The one thing that has stuck with me from the years that I read Lucky magazine—and it probably stuck with me because it was one of the few items in Lucky that I could afford—was a brief announcement that Nivea would be bringing their Soft lotion, an item previously only available in Europe, to the U.S. Soft, Lucky assured me, is a beauty secret of well-lubricated fashionistas and smells just like the inside of a European drugstore (because apparently there is a ubiquitous, pan-European drugstore scent).
I don’t think I ever bought one of those little white tubs of this magical stuff. I remember seeing it at SuperTarget once, but I don’t remember using it.
Despite my fashionista failures, Europe has since accepted me, enough to at least grant me temporary residence and work permits. I walk past four of those fancy-schmancy European drugstores on my way to my office each day. Shiny new tubs of Soft are available to me for less than €5.
The drugstores, by the way, do not resemble the old-fashioned apothecaries that the Lucky announcement invoked so much as they resemble your local strip-mall Walgreen’s. And they don’t smell like anything at all, except maybe sweaty people when it’s hot outside and there’s insufficient air conditioning (sometimes related to the fact that the building was built in the 17th century, sometimes related to the fact that obstinate northern Europeans don’t like to admit that it gets hot here, too).
Nivea Soft doesn’t smell like sweaty people. It smells like some kind of soothing medical ointment; something you’d put on a burn or diaper rash. It’s not herbal in the least, which breaks with the whole “cute European apothecary” ideal. I imagine nurses using it.
I find the smell very comforting. I’m a recovering Bath & Body Works user; a mere nine years ago, every centimeter of my bathroom shelf was crowded with lotions and body sprays with names like Juniper Breeze and Cucumber Melon. A mere three years ago, carefully hoarded bottles of discontinued Sparkling Green Apple lotion still sat in my closet.
Then one day, I decided that I was tired of smelling like fruits that sparkled for no discernible reason. I would eschew all scented lotions, save Burt’s Bees Milk and Honey (quite runny, but absorbs nicely and dries to a mild vanilla-ish fragrance) and Origins Ginger Soufflé Whipped Body Cream (which, despite its corny name, is a fast-absorbing moisturizer with a non-cloying, spicy smell). I tossed my B&BW lotions—which were probably to old to use anyway—and devoted myself to a life of Aveeno and Suave. OK, I still occasionally treated myself to an overpriced travel-size tube of Bliss hand lotion at Sephora every once in a while—it has this awesome lemon fragrance—but otherwise, I was done. Done!
I like my daily lotion to be clinical, a medical treatment with no perfumes or flowers or fruits sullying it. This is ridiculous, of course—that medicinal smell is a perfume itself—but it’s like eating broccoli instead of chips or drinking water instead of soda. It’s something I can get self-righteous about.
All that smell stuff aside, Soft is actually a nice lotion that absorbs well, with no greasiness. It absorbs well enough that I can use my purse-sized tube on the train and not have to worry about leaving handprints on all the railings. I use it regularly at work, and there haven’t been complaints from my colleagues yet. Maybe they, too, are thinking of nurses carefully applying ointments to sooth dry, irritated skin and to—I think it’s fair to say—improve the moral fiber and general quality of the patient’s mortal soul.
