Spring is in the air — and so is pollen. Between my allergies and chastising myself to fart out at least one blog post per month on a self-imposed deadline, this installment will be a low-effort grasp at even lower-hanging fruit. Dear Reader, I must confess: I’m lazy and unmotivated. But not so lazy or unmotivated that I require full body deodorant.
Look, I know that life is hard. But how far have we sunk as a people that we now entertain the notion of smearing some cream of indeterminate origin on our bodies from head to toe in order to quell the stench? I mean, full body deodorant?! What not-so-fresh-fuckery is this?!
It’s been awhile since a commercial has annoyed me. Over 15 years ago, I had a personal vendetta against the caravan of Free Credit Report.com troubadours and the doughy-faced hipster douchebag hawking McDonald’s coffee. In the ensuing years, thanks to a steady regimen of yoga, meditation and therapy sessions with a stuffed animal, I’ve cooled my jets. These days, I reserve my ire for shitty fashion trends and poor communication skills.
That said, the commercials for Lume full body deodorant are enough to make even a Zen master explode. Suffice to say, I’m not a Zen master. I’m a high-strung, middle-aged, highly-hormonal, three-cups-a-day caffeine fiend. This is what we’re working with.
The Voluptuous Horror of Lume Full Body Deodorant Commercials
While I loathe the onslaught of commercials for Giardiance, Ozempic, and any pharmaceutical du jour lobbed at me on a daily basis, I might hate the Lume full body deodorant commercials even more. I’m not easily grossed out. I’m not bothered by someone applying deodorant to their pits. But when you start suggesting you rub cream into your various and sundry folds to stop them from stinking to high hell, it gets a little dicey.
It sure doesn’t help that the pitchwoman hints that she smells like stale onion rings. As these commercials have gone on, she’s gotten more brazen about just where you can stick your Lume, giving the impression that she reeks like she’s got an Italian hoagie tucked under each armpit and one wedged between her ass cheeks for good measure.
Every time I see one of these Lume commercials flicker on screen, I have the same visceral reaction as my Dad looking at the lead singer of The Spin Doctors on SNL, disgustedly declaring: “Jesus Christ. He looks like he’s got body lice.”
Full Body Deodorant. Full Body Horror.
The lore of Lume just gets worse when you go down the internet rabbit hole.
The brand’s website declares:
Outrageously effective whole body deodorant for pits, privates and beyond.
“Beyond,” according to Lume, encompasses “underboobs, belly buttons, butt cracks, feet” — and yes — “balls.” In addition to Lume, the parent company also produces Mando, which boasts a line of more masculine scents to adorn your sweaty meat kiwis.
It’s not rocket science that your armpits aren’t always going to smell fantastic. Ditto for your feet. Common logic also dictates that the places where you pee and poo from will carry some residual tang, even if you’ve turned wiping into an Olympic sport. Some dudes have sweaty balls and — in our uncircumcised brethren — smegma. And some of us broads occasionally have extra cheese in our ham wallet Hot Pockets, too.
It happens. This is biology. However, unless someone has a beastie of a yeastie or has elected to marinate in their own pee and forgo changing their drawers, you’re likely not going to catch a hearty whiff of someone’s nether caverns. These parts are covered and clothing serves as a protective barrier against any natural aromas.
Yet, Lume posits that full body deodorant is a solution to the stink that emanates from all of your crevices and folds.
The website also notes that Lume is “clinically proven to control odor for 72 hours!”
I’m curious as to just how these tests were conducted. Was there a call for participants to not bathe for three days? Were they studied in a lab? Were they encouraged to work up a good sweat and then sit in their own filth while coated head-to-toe in Lume to determine the efficacy of the product?
How much did they pay these people? Scratch (and sniff) that! How much did they pay the poor lab technicians who had to smell these test subjects at the 73-hour mark?!
Just Take a Shower!
But the studies don’t stop here! Lume founder, Dr. Shannon Klingman, is quick to acknowledge product criticisms. In one advertisement, she mentions that countless people on social media comment with “Just take a shower!”
Klingman explains that:
12 hours after a shower with soap and water, the average crotch has an odor score of “5” or “6” on a scale of “zero” to “10,” with “10” being the worst odor ever and “zero” being no odor.
She continues that, by contrast, 12 hours after a shower and applying Lume, the odor scale registers a “zero” in terms of reek wafting from your undercarriage.
Sure, this provides prospective users with data — because if there’s one thing people slobber over more than shortcuts, it’s data. But these numbers invite numerous questions:
- Who determines these metrics?
- If a score of “zero” means no odor, what comparison metric is used as a 10 for “the worst odor ever”? Are we talking “sewage plant explosion” or “Burger King dumpster in July”?
- Is there a contraption that measures the smell? Or do they use human bloodhounds to suss out the stench?
- What hell must these lab assistants endure and how close must they get to sniff a study participant’s batch?
- Are test subjects clothed when they’re sniffed? Are they permitted modesty garments, or does a lab tech get close enough to tickle their bits with their nostril hairs?
- Are HAZMAT suits and face masks provided to lab technicians?
- Is there such a thing as “scent fatigue” — when you’ve sniffed so many rank crotches that they all start to smell alike?
These are the FAQs that I’m looking to get answered.
I’ll applaud Dr. Klingman for being so upbeat about the unending parade of “just take a shower” comments. I mean, hey. She’s trying to make some money. I can respect that. If Sir James Dyson can use his brilliant scientific mind to create a bagless vacuum cleaner, Dr. Klingman has every right to monetize her own expertise for profit, even if the product squicks me out.
Full Body Deodorant: Lazier Living Through Chemistry
For a stage in time where we’re so obsessed with cleanliness and antibacterial properties, we’re pretty fucking filthy. If the crooks of your elbows and backs of your knees smell like fried onions, maybe it’s time to visit your doctor instead of masking the aroma.
Everyone wants to smell good. But regular bathing helps. Ditto for a splash of body spray or perfume. (Although, if you’re planning to go down low, heed the age-old warning: “if it smells like cologne, leave it alone.”)
Lest we forget, infrequent bathing was one of the contributing factors behind the spread of The Black Plague that wiped out a significant chunk of Europe’s population. Think about that the next time you decide to forgo a shower.
I know times are tough. Everybody is dealing with something. But life can’t be that hard that you can’t take a moment to wash your ass.
Air is still free. (At least for now.) Water is (mostly) free. But you don’t need a PhD to clean out your clam.