Without fail, for the past year perhaps, someone invariably pitches a bar of soap in our editorial meetings. The size (small), the packaging (usually something adorable) and the scent (unmistakably bath-like) are so appealingly simple. We’re seriously SO into soap. But the funny thing is I couldn’t remember the last time I took a shower with one (I’ve been subsiding on loofahs and shower gel for ten years) until I happened upon the awesomest soap of all time at Colette in Paris this past March—Cousu de Fil Blanc black tea soap. Nevermind that it was the only thing I could afford at Colette (or in Paris). To me, this was the chicest thing in the city, and I brought it home. No lie—and I have no idea if this is gross or not—it’s lasted me until today. I am currently rummaging through the stockpiled cute soaps to find a new bar, but am secretly hoping someone calls me in the next day and says, “come with me to Paris!”* so I can buy more of the Cousu de Fil Blanc.
*This is on my list of things I wish would happen every day, which also includes getting locked in a room with Christian Bale (preferably when he’s not raging) and having a delivery of Argentine facturas de dulce de leche inexplicably show up at my office.
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