Men and Women and their soap

When I look at our culture, and specifically how we do things differently when we try to sell stuff to men and women, and the resulting trends that flow out of targeted marketing and analysis of shopping behaviors, I am struck by the differences.  Take coffee, for instance.  A man walks up to a barista (what the heck is that, anyway, a sales clerk who knows how to pour a cup of coffee?), what’s he gonna ask for?  “Coffee, black”, or maybe even “cuppa joe” if he’s old enough.  The most you’ll get out of him is maybe, “tall mocha, please”.  Simple, to the point.

Next up is a woman.  “Double split shot vente soy macchiato with sprinkles, hold the whip, please”, she spits out, like it’s nothing.  Those baristas eat that stuff up, it’s why the coffee costs $3.50 plus tip.  And why the menu on the wall by the ceiling has 32 entries for what is at heart a cup of coffee or tea.

Then we come to bar soap, and that’s another story.  Somewhere in this great land of ours are many little cottages, and in those cottages are women doing things like making soap out of the most outré of ingredients, then selling the results to other women, who place them in convenient drawers in their bathrooms so that their significant others, in desperation when the last bit of Ivory crumbled into particles just when they were about to tackle those Klingons, will tear off the artistic floral wrapping inside the artistic floral box and attempt to use what’s in there as soap, an often useless exercise given the apparent lack of water solubility exhibited by said soap.  There are two bars of soap in my shower stall currently that exemplify this trend.  One is a hard brick with sharp edges that appears to repel water and is somehow related to the fruit of a mango tree, which means it’s good for me, and the other is a shapeless mass of green goo with sharp little particles of ground up apricot pits or walnut shell or something equally abrasive embedded throughout.  Try applying that to your tender parts, I say, and you’ll learn a new shout.

And the names they come up with for these bizarre soaps!  Irish Spring, is it?  I guess that fits, it rains all the time in the shower… If it’s for women, the name is floral and flowery, with artwork to boot, and scent, oh, the scent!  Lavender, mango, corpse flower, you name it, so have they.

Now if it’s a man’s soap, the name is a dead giveaway:  Gunk; Lava; Borax; whatever is closest to a grunt, that’s the name.

How about deodorant?  If it’s for a man, what’s it called?  Old Spice High Endurance Pure Sport!  Axe!  Mennen! (no Womennen?)

What about if it’s for a woman?  Secret!  Sure!  Here’s one even I can’t believe, but I swear it’s really a name for a product on the shelf at your local drugstore even as we speak: Secret Clinical Strength Stress Response Women's Advanced Solid Serene Citrus Scent Antiperspirant & Deodorant!  Really!  Do you need a hazmat license to dispose of something with that many names?

George Carlin must be rolling in his grave at all this material going to waste.  I doff my hat to him for the leadership, and look to the likes of Lewis Black to keep it rolling.  It is to laugh.  :-{)}