Saturday, 30 October 2010


If you ever get lost in an unfamiliar part of the UK and end up stumbling into a mini mart/village post office/ general store, somewhere amongst the fading tat and curling postcards I can guarantee you will find a bar of Pears soap. The box might be a bit dusty, but inside will be the same lump of amber magic you can find anywhere else in Britain. It's practically our national soap and boasts that it's been a brand for 200 years, although I don't actually know anyone who uses it. Like some weird throwback to the empire, this soap in made by Unilever in Mumbai. Huh.

Price- Boots had a special offer on, so I got a 125gr bar for 41p. You can usually get it for under a pound.

First look- The box told me in no less than four places that this was transparent, but I think Unilever and I have a different definition of the word. It looks like a huge block of amber with the word Pears on one side and Pears Transparent Soap on the other.

That is clearly not transparent.

Pretty though!

Dry feel- hard as a hockey puck and won't melt in your hand easily. Put this in a sock and hit someone with it and you could probably break their nose.

Smell- honestly, it's hard to describe. Imagine someone tried to make Perry from pear juice and alcoholic hand-rub and you're halfway there. It's not unpleasant though, just a bit... weird. Not sweet. It wasn't particularly noticeable in the shower and didn't cling to skin.

As a body soap- makes a very gentle lather with tiny bubbles on bare skin and melts easily but without washing away to nothing. A bar of this could easily last a month of showers.
As a hand soap- fine for the bathroom but won't shift cooking odours. It's also not going to get rid of serious grime without scrubbing.
As a face soap- if I was a lackadaisical man and not a girl with naughty skin, I would probably use this every day on my face. If I ever get launched into abject poverty, this is going to be the only soap I ever use.

Overall- Pears left my skin a bit dry, but it's coming into winter and my skin is dry anyway. At the end of the world when looters have taken all the posh Sanctuary shower gel and Molten Brown has been raided, I'll be plodding along with my salvaged bar of Pears, clinging desperately to 200 years of tradition and keeping a stiff upper lip about dry skin. When I'm out of university and don't have a job or any cash, this is going to be my best bathroom buddy, keeping me clean and moderately presentable.

I love you Pears, don't ever leave.

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