Meet Mr. HH, aka The Englishman, aka my darling husband. He is going to give the “bloke’s perspective” on green beauty. Perhaps, if you enjoy it, we could make him a regular contributor.
Bottles. Bottles everywhere. So much so, that our bathroom looks like the traveling inventory of a nineteenth century Apothecary. You see, being Mister Hermes Hippie has taken me on my own journey of discovery through clean beauty. From boarding the initial flight at skepticism, via a layover at utter disbelief and finally on to my current destination of comfortable acceptance.
I tried to understand it all to start with. It’s not like I’m unfamiliar with my wife’s predilection for organic ‘stuff’. She has brilliantly raised our son to eat nothing but organic meat, fruit and veg to the point where yesterday we went to a kid’s birthday party and as the little monsters ravaged their way through yet another pizza, ‘The Bear’, as we call him, sat and munched his way through a tonne of melon. But I could literally see the advantages of that. So when I started noticing the endless supply of these new, beautifully packaged cosmetics, I raised an eyebrow and carried on. Then we entered obsession and my raised eyebrow became a mixed emotion cocktail of doubt, intrigue and concern. These things aren’t cheap, after all.
Deviously, the wife spotted this transformation in my persona (I’m about as subtle as a Wile E Coyote anvil) and introduced me to some of the products. “Bah humbug, take back that evil nonsense, for I am a man” I said, with all the authority I could muster. Because, men don’t do that stuff. Especially Englishmen, as I am. No creams, tonics, lotions. Certainly not any sprays, masks or scrubs. Good grief no. But being as cunning as a fox, the wife was already a step ahead. For I have a fear of flying. An unmitigatedly, terrifying fear that I manage to subdue with a carefully administered mix of xanax and scotch. As with any irrational phobia, I have coping mechanisms and it’s here that the wife introduced the Essence of Vali calming sprays, Hope Gillerman’s Travel Remedy oil and Pollen & Wax’s Sinatra Blue facial oil (Ed.: It would seem that Pollen & Wax has been having a little trouble keeping its doors open and has been on hiatus for some time. I certainly hope they return soon, because both The Englishmen and I are huge fans of their gorgeous products).
I fell for the cunning plan and have since embraced these products with verve and vigor. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that they have alone not only helped with my flying, but have also completely changed my mindset about clean beauty. The Essence of Vali calming sprays are just that and in a musty air cabin, they provide an immediate relief, especially as I do like nice smelling stuff. The Travel Remedy oil is in a roll on little bottle that I apply to pressure points, or more realistically in my pre-travel panic, I paint half my arms and neck with. But it’s the Sinatra Blue oil (Ed.: The name is boy-perfect, isn’t it?) that is revolutionary. If I ever used moisturizer before, it would have been a light gel and only when severely hungover. I hate slathering glanks (yes, that’s a word) of congealed disaster-gunk on my face and the idea of putting oil on is simply a non-starter. I’m told I have sensitive skin and oil would normally illicit a response in my face that would make me look like that thing from Hellraiser for a week. But this stuff? Blimey. Smells nice, applies easily and somehow doesn’t feel oily and nasty. Plus, I get off a flight and it has made a real difference. Top stuff, I tell ye.
Anyway, enough of my ramblings. I promised “her indoors” as we Brits like to say, that I’d write something about my exploration into unchartered waters. Maybe I’ll follow up with some other bloke reviews. “Best clean beauty hangover cures?”