A Memorable Encounter With Dr. Squatch
The other night I tried a Dr. Squatch soap bar for the first time. Thinking of myself wasteful for not finishing the other soap bar that I was a few weeks into, I was going to hold off on opening Squatch’s bar until I was done with my old one.
About halfway through the shower, I began to grow antsy.
What would it be like to try Squatch’s soap?
Will it change me?
How will it feel when I use it?
Does it actually exfoliate?
Does it actually smell masculine?
I couldn’t take the itch anymore. I ripped open the shower curtain, walked to the sink drawer, water dripping off me in droves, reached for the soap bar, and clawed open the package surrounding the bar. I returned to the shower.
The bar was firm and felt savory, like the heft of the Ezekial 4:9 wheat bread, but in soap form. It had layers. I rubbed the soap up my arms, noting the interesting tension it provided between resistance and smooth gliding. Exfoliating? Check.
As the steam met the bar, the scent of ingredients fused together and awoke. It was subtle but pure. A tree, a citrus tree with healthy leaves and strong bark, with the beginnings of small seeds that would one day become dark juicy oranges.
I felt that nature had joined in the shower and that I was slowly returning to a state before civilization. A state that was waking up a part of me that soft beds, touch phones, and online shopping had turned off.
Before I stepped out of the shower to grab the bar of soap, I was considering turning the handle to cold. Just for 30 seconds. Wim Hof said it’s good. I’ll feel better after. It will activate my muscle recovery. Despite these thoughts, I didn’t feel like doing it. And I had no guilt about it.
By the time Dr. Squatch was on my calves, something came over me. Maybe it was the earthly scent, the fusion of the citrus soap bar, or maybe it was those poignant words that mark the Squatch brand, “You’re a man!”, ringing through my mind.
But I stood up, without thought and with total conviction, and turned the handle deep into the blue line. The burst of cold water hit me. I slowed my mind and focused my breath.
In, out.
In, out.
In, out.
The rush came over me. The spark began at the top of the spine, working down and electrifying the rest of my body. I stepped back and the flush of cold water hit my stomach. Something fierce grew in my chest, I wanted to roar like a lion. So I did, silently, noting the irony of the spirit of masculinity finding me while not trying to wake up my mother in her own house.
But I roared on, quietly, unashamed of what the soap bar had given me. It had put to rest the deep angst that all men feel — to be comfortable in their own skin.
As I exited the shower, I thought of all the uncompromising ads that Dr. Squatch had made. I realized that they told a far greater story than “Buy me!” No, Dr. Squatch tells a story that is summed up in the simple ethos that guides its campaign and mission: You’re a man!
In other eras, this might have not been enough. But in ours, in a dry wasteland parched for authentic masculinity, a single drop of encouragement becomes an ocean of inspiration. Yes, I am a man! we echo, remembering a world before the castration of men. We remember that once we too were celebrated. For a fleeting moment, we remember that shame and masculinity do not belong in the same sentence together. And yes, we also remember that that nature should be celebrated once again.
