Official: we're a nation of soap dodgers

The 2010 "inflation basket" shows soap has become a dirty word but let's hear it for the solid stuff

 

The humble bar of soap: a heady concoction of vegetable or animal fats, perfumes and alkaline salts dating back at least as far as 2,800BC and ancient Babylon. Seldom dropped into casual conversation, often dropped on shower floors (the butt of many a faintly homophobic changing-room gag), unsexy, no frills. But now it seems simple savon is being left for ever on the shelf by us the beauty-product-fickle British public.

This year's "UK inflation basket" -- the list of everyday products used as a kind of consumer barometer -- has ditched the "individual bar of toilet soap" for the first time to reflect our changing spending habits. (Also gone are lipstick, replaced by lip gloss, and pitta bread, replaced by garlic bread. Here is the full list of changed items.) This is not because, in the words of the Australian Olympic Committee president John Coates at the 2008 Olympics, we Poms are a country "lacking in swimming pools and soap". No, we've replaced it with liquid hand soap and shower gel instead.

How did it happen, this inexorable slippery slide towards liquidity, this throwing the soap out with the frothy bathwater? There are two reasons, I guess. The first is simply the unstoppable power of the shower: over the past few decades, all over the land, from the ex-council flat to the luxury apartment, the boring bath -- white enamel, peach plastic, even the his'n'hers corner whirlpools beloved of the 1980s -- have been jettisoned to make way for the gleaming upright cubicle or even the wet room. And what do we crave to accompany these designer douches? Bottle upon seductively packaged bottle of temptingly fragranced, status-symbol gelees.

Sure, you've got a soap rack attached to your shower, but this is more often used to balance your pink exfoliating mesh body sponge, while a rainbow of jewel-hued Original Source dangles above it. (That's one of the things we love about shower gel -- the hooks. No embarrassing bending-over retrievals in the gym showers, see? No laddish gross-out.) Likewise at kitchen sink or bathroom basin, what do you reach for to decontaminate your mitts? A pump-action dispenser of gloopy antibacterial handwash, or something pricier by Molton Brown. With matching hand lotion.

But I think the second reason is more insidious. In a slightly less cynical way than how, over the Noughties, the "probiotic" drinks Yakult and Actimel mysteriously splattered their way into the shopping trolleys, lives and guts of 60 per cent of British households with their "friendly bacteria" and sledgehammer marketing, so shower gel represents another manifestation of advanced capitalism, living in a society that will persuade consumers to buy whatever it wants to sell -- despite never knowing they needed it before. People will be willing to buy anything if brands and advertisers tune in to some deep neediness in our collective psyche, repackage or reinvent something perfectly serviceable and sell it back to us at higher cost.

This, coupled with a general keeping up with the Joneses mentality, product envy at the gym and cunningly positioned displays at Boots, paves the way for a sea of seaweed and oatmeal body wash, a land of Palmolive milk and honey. One of the essays in Roland Barthes's Mythologies, on soap powders and detergents, discusses the semiotics of foam -- how the lather created by washing powder was a signifier (to use the Barthian semantics) that was more important than the cleaning itself. Similarly, our love affair with liquid soap has more to do with buying into a lifestyle than its efficacy.

I say it's time to reclaim the bar of soap and free yourself from the tyranny of the gunge! In today's recession-ravaged ablution landscape, it's a no-brainer: soap is cheap, or -- if it's more of the Floris or Roger & Gallet variety than your bog-standard Lifebuoy -- will still last for about ten years. (Note: exaggeration, but one bar does just keep on giving.)

Then there's the environmental angle. With little or no packaging, soap has to be one of the greenest products there is, even more eco if you're using a chemical-free, vegetable variety. Cheap, long-lasting and green. What more solid symbol could there be for our new age of austerity?

What do you think: are you a soap or a shower gel person? Are there any other unnecessary advanced capitalist products we have sleepwalked into using?

Thomas Calvocoressi is Chief Sub (Digital) at the New Statesman and writes about visual arts for the magazine.

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How the Lib Dems learned to love all-women shortlists

Yes, the sitting Lib Dem MPs are mostly white, middle-aged middle class men. But the party's not taking any chances. 

I can’t tell you who’ll be the Lib Dem candidate in Southport on 8 June, but I do know one thing about them. As they’re replacing a sitting Lib Dem (John Pugh is retiring) - they’ll be female.

The same is true in many of our top 20 target seats, including places like Lewes (Kelly-Marie Blundell), Yeovil (Daisy Benson), Thornbury and Yate (Clare Young), and Sutton and Cheam (Amna Ahmad). There was air punching in Lib Dem offices all over the country on Tuesday when it was announced Jo Swinson was standing again in East Dunbartonshire.

And while every current Lib Dem constituency MP will get showered with love and attention in the campaign, one will get rather more attention than most - it’s no coincidence that Tim Farron’s first stop of the campaign was in Richmond Park, standing side by side with Sarah Olney.

How so?

Because the party membership took a long look at itself after the 2015 election - and a rather longer look at the eight white, middle-aged middle class men (sorry chaps) who now formed the Parliamentary party and said - "we’ve really got to sort this out".

And so after decades of prevarication, we put a policy in place to deliberately increase the diversity of candidates.

Quietly, over the last two years, the Liberal Democrats have been putting candidates into place in key target constituencies . There were more than 300 in total before this week’s general election call, and many of them have been there for a year or more. And they’ve been selected under new procedures adopted at Lib Dem Spring Conference in 2016, designed to deliberately promote the diversity of candidates in winnable seats

This includes mandating all-women shortlists when selecting candidates who are replacing sitting MPs, similar rules in our strongest electoral regions. In our top 10 per cent of constituencies, there is a requirement that at least two candidates are shortlisted from underrepresented groups on every list. We became the first party to reserve spaces on the shortlists of winnable seats for underrepresented candidates including women, BAME, LGBT+ and disabled candidates

It’s not going to be perfect - the hugely welcome return of Lib Dem grandees like Vince Cable, Ed Davey and Julian Huppert to their old stomping grounds will strengthen the party but not our gender imbalance. But excluding those former MPs coming back to the fray, every top 20 target constituency bar one has to date selected a female candidate.

Equality (together with liberty and community) is one of the three key values framed in the preamble to the Lib Dem constitution. It’s a relief that after this election, the Liberal Democratic party in the Commons will reflect that aspiration rather better than it has done in the past.

Richard Morris blogs at A View From Ham Common, which was named Best New Blog at the 2011 Lib Dem Conference

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