I'm still not entirely sold on Lush's Temple Balms. Yes, they're fragrances to be applied to your temples as aromatherapeutic mood
boosters. I get that. What I don't get is why we really need them, especially considering they merely replicate fragrances found with
equal (if not more) long-term potency in other Lush products. Take Flying Fox Temple Balm for example: yes, its scent can change
your entire outlook what with its ultra-sweet aromatic blend of calming honey, confidence-bolstering jasmine, and anti-depressant
ylang ylang. And yes, this scent lasts a bit longer than the other Temple Balms (whose effects generally have a 10 minute lifespan),
allowing it to be applied more like a solid perfume oil not just at your temples but also at any other pulse point on your body. (Though
those with oily skin might want to avoid applying this directly to facial skin and rather sweep a bit of this oil over the hair's roots at your
temple to avoid breakouts.) But it still doesn't last quite as long as say, the identically fragranced Flying Fox Shower Gel which also
doubles as a fabulous shampoo and in effect, acts as its own perfume (and would continue to do so for several days if you'd let it.
Majorly potent stuff, this.) I've tried to find other essential uses for Flying Fox Temple Balm: one example being to double it up as a lip
balm, but finding it particularly useless in that role. So, I guess this Temple Balm boils down to being an aphrodisiac dessert of a
quasi-perfume oil that lacks the overall endurance of a full-blown, full-on perfume. It's as though Lush were toying with the idea of
solid perfume oils, but were too hesitant to go all the way with the idea. And so, we got halfway-there balms in rather fiddly, tricky to
open tins. Don't get me wrong: Flying Fox smells delicious, yes. But in this case, its perfume has sadly been served half-heartedly
next to products that actually do flawlessly serve fundamental purposes.
boosters. I get that. What I don't get is why we really need them, especially considering they merely replicate fragrances found with
equal (if not more) long-term potency in other Lush products. Take Flying Fox Temple Balm for example: yes, its scent can change
your entire outlook what with its ultra-sweet aromatic blend of calming honey, confidence-bolstering jasmine, and anti-depressant
ylang ylang. And yes, this scent lasts a bit longer than the other Temple Balms (whose effects generally have a 10 minute lifespan),
allowing it to be applied more like a solid perfume oil not just at your temples but also at any other pulse point on your body. (Though
those with oily skin might want to avoid applying this directly to facial skin and rather sweep a bit of this oil over the hair's roots at your
temple to avoid breakouts.) But it still doesn't last quite as long as say, the identically fragranced Flying Fox Shower Gel which also
doubles as a fabulous shampoo and in effect, acts as its own perfume (and would continue to do so for several days if you'd let it.
Majorly potent stuff, this.) I've tried to find other essential uses for Flying Fox Temple Balm: one example being to double it up as a lip
balm, but finding it particularly useless in that role. So, I guess this Temple Balm boils down to being an aphrodisiac dessert of a
quasi-perfume oil that lacks the overall endurance of a full-blown, full-on perfume. It's as though Lush were toying with the idea of
solid perfume oils, but were too hesitant to go all the way with the idea. And so, we got halfway-there balms in rather fiddly, tricky to
open tins. Don't get me wrong: Flying Fox smells delicious, yes. But in this case, its perfume has sadly been served half-heartedly
next to products that actually do flawlessly serve fundamental purposes.
Though both Whoosh Temple Balm and Shower Jelly tend to smell a bit like multi-purpose cleaner, you really can't argue with this
particular fragrance's ability to live up to its aromatherapeutic promises: though not classically appealing by most standards, its lime,
grapefruit, lemon, and rosemary oils do indeed rejuvenate the mind and kick jet lag to the curb. Problem is, while the Shower Jelly
manages to give you a hefty kick in the you-know-what, in Temple Balm form, Whoosh really only does the job momentarily, given that
its eye-opening aroma doesn't possess a whole lot of staying power. And yet, though the mood affective fragrance doesn't stick
around for very long (no matter how many pulse points you douse in this citrus and herb concoction), the grapeseed, apricot kernel,
and mango butter base does. Hence, reapplying this balm to your temples can be a bit tricky, as you're merely layering coats of
unfading oil -- a particularly big con for those who have oilier, blemish prone skin to begin with. On to the tin itself, as is the case
universally with Lush's Temple and Lip Balms ever since they last changed their packaging from a convenient glass jar in 2004, you
now get a rather inconvenient little tin that demands you work with it, rather than the other way around. And goodness forbid that your
tin should become dented (thin and fragile as these tins are); you'll not be able to remove the screw-on lid without a pair of pliers!
Besides, even at the best of times, because the lid's lip comes down so low over the pot's base, you're left with very little anchorage to
grab onto when it comes time to unscrew it. (My advice: put the pot in your palm, place one palm flatly over the other and then twist with
your wrists. To close the pot, simply snap it shut.) All in, I simply don't think that Whoosh Temple Balm is worth the greasy hassle or
the money. Besides, I can't help but wonder why we need a fleetingly fragranced balm when we could just as easily take a far more
potently effective aromatherapy shower with the jelly of the same scent. (Okay, maybe not quite as easily, given the hassle that comes
with Lush's impractical jellies unless they're used with a bath pouf. But still, you've gotta admit that nothing says "wakey wakey" quite
like a fist fight with a big chunk o' jelly as it "whooshes" past you down the drain. If that doesn't keep you on your toes, then nothing will.)
particular fragrance's ability to live up to its aromatherapeutic promises: though not classically appealing by most standards, its lime,
grapefruit, lemon, and rosemary oils do indeed rejuvenate the mind and kick jet lag to the curb. Problem is, while the Shower Jelly
manages to give you a hefty kick in the you-know-what, in Temple Balm form, Whoosh really only does the job momentarily, given that
its eye-opening aroma doesn't possess a whole lot of staying power. And yet, though the mood affective fragrance doesn't stick
around for very long (no matter how many pulse points you douse in this citrus and herb concoction), the grapeseed, apricot kernel,
and mango butter base does. Hence, reapplying this balm to your temples can be a bit tricky, as you're merely layering coats of
unfading oil -- a particularly big con for those who have oilier, blemish prone skin to begin with. On to the tin itself, as is the case
universally with Lush's Temple and Lip Balms ever since they last changed their packaging from a convenient glass jar in 2004, you
now get a rather inconvenient little tin that demands you work with it, rather than the other way around. And goodness forbid that your
tin should become dented (thin and fragile as these tins are); you'll not be able to remove the screw-on lid without a pair of pliers!
Besides, even at the best of times, because the lid's lip comes down so low over the pot's base, you're left with very little anchorage to
grab onto when it comes time to unscrew it. (My advice: put the pot in your palm, place one palm flatly over the other and then twist with
your wrists. To close the pot, simply snap it shut.) All in, I simply don't think that Whoosh Temple Balm is worth the greasy hassle or
the money. Besides, I can't help but wonder why we need a fleetingly fragranced balm when we could just as easily take a far more
potently effective aromatherapy shower with the jelly of the same scent. (Okay, maybe not quite as easily, given the hassle that comes
with Lush's impractical jellies unless they're used with a bath pouf. But still, you've gotta admit that nothing says "wakey wakey" quite
like a fist fight with a big chunk o' jelly as it "whooshes" past you down the drain. If that doesn't keep you on your toes, then nothing will.)
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