A habit of mine on cold days, when I’m in the shower, is to linger while enjoying the warm water, reading the backs of the various skin- and hair-care products. As a writer, I’m obviously sensitive to words. One day not too long ago, I began to notice something. The language on these products makes no sense. It all sounds great and likely subconsciously stimulates some normally dormant part of my reptilian brain into buying more, but when you stop and actually read this crap, it makes you wonder why we bother slathering this junk all over ourselves.

I shave with soap and an old fashioned double-edged safety razor. Sure, it’s old school, but it’s cheaper and more eco-friendly than modern razors.The best part is, it works just fine. No complaints. I’m as closely shaven as the next guy (when I want to be). It’s just not that complicated.

Or is it?

Here’s some language from an old leftover can of foaming shaving goo in my shower: double action, coenzyme, energizes skin while shaving. Coenzymes? What they hell are they? I looked them up on Wikipedia. I still don’t know what they are. What does that have to do with shaving? “Double Action” is printed boldly on the front and sounds impressive, but . . . double action what, exactly? Maybe that’s what the “co” is for. Double action super enzymes? And how the hell do you “energize” skin exactly? Isn’t this just soap? So many burning questions.

And that says nothing of the razor. A quick search on Amazon for men’s razors gave me a whole slew of interesting keywords and phrases: sophisticated shaving technology, turbo charge, high-performance shaving activity, microfins, and so on. And that’s all just one razor! I’d feel like an astronaut if I used it.

One body soap I use promises me that it will refresh me with electrolytes. Says it right on the front in big green and white splashy letters. Electrolytes are those things they put in vitamin waters like Gatorade. Great when you drink it, but I’m willing to bet in the shower they mostly wash off, right along with the natural oils your skin produces. But that’s okay, because my body soap also moisturizes! And it promises to keep me “fresh” for 18 hours. What the hell does that even mean? Don’t ask me. I just took a shower not fifteen minutes ago and wouldn’t describe how I feel as “fresh.”

Here’s another one that gets me: skin brightening. That one is on a face scrub I found under my sink. One interesting fact about skin is that it does not, in fact, brighten. It can lighten, darken, flush, pale, sweat, crack, flake, and stretch, but it cannot brighten. That’s for light bulbs and moods, not skin.

A fancy bubble-bath promises that I will “transcend time and space” while relaxing in my bath. That’s in part due to the “lavish, creamy bubbles, ” I suppose, but it makes me wonder if there’s some sort of hallucinogen in there. And whoa, what’s with “creamy bubbles?” Am I bathing in milk? Yuck. When I get out of the tub, assuming I can somehow manage to fight my way back to the correct dimension, that is, my skin will be “supple,” and “velvety smooth.” Skin by definition is supple, so who cares, right? And I sure hope my skin is smoother than velvet. I would freak out if my skin looked like velvet. Can you imagine? Ack!

One last one. Here’s a shampoo that says when I’m done using it, my hair will have a “brilliant glow” and “luminescent shine.”

I doubt that. I really do.