Sundry Sundries

I am allergic to everything under the sun: the sun as my friend being vitamin D deficient; the sun as my enemy being allergic to all brands of sunscreen. I am a poster child for the local pharmacy–I have tried probably every “natural” (read: completely not natural) product out there. This gives me great pause, because I realize fully not only how many damned products are out there but how many completely imposter what a woman “should” be/do/not be/not do. (The ironic kicker: having a partial degree in advertising and writing marketing business plans through college then choosing not copy writing but copy editing, the former of which would have me maybe retired by now living in Paris off that great product we discovered for my allergies.) I digress.

Soap, shampoo, face creme. Try finding one without fragrance (even “all-natural” fragrance is usually synthetic) or zinc or nickel or lanolin. Boils down to a veggie mix of glycerine. Mmm, you smell so much like a…carrot. There are two paths: the hippy you-know-we-use-hemp stores or the department stores selling bare-bones products touted as gourmet new for an astronomical price with a Hollywood spokeswoman. Me? I buy olive or almond oil at my local grocery and slather it all over my skin; it’s sexy and pure.

Bread, pasta, cheese. Luckily before I was deemed allergic to wheat and lactose (at least there are pills for that one), I spent three weeks in Italy gorging on the food and the scenery. Can you imagine, yeah, I’m sure they carry gluten-free pasta in Portofino. The new gluten-free craze begets the old-fashioned baked potato and corn on the cob, both of which are totally delicious. Here, too, I can eat carrots.  

The point of this story and the reason I even starting writing about allergies is to warn you off of this product scheme: I bought tonight an “all-natural” wax kit to make my nether regions beautiful (of course that region is beautiful no matter what) and realized that I might as well pour honey all over me and tear it off with a bee.

Every once and a while I think I’ve discovered something “natural and new.” And I am so very wrong, like holding hands on the beach and women dancing during tampon commercials. The FDA has quotas on what percentage a product can get away with being labeled “natural,” much like “organic,” and we all know that pitfall. I am a woman who adores having choices, and this is how I fall into the sundry trap, wanting to partake in all those fancy things. But time and again I am drawn back to basics both for the logistics of my health and to honor my true woman. I stick with the olive oil, the sugar exfoliant, the vegetable soap, food taken from the vine, the hippy promises, and then I glow and shine and bask in my own pheromones like the divine Woman we all are.

Well, something like that.

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1 Response so far »

  1. 1

    Lesley said,

    Love it! I’ve begun to think that I, too, may have a lactose problem. There is an upside: it will keep me from eating spoonful after spoonful of ice cream. The mirror says my hips and thighs don’t need it anyway.


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