(Discontinued in 2000) – This is an excellent exfoliating soap: it contains 6 different types of organic seeds (poppy, sesame, fennel,
pumpkin, rosemary, linseeds) to get the job done, in a skin-softening glycerine base. And unlike many of Lush’s scrubbier soaps, this
soap is slow-melting; you can easily get 6-10 intensive, liberally applied full body exfoliations from a single 100g bar. Problem is, while
those seeds work magic on even the roughest skin, they get everywhere, and even a rinse (or deep cleansing) of the tub won’t be of
much help: no matter what you do, even weeks later you'll occasionally think you see small bugs in the bathroom only to discover
they're leftover seeds from your soap. The original No. 1 Seed soap, which was discontinued in 2000, contained a woodsy, "green",
masculine fragrance of seeds, cypress and pine. However, the version that Lush Italy currently sells (under the name of Semivuoi) has
more of a sunshiny seed and citrus litsea cubea scent and it does not contain pine or cypress, but rather replaces them with minimal
quantities of rosemary and coriander oils. Litsea cubea is generally a potent oil, reminiscent of rejuvenating lemon (and an excellent
tonifier for the body). But in this soap's case, it contains so little of it compared to the copious amounts of seeds, that until you slough
some of those seedlings away, its scent is ultimately overpowered and fleeting both in the shower and on the skin. No. 1 Seed: it’s
overwhelmingly messy and the Italian rendition's citrus-leaning scent can initially lack projection, but hey, it's economical and it
definitely does the business when it comes to returning your skin to the baby softness of your long-gone infancy.
pumpkin, rosemary, linseeds) to get the job done, in a skin-softening glycerine base. And unlike many of Lush’s scrubbier soaps, this
soap is slow-melting; you can easily get 6-10 intensive, liberally applied full body exfoliations from a single 100g bar. Problem is, while
those seeds work magic on even the roughest skin, they get everywhere, and even a rinse (or deep cleansing) of the tub won’t be of
much help: no matter what you do, even weeks later you'll occasionally think you see small bugs in the bathroom only to discover
they're leftover seeds from your soap. The original No. 1 Seed soap, which was discontinued in 2000, contained a woodsy, "green",
masculine fragrance of seeds, cypress and pine. However, the version that Lush Italy currently sells (under the name of Semivuoi) has
more of a sunshiny seed and citrus litsea cubea scent and it does not contain pine or cypress, but rather replaces them with minimal
quantities of rosemary and coriander oils. Litsea cubea is generally a potent oil, reminiscent of rejuvenating lemon (and an excellent
tonifier for the body). But in this soap's case, it contains so little of it compared to the copious amounts of seeds, that until you slough
some of those seedlings away, its scent is ultimately overpowered and fleeting both in the shower and on the skin. No. 1 Seed: it’s
overwhelmingly messy and the Italian rendition's citrus-leaning scent can initially lack projection, but hey, it's economical and it
definitely does the business when it comes to returning your skin to the baby softness of your long-gone infancy.
(Limited Edition for Christmas 2001, 2004) – Created by Lush Japan's angel-faced Noriko and marketed as a Christmas Soap, this
tofu & soy-based soap has a complexly sweet, powdery, floral, quasi-coconutty, sake wine-infused scent & brightly coloured jelly
candies on top for decoration. (Lovely combination, this, though I'm not quite sure what any of this specifically has to do with
Christmas; one gets a feeling this could easily be sold as an all-year-rounder.) Once unveiled from its wrapper, its delightfully complex
fragrance never ceases to evolve: one day floral notes (led by rose oil) seem to dominate, another day the sweeter notes (primarily
ylang ylang followed by sake wine, orange essence, & the naturally nutty undertones of soy) seem to dominate. On your skin, however,
it's an entirely different story: once its luxurious whipped cream lather is rinsed away, at best, only a subtle, paired-down powdery note
will linger, and at worst, nothing will linger at all.
tofu & soy-based soap has a complexly sweet, powdery, floral, quasi-coconutty, sake wine-infused scent & brightly coloured jelly
candies on top for decoration. (Lovely combination, this, though I'm not quite sure what any of this specifically has to do with
Christmas; one gets a feeling this could easily be sold as an all-year-rounder.) Once unveiled from its wrapper, its delightfully complex
fragrance never ceases to evolve: one day floral notes (led by rose oil) seem to dominate, another day the sweeter notes (primarily
ylang ylang followed by sake wine, orange essence, & the naturally nutty undertones of soy) seem to dominate. On your skin, however,
it's an entirely different story: once its luxurious whipped cream lather is rinsed away, at best, only a subtle, paired-down powdery note
will linger, and at worst, nothing will linger at all.
A stimulating cleanser for both body and mind, Ooh La La doesn’t quite smell as it appears: it’s purple on the outside, but actually
quite green at heart. When dry, restorative lavender oil is the most prominent note, with detoxifying grape juice giving it a sweetened lift,
not to mention the bulk of this soap’s bright colouring. However, once you wet Ooh La La, earthier shades of blemish-clearing
rosemary and tonic thyme altogether upstage lavender, thereby turning Lush’s so-called “lavender soap” into a provincial picnic basket
(complete with a bottle of Chapoutier's 1997 Terra d'Or). Yet unlike the similarly scented French Kiss bubble bar (which actually
contains far less lavender than does Ooh La La), thyme gradually begins to dominate not only the clarity of lavender and grape, but
also the spryness of rosemary, resulting not only in a foody, spicy herbal fragrance, but also a denser, smokier one that eventually
leaves little room for you to enjoy this soap’s deliciously layered provençal complexity. Grape juice remains bold in other ways, though:
what becomes a soft pink lather on your sponge starts out as puddles of vin rouge on every freakin' thing your slice of Ooh La La
happens to directly (or indirectly) touch, making it more than a tad messy. (But the good news is that it doesn’t leave the kinds of
permanent stains that panicky red wine aficionados might otherwise expect.)
quite green at heart. When dry, restorative lavender oil is the most prominent note, with detoxifying grape juice giving it a sweetened lift,
not to mention the bulk of this soap’s bright colouring. However, once you wet Ooh La La, earthier shades of blemish-clearing
rosemary and tonic thyme altogether upstage lavender, thereby turning Lush’s so-called “lavender soap” into a provincial picnic basket
(complete with a bottle of Chapoutier's 1997 Terra d'Or). Yet unlike the similarly scented French Kiss bubble bar (which actually
contains far less lavender than does Ooh La La), thyme gradually begins to dominate not only the clarity of lavender and grape, but
also the spryness of rosemary, resulting not only in a foody, spicy herbal fragrance, but also a denser, smokier one that eventually
leaves little room for you to enjoy this soap’s deliciously layered provençal complexity. Grape juice remains bold in other ways, though:
what becomes a soft pink lather on your sponge starts out as puddles of vin rouge on every freakin' thing your slice of Ooh La La
happens to directly (or indirectly) touch, making it more than a tad messy. (But the good news is that it doesn’t leave the kinds of
permanent stains that panicky red wine aficionados might otherwise expect.)
(Limited Edition for Christmas 2003) – Basically, this "Christmas" soap is little more than a duller looking, tweaked version of Lush's
perennial cinnamon and orange Red Rooster soap. And though both soaps' aromas are particularly well-suited for winter, to
essentially get more of the same is a bit disappointing considering that when the reigning Lush lords run off to create their Christmas
soaps, all of Lush Land awaits their unique seasonal masterpieces with bated breath. But with Orange Spice & All Things Nice, they
simply shifted a few ingredients in Red Rooster, taking out the embedded cinnamon sticks (leaving it a plain orange), and giving it a
fancy-pants name. To sum up the content changes, Orange Spice contains but an extra splash of gardenia, the replacement of anise
with lemon oil, and a touch less cloves -- all of which allows the fragrance of fresh orange juice a bit more prominence above the
smoked spice notes. The result is that while Orange Spice still possesses the odd, smoldering odour of Red Rooster, its fragrance is
slightly more well-rounded than its counterpart, with increased room for subtlety amongst the various notes, and a slightly louder early
morning wake-up call than Lush's traditional rooster offers. At the end of the day, Lush would have done best to simply make a few
permanent changes to Red Rooster: though Orange Spice lacks Red Rooster's unique, decorated style, the difference between the
two soaps is minimal, with Orange Spice winning by a nose.
perennial cinnamon and orange Red Rooster soap. And though both soaps' aromas are particularly well-suited for winter, to
essentially get more of the same is a bit disappointing considering that when the reigning Lush lords run off to create their Christmas
soaps, all of Lush Land awaits their unique seasonal masterpieces with bated breath. But with Orange Spice & All Things Nice, they
simply shifted a few ingredients in Red Rooster, taking out the embedded cinnamon sticks (leaving it a plain orange), and giving it a
fancy-pants name. To sum up the content changes, Orange Spice contains but an extra splash of gardenia, the replacement of anise
with lemon oil, and a touch less cloves -- all of which allows the fragrance of fresh orange juice a bit more prominence above the
smoked spice notes. The result is that while Orange Spice still possesses the odd, smoldering odour of Red Rooster, its fragrance is
slightly more well-rounded than its counterpart, with increased room for subtlety amongst the various notes, and a slightly louder early
morning wake-up call than Lush's traditional rooster offers. At the end of the day, Lush would have done best to simply make a few
permanent changes to Red Rooster: though Orange Spice lacks Red Rooster's unique, decorated style, the difference between the
two soaps is minimal, with Orange Spice winning by a nose.
(Discontinued in 2001) – Fresh out of the wrapper, Pineapple Grunt possesses an unusual, smoky air as vetivert attempts to cozy up to
lashings of fresh pineapple. Give it a few days and come back for a second sniff: you’ll be presented with a piña colada cocktail,
compliments of Lush. Tropical vetivert unleashes her softer, sweeter side, and in this particular combo of ingredients, you’re blessed
with a pleasantly surprising coconutty fragrance. Of course, the scent of pineapple is sorta subtle (that's just how pineapples' are--they
naturally have more flavour than fragrance), and combined with a fleeting overall scent on the skin, this piña colada is more of a
swigger than a sipper. To those who prefer to nurse their drinks, I recommend that you add a pineapple-rich More Than Mortal Bio
Fresh body scrub (it's been discontinued, but surely I'm not the only one with tubs of it being preserved in the freezer, right?), a slice of
pineapple to squeeze over your body as an after-shower tonic, a double-wash of Trichomania solid shampoo and a heap of Coolaulin
conditioner for an even creamier, fuller-bodied, full-body Caribbean cocktail.
lashings of fresh pineapple. Give it a few days and come back for a second sniff: you’ll be presented with a piña colada cocktail,
compliments of Lush. Tropical vetivert unleashes her softer, sweeter side, and in this particular combo of ingredients, you’re blessed
with a pleasantly surprising coconutty fragrance. Of course, the scent of pineapple is sorta subtle (that's just how pineapples' are--they
naturally have more flavour than fragrance), and combined with a fleeting overall scent on the skin, this piña colada is more of a
swigger than a sipper. To those who prefer to nurse their drinks, I recommend that you add a pineapple-rich More Than Mortal Bio
Fresh body scrub (it's been discontinued, but surely I'm not the only one with tubs of it being preserved in the freezer, right?), a slice of
pineapple to squeeze over your body as an after-shower tonic, a double-wash of Trichomania solid shampoo and a heap of Coolaulin
conditioner for an even creamier, fuller-bodied, full-body Caribbean cocktail.
(Discontinued in 1999) – This impossible to pronounce soap was the precursor to Lush’s I Should Coco soap, and in my opinion, it’s
an ode to never second-guessing oneself thanks to our instincts’ ability to get things right the first time ‘round. Like I Should Coco,
Quinquereme of Ninevah contains real coconuts (not just some daft chemical that aims to smell like coconut) and tangy orange oil.
However, it also boasts candied vanilla and benzoin resinoid where I Should Coco instead sports musty coriander and smoky vetivert
(both of which oft disturb the overall sweetness of an otherwise delicious coconut and orange soap.) With a rather porous tropical
breeze fragrance, Quinquereme won’t manage to leave you smelling of coconuts all day long, so while you’re in the shower, you may
find it hard to put this soap down as you try to bask in its scent for as long as humanly possible. But still, my advice to Lush is to tweak I
Should Coco’s fragrance so that it’s more like Quinquereme; either that, or change Quinquereme’s name and re-release it sans any
further well-intentioned yet misguided tampering.
an ode to never second-guessing oneself thanks to our instincts’ ability to get things right the first time ‘round. Like I Should Coco,
Quinquereme of Ninevah contains real coconuts (not just some daft chemical that aims to smell like coconut) and tangy orange oil.
However, it also boasts candied vanilla and benzoin resinoid where I Should Coco instead sports musty coriander and smoky vetivert
(both of which oft disturb the overall sweetness of an otherwise delicious coconut and orange soap.) With a rather porous tropical
breeze fragrance, Quinquereme won’t manage to leave you smelling of coconuts all day long, so while you’re in the shower, you may
find it hard to put this soap down as you try to bask in its scent for as long as humanly possible. But still, my advice to Lush is to tweak I
Should Coco’s fragrance so that it’s more like Quinquereme; either that, or change Quinquereme’s name and re-release it sans any
further well-intentioned yet misguided tampering.
(Discontinued in 2006) – I don't know whether it's the smell of smoked spices or the fact that it contains perfectly unfeminine black bits
in it, but Red Rooster has proven itself to be one of Lush's top three soaps for turning unbendingly resistant anti-Lush macho men into
faithful Lushies. (The other two are Sea Vegetable and Bohemian. I'm givin' ya' pearls here, ladies!) Yet no matter your gender, Red
Rooster is best reserved for autumn/winter, what with fresh orange juice and orange oil being overwhelmed by baked cinnamon leaf
and cloves. Hence, on the mood, as cozier, smokier spices toss a fluffy duvet around your soul, generally overpowering orange's
zesty, get-up-and-boogie tang, Red Rooster doesn't quite work as the early morning “cocka-doodle-doo” it was intended to be.
Meanwhile, the overall scent can be a rather acquired taste for some (namely us gals), what with a tendency to simultaneously smell
smoky or “burnt” (thanks to the aroma of whole, burned-in cinnamon sticks which serve as embedded décor), and slightly sickly sweet,
especially at the point where clove meets licorice anise. The effects on the body are wonderful, though: if you're looking for a soap
whose fruit acids clear, tone and smooth normal to oily skin, then scent aside, this Red Rooster can sing you a freakin' aria.
in it, but Red Rooster has proven itself to be one of Lush's top three soaps for turning unbendingly resistant anti-Lush macho men into
faithful Lushies. (The other two are Sea Vegetable and Bohemian. I'm givin' ya' pearls here, ladies!) Yet no matter your gender, Red
Rooster is best reserved for autumn/winter, what with fresh orange juice and orange oil being overwhelmed by baked cinnamon leaf
and cloves. Hence, on the mood, as cozier, smokier spices toss a fluffy duvet around your soul, generally overpowering orange's
zesty, get-up-and-boogie tang, Red Rooster doesn't quite work as the early morning “cocka-doodle-doo” it was intended to be.
Meanwhile, the overall scent can be a rather acquired taste for some (namely us gals), what with a tendency to simultaneously smell
smoky or “burnt” (thanks to the aroma of whole, burned-in cinnamon sticks which serve as embedded décor), and slightly sickly sweet,
especially at the point where clove meets licorice anise. The effects on the body are wonderful, though: if you're looking for a soap
whose fruit acids clear, tone and smooth normal to oily skin, then scent aside, this Red Rooster can sing you a freakin' aria.
(Limited Edition for Christmas 2001) – Reddy For Christmas is a bright red little number, with the firey fragrance of cinnamon and
ginger. At first, you mostly get a whiff of cinnamon, much like the scent of Red Hots of Hot Tamale candies. "Cure" this soap (to "cure"
meaning to leave the soap unwrapped for a few days before first use), and you'll gradually pick up a more sophisticated layer of
warmth as herbal ginger increasingly steps forward. And forget the need for seasonal potpourri in the bathroom; this festively coloured
soap -- usually served with glistening golden glitter on top -- will, with its own astonishing intensity, scent the room throughout the
entire holiday season. There's not a chance that it won't put you in the Christmas spirit; even the curmdgeony-ist of curmudgeons will
find it impossible to ignore its anti-depressant, rejuvenating aroma. It wakes you up, warms your soul, stimulates your circulation, and
conditions your skin with its equally festive reddish-pink suds. Of all the soaps from Christmas past that could make a comeback, this
is certainly one that deserves Lush's consideration for a coveted place on their small, increasingly packed wooden soap counters
during the holiday season.
ginger. At first, you mostly get a whiff of cinnamon, much like the scent of Red Hots of Hot Tamale candies. "Cure" this soap (to "cure"
meaning to leave the soap unwrapped for a few days before first use), and you'll gradually pick up a more sophisticated layer of
warmth as herbal ginger increasingly steps forward. And forget the need for seasonal potpourri in the bathroom; this festively coloured
soap -- usually served with glistening golden glitter on top -- will, with its own astonishing intensity, scent the room throughout the
entire holiday season. There's not a chance that it won't put you in the Christmas spirit; even the curmdgeony-ist of curmudgeons will
find it impossible to ignore its anti-depressant, rejuvenating aroma. It wakes you up, warms your soul, stimulates your circulation, and
conditions your skin with its equally festive reddish-pink suds. Of all the soaps from Christmas past that could make a comeback, this
is certainly one that deserves Lush's consideration for a coveted place on their small, increasingly packed wooden soap counters
during the holiday season.
Rock Star soap was created to smell exactly like the Creamy Candy Bubble Bar Slice and Luxury Bath Melt. All smell like bubble gum,
namely a big, fresh piece of Bazooka (without the waxy comic strip.) Rock Star is strange, though: sometimes, at first sniff, you’ll get all
the childhood penny-candy scrumptiousness you bargained for and more. Other times, you’ll land a slice of Rock Star soap that has
an overpowering, fake, medicine-like scent about it. Sure, you’ll still smell bubble gum, but this soap is often a note or two off from
exacting Creamy Candy’s deliciousness. Plus, when you smell this soap in the store, it’s potent. But in the shower, the scent can
occasionally turn a bit shy in comparison to that of the Creamy Candy baths (which release a fragrance that would scent your skin for
days on end if you’d let them). Rock Star’s lather is rich, fluffy, and pink-tinted, but while it certainly doesn’t do anything bad to the skin, I
also don’t think it does an impressive world of good, either. Really, this soap strikes you as having been created solely for its scent, to
make the Creamy Candy cult jump up and down with joy. (I’m a member of that cult, by the way, as is my roommate who leaves my
house smelling of Creamy Candy at least 3 times a week.) And yet, this intended purpose takes us full circle, back to the issue of Rock
Star’s scent often being a less predictable, slightly mismatched artificial take on the Lush candy baths we know and love.
namely a big, fresh piece of Bazooka (without the waxy comic strip.) Rock Star is strange, though: sometimes, at first sniff, you’ll get all
the childhood penny-candy scrumptiousness you bargained for and more. Other times, you’ll land a slice of Rock Star soap that has
an overpowering, fake, medicine-like scent about it. Sure, you’ll still smell bubble gum, but this soap is often a note or two off from
exacting Creamy Candy’s deliciousness. Plus, when you smell this soap in the store, it’s potent. But in the shower, the scent can
occasionally turn a bit shy in comparison to that of the Creamy Candy baths (which release a fragrance that would scent your skin for
days on end if you’d let them). Rock Star’s lather is rich, fluffy, and pink-tinted, but while it certainly doesn’t do anything bad to the skin, I
also don’t think it does an impressive world of good, either. Really, this soap strikes you as having been created solely for its scent, to
make the Creamy Candy cult jump up and down with joy. (I’m a member of that cult, by the way, as is my roommate who leaves my
house smelling of Creamy Candy at least 3 times a week.) And yet, this intended purpose takes us full circle, back to the issue of Rock
Star’s scent often being a less predictable, slightly mismatched artificial take on the Lush candy baths we know and love.
This soap has been around for ages and is a common staple in Lushies' stashes; never is it absent from Lush's best seller lists. Its
lavender & lime fragrance (suitable for both guys & gals) caresses you like a summer island breeze, its sparkling blue appearance
immerses you in the sun-kissed waters of the Pacific. Topped with Atlantic sea salt, Arame seaweed, and packed with seaweed
absolute, Sea Vegetable is automatically one of the most nourishing soaps on Lush's shelves, perfect for all skin types. And as if all
that weren't enough, this is one of Lush's most voluminously lathering soaps: it makes for an excellent shaving foam, as well. For a
full-blown tropical getaway experience, take a look at my review for Big Blue bath bomb (which shares Sea Vegetable's fragrance &
colour) for tons of Lush ideas towards creating your own day trip to a private island spa resort by the sea.
lavender & lime fragrance (suitable for both guys & gals) caresses you like a summer island breeze, its sparkling blue appearance
immerses you in the sun-kissed waters of the Pacific. Topped with Atlantic sea salt, Arame seaweed, and packed with seaweed
absolute, Sea Vegetable is automatically one of the most nourishing soaps on Lush's shelves, perfect for all skin types. And as if all
that weren't enough, this is one of Lush's most voluminously lathering soaps: it makes for an excellent shaving foam, as well. For a
full-blown tropical getaway experience, take a look at my review for Big Blue bath bomb (which shares Sea Vegetable's fragrance &
colour) for tons of Lush ideas towards creating your own day trip to a private island spa resort by the sea.
In 2005, Lush discontinued their classic line of shower gels, replacing them with Shower Jellies. In 2006, after having many Lush
customers cry out in great pain due to having lost their favourite gels, Lush launched several soaps that aim to return those lost gels'
scents to their showers. Created by the great Wesley at Lush UK, Sexy Peel recaptures the fragrance of Lush's discontinued
Back For Breakfast Shower Gel. Yet thanks to Wesley's brilliance, he somehow managed to vastly improve upon a classic! Topped
with bits of lemon, grapefruit, and lime peel, Sexy Peel has a sweeter, "juicier" fragrance than Back For Breakfast. This is because
Wesley subtracted quite a bit of Back For Breakfast's lip-puckeringly astringent grapefruit juice and oil, removed just a dash of equally
sharp lemon juice and lemon oil, and to replace the subtractions, he upped the quantity of lime juice and lime oil, while also giving the
sweet, secret perfume ingredient a bit more kick. The result is a deep-cleansing soap that trades in a detox diet's recommended
brekkie of half a grapefruit washed down with a glass of lemon juice for a far more decadent double dessert of lemon meringue and
key lime pie. At its freshest, Sexy Peel is a squidgier, softer concoction, its consistency meant to resemble a cross between your
typical soap and a Lush Buttercream. With this extra moisture comes quite a bit of extra fun to be had in smooshing Sexy Peel onto
your skin, in effect showering in a sea of freshly squeezed juices and fruit cream, with peel taking on the appearance of pulp. Sadly,
though, while Sexy Peel contains more moisture than most of Lush's soaps, it also somehow loses its moisture all the more quickly:
though it does well to retain its scent, the wicked irony is that within a few weeks of its being made in Lush's kitchen, that which was
once softer than soap can suddenly become harder than fossilized stone. Yet even as its fruit peel hardens to become incorrigibly
scratchy, it also morphs into a heavy-duty exfoliating scrub to be enjoyed by the toughest, thickest skinned among us, as its ability to
produce a wealth of lather is thankfully never compromised. Hence, unless you have sensitive skin that can't handle harsher
scrubbing, I recommend trying Sexy Peel both ways: buy an ultra fresh soft slice to squish between your toes and a denser, drier slice
to slough away ten layers of hardened skin from your heels in a single stroke.
customers cry out in great pain due to having lost their favourite gels, Lush launched several soaps that aim to return those lost gels'
scents to their showers. Created by the great Wesley at Lush UK, Sexy Peel recaptures the fragrance of Lush's discontinued
Back For Breakfast Shower Gel. Yet thanks to Wesley's brilliance, he somehow managed to vastly improve upon a classic! Topped
with bits of lemon, grapefruit, and lime peel, Sexy Peel has a sweeter, "juicier" fragrance than Back For Breakfast. This is because
Wesley subtracted quite a bit of Back For Breakfast's lip-puckeringly astringent grapefruit juice and oil, removed just a dash of equally
sharp lemon juice and lemon oil, and to replace the subtractions, he upped the quantity of lime juice and lime oil, while also giving the
sweet, secret perfume ingredient a bit more kick. The result is a deep-cleansing soap that trades in a detox diet's recommended
brekkie of half a grapefruit washed down with a glass of lemon juice for a far more decadent double dessert of lemon meringue and
key lime pie. At its freshest, Sexy Peel is a squidgier, softer concoction, its consistency meant to resemble a cross between your
typical soap and a Lush Buttercream. With this extra moisture comes quite a bit of extra fun to be had in smooshing Sexy Peel onto
your skin, in effect showering in a sea of freshly squeezed juices and fruit cream, with peel taking on the appearance of pulp. Sadly,
though, while Sexy Peel contains more moisture than most of Lush's soaps, it also somehow loses its moisture all the more quickly:
though it does well to retain its scent, the wicked irony is that within a few weeks of its being made in Lush's kitchen, that which was
once softer than soap can suddenly become harder than fossilized stone. Yet even as its fruit peel hardens to become incorrigibly
scratchy, it also morphs into a heavy-duty exfoliating scrub to be enjoyed by the toughest, thickest skinned among us, as its ability to
produce a wealth of lather is thankfully never compromised. Hence, unless you have sensitive skin that can't handle harsher
scrubbing, I recommend trying Sexy Peel both ways: buy an ultra fresh soft slice to squish between your toes and a denser, drier slice
to slough away ten layers of hardened skin from your heels in a single stroke.
(Limited Edition for Christmas 1999, 2000, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006) – Snowcake manages to make a comeback by popular
demand every Christmas, though in 2001 it was sold as "Big Ed Soap" in the shape of a snowman's "big head." (Click HERE to check
out Big Ed's picture and review.) Fragranced with the delicious aroma of almond and sugar paste, considering I'm a marzipan junkie,
it should come as no surprise that Snowcake gets five enthusiastically raised glasses from me. (Note: if you like this soap's scent,
you'll love Lush's Smitten Hand Cream.) Flawlessly creamy, smooth, and giving you mounds of snow-white lather, Snowcake also
works a treat at keeping your sweet tooth at bay throughout the holiday season. (My doctoral orders: anytime you're feeling weak
around the Christmas cookie tray, immediately run into the bathroom and wash your hands with Snowcake. I'm givin' ya' dietary pearls
here, and when you still fit into that skimpy party dress come New Year's Eve, you'll want to keep in mind that I readily accept all
manner of thank you gifts. Except for firstborn children. The gesture is appreciated, but the required routine maintenance work is not.)
There is a catch to my shared wisdom, though: as Christmases passed & Snowcake became a staple in almost every Lushie's
stash, Lush decided that no amount of freshly-driven snow is without twinkly bits that glisten in the sun. So, in 2004, they briefly added
a thin layer of iridescent sparkly bits along the top of their scrumptiously snowy cake. Again, pearls: if you get a Snowcake slice
containing this shrapnel-like confetti, you should feel free to subtract a star from my review. Because remember when you were little
and your mom warned you that people might put razor blades in your Halloween candy? Of course, her Halloween candy warning was
based on an urban legend. My Christmas soap warning on the other hand? Not so much!
demand every Christmas, though in 2001 it was sold as "Big Ed Soap" in the shape of a snowman's "big head." (Click HERE to check
out Big Ed's picture and review.) Fragranced with the delicious aroma of almond and sugar paste, considering I'm a marzipan junkie,
it should come as no surprise that Snowcake gets five enthusiastically raised glasses from me. (Note: if you like this soap's scent,
you'll love Lush's Smitten Hand Cream.) Flawlessly creamy, smooth, and giving you mounds of snow-white lather, Snowcake also
works a treat at keeping your sweet tooth at bay throughout the holiday season. (My doctoral orders: anytime you're feeling weak
around the Christmas cookie tray, immediately run into the bathroom and wash your hands with Snowcake. I'm givin' ya' dietary pearls
here, and when you still fit into that skimpy party dress come New Year's Eve, you'll want to keep in mind that I readily accept all
manner of thank you gifts. Except for firstborn children. The gesture is appreciated, but the required routine maintenance work is not.)
There is a catch to my shared wisdom, though: as Christmases passed & Snowcake became a staple in almost every Lushie's
stash, Lush decided that no amount of freshly-driven snow is without twinkly bits that glisten in the sun. So, in 2004, they briefly added
a thin layer of iridescent sparkly bits along the top of their scrumptiously snowy cake. Again, pearls: if you get a Snowcake slice
containing this shrapnel-like confetti, you should feel free to subtract a star from my review. Because remember when you were little
and your mom warned you that people might put razor blades in your Halloween candy? Of course, her Halloween candy warning was
based on an urban legend. My Christmas soap warning on the other hand? Not so much!
(Limited Edition for Christmas 2004) – In the store, I wasn't all that impressed with this soap's scent. It was weak and a bit on the sickly
sweet side. But once left out of its paper wrapping for a day or two, the spicier notes began to come through, and I swear they keep
getting stronger (especially the cinnamon)! This soap gives you a rich, burgundy wine lather and smells EXACTLY like mulled wine
with a slice of orange and an added scent of berries (despite the fact that there aren't any berries in it. So go figure.) I'd have preferred a
more full-bodied scent to linger on the skin afterwards, but in the shower it smells like you're having a Christmas party (bar the fact that
you're nekkid...though for some, that might be how they find themselves by the end of the night anyway after 10 too many drinks, so fair
enough.) For the full mince pies & mulled wine effect, try combining this with the Sinter Klaas ballistic.
sweet side. But once left out of its paper wrapping for a day or two, the spicier notes began to come through, and I swear they keep
getting stronger (especially the cinnamon)! This soap gives you a rich, burgundy wine lather and smells EXACTLY like mulled wine
with a slice of orange and an added scent of berries (despite the fact that there aren't any berries in it. So go figure.) I'd have preferred a
more full-bodied scent to linger on the skin afterwards, but in the shower it smells like you're having a Christmas party (bar the fact that
you're nekkid...though for some, that might be how they find themselves by the end of the night anyway after 10 too many drinks, so fair
enough.) For the full mince pies & mulled wine effect, try combining this with the Sinter Klaas ballistic.
Sultana Of Soap is packed with warm, rich, spicy sweet North African frankincense (also known as olibanum) oil and a dash of Italian
bergamot orange, its creamy dome topped with dried fruits that recall Moroccan nougat: apricots, currants, and cranberries. And
thanks to moisturising frankincense, Sultana Of Soap's lather is sumptuously creamy, leaving skin beautifully conditioned. That would
be enough exotic decadence in itself, but that Lush opted to overpower this soap's sweeter delights with a heady secret formula
perfume ingredient to the degree where it's literally found in a larger quantity than any other fragrant ingredient in this soap's recipe,
thereby leaving all those bits of dried fruit to contribute little beyond falling to the shower floor (where they resemble bunny turds as my
best mate so eloquently describes them). Once wet, this perfume combines with frankincense, hinting at a posh men's aftershave.
Granted, we're talking the expensive $80 kind, not that cheap tat you find at a five and dime. Problem is, most posh aftershaves on the
market consist primarily of synthetics, and despite Lush's openly aiming to veer away from synthetic scents, that's precisely what
Sultana of Soap trades its natural fruit and spice essence in for. Hence, this soap's cologned fragrance -- both in the shower and on
the skin -- is more sultan than sultana, making this a shower experience that is far better suited to the lads than to the ladies.
bergamot orange, its creamy dome topped with dried fruits that recall Moroccan nougat: apricots, currants, and cranberries. And
thanks to moisturising frankincense, Sultana Of Soap's lather is sumptuously creamy, leaving skin beautifully conditioned. That would
be enough exotic decadence in itself, but that Lush opted to overpower this soap's sweeter delights with a heady secret formula
perfume ingredient to the degree where it's literally found in a larger quantity than any other fragrant ingredient in this soap's recipe,
thereby leaving all those bits of dried fruit to contribute little beyond falling to the shower floor (where they resemble bunny turds as my
best mate so eloquently describes them). Once wet, this perfume combines with frankincense, hinting at a posh men's aftershave.
Granted, we're talking the expensive $80 kind, not that cheap tat you find at a five and dime. Problem is, most posh aftershaves on the
market consist primarily of synthetics, and despite Lush's openly aiming to veer away from synthetic scents, that's precisely what
Sultana of Soap trades its natural fruit and spice essence in for. Hence, this soap's cologned fragrance -- both in the shower and on
the skin -- is more sultan than sultana, making this a shower experience that is far better suited to the lads than to the ladies.
(Limited Edition for Christmas 2005, available only in gifts) – If only you could see my teddy bears' excitement when I showed them this
soap. (And if only they'd stop stealing it from the bathroom and running off with it.) Sharing the same toothsome honey, bergamot, and
orange fragrance as the much loved, 5-star Honey I Washed The Kids Soap, Teddy Bears Christmas can only be found in Lush's
Christmas Hugs gift, where it's featured alongside a Christmas Bath Ballistic of the same name. (And shame on Lush for not selling
this soap on its own as well!) Once showered & dry, the lingering scent on your skin will be quite subtle, which is perfect if you're not
generally accustomed to draping your body in ultra-sweet fragrances. Honey is amazingly good for soothing & smoothing the skin
(credit Egypt for this discovery, not me) and Lush uses its every advantage to the full with this richly lathering soap. Besides, in this
teddy bear shape for Christmas 2005, not only is it the perfect tribute to man's cuddliest, most loyal best friends for life, but with the
scent of Bit O'Honey toffee candies, it's the perfect cure for any holiday sweet tooth and also a foolproof way to lure small children into
the bath (even when they're hyper and uncatchable after eating too much sugar on Christmas Day.)
soap. (And if only they'd stop stealing it from the bathroom and running off with it.) Sharing the same toothsome honey, bergamot, and
orange fragrance as the much loved, 5-star Honey I Washed The Kids Soap, Teddy Bears Christmas can only be found in Lush's
Christmas Hugs gift, where it's featured alongside a Christmas Bath Ballistic of the same name. (And shame on Lush for not selling
this soap on its own as well!) Once showered & dry, the lingering scent on your skin will be quite subtle, which is perfect if you're not
generally accustomed to draping your body in ultra-sweet fragrances. Honey is amazingly good for soothing & smoothing the skin
(credit Egypt for this discovery, not me) and Lush uses its every advantage to the full with this richly lathering soap. Besides, in this
teddy bear shape for Christmas 2005, not only is it the perfect tribute to man's cuddliest, most loyal best friends for life, but with the
scent of Bit O'Honey toffee candies, it's the perfect cure for any holiday sweet tooth and also a foolproof way to lure small children into
the bath (even when they're hyper and uncatchable after eating too much sugar on Christmas Day.)
(Discontinued in 2001) – Back in 2001, Tiptoe Through The Tulips ranked as Lush’s most artistically crafted soap, seemingly created
by the world’s most skilled soap sculptors. Featured on its own table, it looked much like a gigantic dark green pie covered in beech
leaves and large red, pink, and yellow soap flowers. (See the photo at the top of this page.) Tiptoe Through The Tulips gets its name
because it basically contains everything in the flower garden except tulips. And indeed, this soap is quite like showering in your
English granny's garden surrounded by violets, roses, geraniums, and lavender...but all on a carpet of dewy grass with a wet, moss-
covered stone path as its gateway. Tiptoe is unusually quick to melt and not very generous when it comes to leaving a jardin des fleurs
aroma in its post-shower wake, but perhaps that’s not such a bad thing: if it weren’t for that overpowering aroma of wet moss, instead
of smelling musty and stuffy, this soap might otherwise have smelled like a posh 18th century French parfumerie.
by the world’s most skilled soap sculptors. Featured on its own table, it looked much like a gigantic dark green pie covered in beech
leaves and large red, pink, and yellow soap flowers. (See the photo at the top of this page.) Tiptoe Through The Tulips gets its name
because it basically contains everything in the flower garden except tulips. And indeed, this soap is quite like showering in your
English granny's garden surrounded by violets, roses, geraniums, and lavender...but all on a carpet of dewy grass with a wet, moss-
covered stone path as its gateway. Tiptoe is unusually quick to melt and not very generous when it comes to leaving a jardin des fleurs
aroma in its post-shower wake, but perhaps that’s not such a bad thing: if it weren’t for that overpowering aroma of wet moss, instead
of smelling musty and stuffy, this soap might otherwise have smelled like a posh 18th century French parfumerie.
(Limited Edition for Christmas 2005) – Twas The Night Before Christmas Soap is mysteriously deep purple like the night sky,
decorated with star-blue sparkles and sold in slices from a large round pie depicting Santa and his reindeer riding over a large golden
moon. (The picture I've included with this review is a molded gift slice with its very own Christmas Eve moon, but if you click HERE to
look at our December 2005 Archives, or HERE to view our Christmas Soaps page, you'll see I've also posted much larger photos
featuring a whole pie as well as individual slices as they were primarily sold.) 'Twas The Night Before Christmas shares the same
exact fragrant recipe as Black Pearl Bath Ballistic, and it's also a very close rendition of Skin Sin Body Lotion's scent, as well. All of the
above bear a blackcurrant, lavender, and chamomile fragrance, while this soap and Black Pearl additionally share the sweetly
smoldering scents of frankincense (olibanum simply being another name for frankincense) and myrrh. And ya' can't get anymore
Christmas-y than frankincense and myrrh, considering these herbs were gifts from the Three Wise Men (and wise men they were,
indeed!) Initially, I quite enjoyed this soap: the first few washes with each slice of Twas The Night Before Christmas left me heavily
perfumed with the ambrosial fragrance of blackcurrants for the entire day. (Many Lushies complain that Lush's blackcurrant fragrance
is fleeting on the skin, but for some reason, my body soaks the stuff up like an aromatic sponge!) However, after several days, even I
came to agree with the majority of my fellow Lushies: I found that lavender began to overpower blackcurrant more and more, and while
the overall scent was certainly still a lovely one, it increasingly lacked not only its delicious sweetness, but also its potency. What
started out as candied herbs for Christmas soon became...well, it became your more typically herbal, perennial lavender and
chamomile soap, and one that practically left the skin fragrance free. Summed up, though this is an ultra-creative soap by visual
design, it's a shame that its fragrance doesn't manage to retain much of that originality and artistry.
decorated with star-blue sparkles and sold in slices from a large round pie depicting Santa and his reindeer riding over a large golden
moon. (The picture I've included with this review is a molded gift slice with its very own Christmas Eve moon, but if you click HERE to
look at our December 2005 Archives, or HERE to view our Christmas Soaps page, you'll see I've also posted much larger photos
featuring a whole pie as well as individual slices as they were primarily sold.) 'Twas The Night Before Christmas shares the same
exact fragrant recipe as Black Pearl Bath Ballistic, and it's also a very close rendition of Skin Sin Body Lotion's scent, as well. All of the
above bear a blackcurrant, lavender, and chamomile fragrance, while this soap and Black Pearl additionally share the sweetly
smoldering scents of frankincense (olibanum simply being another name for frankincense) and myrrh. And ya' can't get anymore
Christmas-y than frankincense and myrrh, considering these herbs were gifts from the Three Wise Men (and wise men they were,
indeed!) Initially, I quite enjoyed this soap: the first few washes with each slice of Twas The Night Before Christmas left me heavily
perfumed with the ambrosial fragrance of blackcurrants for the entire day. (Many Lushies complain that Lush's blackcurrant fragrance
is fleeting on the skin, but for some reason, my body soaks the stuff up like an aromatic sponge!) However, after several days, even I
came to agree with the majority of my fellow Lushies: I found that lavender began to overpower blackcurrant more and more, and while
the overall scent was certainly still a lovely one, it increasingly lacked not only its delicious sweetness, but also its potency. What
started out as candied herbs for Christmas soon became...well, it became your more typically herbal, perennial lavender and
chamomile soap, and one that practically left the skin fragrance free. Summed up, though this is an ultra-creative soap by visual
design, it's a shame that its fragrance doesn't manage to retain much of that originality and artistry.
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