A little post on a big subject..cleanliness and how much of our identity is tied up with how we smell. Or not.
We’ve long believed that bacteria on the skin are harmful. Except as we’ve got cleaner, we’ve had more problems with our skin. The idea behind Mother Dirt is to embrace the skin for the living eco system it is and help it to reconnect with the balanced state it once had: Yes, this is cleaning with bacteria…it takes a bit to get one’s head around it, but there are people who’ve found these products so effective, one has not showered for 12 years…
I have deeply held issues with our materialistic societies cavalier attitude in exploiting fears to bring in the money with the multibillion pound cosmetic industry smilingly leading the charge. The pervasive message is we can always be improved, which implies we’re not meant to be happy with ourselves in the first place. Something that women have been conditioned to think for far too long. So is this another beautifully engineered bottle of snake oil designed to further separate us from reality and our hard earned cash?
Or does it actually fly in the face of conventional thinking with the offer of a level playing field and genuine control..Maybe it’s even telling us it’s OK to be us..that we need to be us..
The other night The Husband and I, breathless with anticipation, headed to the Olympic velodrome to watch some of the greats in cycling. I am a self-confessed cycle-head..every summer the Tour de France is always a must-watch..but I love the drama of the track as well. This arena, made up of 4,000 individual pieces of wood is like entering a gladiatorial games, a place where heroes still roam, oozing comradery and confidence, earnt through guts, guile and hard work – the joy about cycling is it’s not just about the individual or being the fastest..sometimes you have to be the most cunning. Laura Trott was the star of the night, winning every single one of her events, beating her great rival Marianne Vos into submission each time..Ben Swift won the men’s big event…how I love that magic touch of satisfaction..
Whilst we were cheering on the edge of our seats, the man in the row front of us wasn’t quite so happy..
I think next time perhaps he needs to read the small print…