So I guess in the end, all I got was something pretty to send to the landfill. Good thing it was on clearance. I'd rather just send Heifer International a direct contribution.

Smelliness I Actually Enjoy!

My brother-in-law is one classy guy. He's a fancy-shmancy magazine editor, and travels all over the world on a constant basis, and loves my sister very much and takes care of her every need and wish and desire. And when he found out that I was going to be alone on Christmas, he insisted that I come spend the day with them, even though (a) his very-high-maintenance mother was visiting for a week and (b) I would be arriving at 2 a.m.

He and my sister then proceeded to shower me with more books than I could carry (they're both editors -- they get sent ten advance copies of things every day, and will never actually read all that stuff), plus she gave me some yarn and he gave me a gorgeous bottle of Jo Malone perfume.

Now, I am an unscented gal, for the most part. You probably know this about me. And I never buy perfume for myself because I have never been one to have money lying around for those little luxuries (when I do, I try to pay a little extra on my student loans). I've found precisely two perfumes in my entire life that I could tolerate. One was Cover Girl's Navy, and I was about ten years old, and I held my little sample vial of Navy very dear because my mother forbid me to wear perfume at such a young age (I recently found the vial while I was cleaning out my bathroom drawer in my parents' house last month -- it was fully evaporated, and I was sad). The other perfume I have ever really liked is Bare Escentuals' now-discontinued-in-spray-form Perfect Black Dress, which my sister gave me a few years ago and I rarely wear, but I did bond with another woman who eventually introduced me to my husband, because we both love Perfect Black Dress. I occasionally try Givenchy's Very Irresistible (also a gift from my sister) because I really do like the scent, but it always ends up being overpowering -- I get overwhelmed in the car driving to whatever event we're attending, and my husband hates it and gets angry that I smell different, so I just don't wear it very much.

Back to Christmas... I unwrapped this present from my brother-in-law, saw that it was a very generously-sized bottle of expensive perfume -- and perfume is such a personal gift, you really have to know your recipient's tastes like you know your own -- and was both overwhelmed with his thoughtfulness and a little bit apprehensive about having to wear a scent I might not like. I sprayed a little on my wrist right there under the Christmas tree... and to my surprise and delight, I love love love this scent. And through the whole day, I continued to love it. (Even better, my husband likes it too: he mostly doesn't notice it, which is just as good considering that he doesn't like anything that makes me smell not-like-me, but when I asked him directly, he said that yes, he doesn't hate it.)

The scent is Jo Malone's White Jasmine and Mint, which the website claims is a "light green floral" fragrance. I've always tried to steer away from florals because they tend to be too cloying to my nose. Not that I wear much perfume, like I said, but I think of myself as a person who likes the spicy spectrum of scents (and maybe a bit of citrus in the morning, but not if it's going to last later into the day). The White Jasmine and Mint has floral notes, obviously, but has woody and spicy notes as well (coriander and cardamom on top, cedar wood and vetiver underneath). And the mint is so subtle as to be almost unrecognizable at first sniff. I looked at the label after I spritzed it on and thought "really? there's mint in here?" But it becomes apparent -- in a really good, not overpowering way -- after a few seconds. And be sure to Discover the Story of this fragrance, because this is one "sensorial journey" definitely worth discovering!

This stuff is expensive. I would never buy it for myself, but I do so love having such a beautiful bottle sitting on my shelf, and I love wearing it. (Last Friday I wore it to a work dinner and I kept trying to smell my wrists -- through my gloves -- while driving. Not safe! But Mmmm! I smelled good! And it's great for daytime wear, too; I felt so grown-up and professional wearing it to work this week.) And if I ever come across another free sample vial, I will hoard it like the ten-year-old I used to be, in preparation for the day that I use up the giant bottle sitting in my bathroom cabinet.

I Did It All for the Nookie

image from Dinosaur Comics by Ryan North

Let me just clear something up for the entire world: Everybody wants to have sex. Everybody. Including you.

Okay, not everybody -- there are people who are asexual, or who find sex to be painful or traumatic or gross or wrong, or who have taken a vow of celibacy, or who haven't yet reached puberty. But, generally speaking, if you walk into a bar, most of the people there probably want to have sex with someone at some point.

Just probably not right this moment, and probably not with you.

The question, then, is: how can you tell? We can talk more freely about sex than generations past, but it's still not polite to walk up to a stranger and say, "Hey, I feel like having sex. Would you like to have sex with me?" It might even get you maced .

After all, sex is still something good girls aren't supposed to want and nice guys aren't supposed to be after. So, instead of coming out into the open and saying it, we're supposed to lure and trick each other into bed. So we have The Rules and The Game and, for the remedial class, The Axe Effect. The goal is to appear indifferent while members of the opposite gender fling themselves at you, drawn to you by a mysterious power.

And -- this is a beauty-product blog, after all -- we have pheromones. Nature's pick-up artist. Trust in a bottle. Ten years ago, pheromones were relegated to the black and white ads at the back of the magazines. Today, you can find them in hair gel.

Do they work? About as well as a baggie tied around the genitals.

In the interest of journalism, of course, I decided to conduct an experiment of my own, forgoing the baggie and instead opting for a sample of Booty Parlor Flirty Little Secret Firming Cream from Victoria's Secret. It is a bit comforting, I'll admit, to realize that not everyone who shops at Victoria's Secret is an already-firm model who has no trouble attracting the boys. The plan of action was to slather this lotion all over, head to my boyfriend's house, and see if I noticed a difference. (Sorry for not telling you earlier, dude. Journalistic integrity and all.)

The lotion smelled generic but pleasant, light and fruity. It had gold shimmer, of the variety and degree that shimmer lotions had back when I was in high school: obvious individual glittery flecks that collect on your hands and turn them obnoxiously sparkly. I had a ton of that stuff in high school! Peach-scented and sparkling, but not noticeably firmer, I headed out the door, expecting great things.

So what happened?

Two dogs started growling at me and would have probably tried to maul me had their owner not held them back. A cat hissed at me. And my boyfriend? In bed with the flu. Even if he could have detected the fruity whiff of sex appeal on me, he certainly didn't have the energy to do anything about it.

It's not enough evidence for any medical journals to accept my abstract, but it's certainly enough to make me think this stuff doesn't work. And would you want to live in a world where it did?



Aw, dang, indeed.