The desire to eat my skin care is more Goop-y than my usual inclinations. I don’t brew lacto-fermented face masks or blend essential oils. I have never mixed a homemade scrub. I like to leave my face and bod to the real experts, which is why I had serious reservations when a friend recommended I see a facialist who leases a plain, Office Space-y suite in midtown and uses products that sound like Moon Juice recipes. But the woman who touted her skill to me insisted that Jennifer Rasa’s appointments at her salon, Pretty Please, booked up a month in advance, and that I needed to stake some kind of a claim before Rasa became too famous to take on new clients. It was 2015, and I wanted a radiant complexion on the cheapish. I consulted her Yelp reviews (still rhapsodic, FWIW) and made an appointment.
At the time, Pretty Please had no receptionist, no bathroom, no cucumber-scented water. But Rasa treated me to what remains the best facial I’ve ever had, and convinced me to shell out for the only scrub that’s ever made me salivate.
The fact is, Eminence Organics Strawberry Rhubarb Dermafoliant smells like pie, feels like heaven, and would make a scrumptious — not to mention seasonal, vegan, and gluten-free — smoothie. There are the fruits, of course, which promise to remove impurities, promote even skin tone, and exfoliate. And then chickpea flour, oats, and rice to round out the recipe. The scrub is the texture of sand — or, say, protein powder — and is microbead-free. (Thanks, Obama!)
Plus, it’s TSA-approved, lasts forever, and doesn’t demand that I scoop it from some unhygienic container with my base, non-vegan claws. It even resolves that decades-old contretemps — chemical or physical exfoliant — since it combines lactic acid and microscopic rice-starch granules, which Reddit denizens tell me are too smooth and genteel to aggravate sensitive skin.
I’ve used it twice a week for almost 24 months and have since built up a modest stash, in the event of total disaster — discontinuation, nuclear, or otherwise. Sometimes, a lesser potion will tempt me. I’ve sampled peels that made me look like a supermarket tomato, toners that smelled like hospital sheets, and masks that had zero effect whatsoever. But I’ve always found my way back. Because whenever too many drinks or news push alerts threaten to dull my shine, I shake a dime-size dust mound into my palm, mix it with water to make a paste, and buff away all the clogged pores. Two years in, and my skin still hasn’t grown immune to its powers. I like to scrape it on just before I head out to dinner or an event; any occasion that demands more than lip balm. It makes me look more alert, glowier, less like a slave to my Twitter feed.
It’s not world peace, but the antioxidants help.
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