Wiremu stood in the bathroom. He held a plastic tube. The tube was blue and silver. He squeezed the tube. The plastic split at the top seam. A thick globule of white cream landed on his shoe. The shoe was brown leather.

Wiremu took a tissue. He wiped the cream. The tissue tore. The cream smeared across the leather. Wiremu looked at the shoe. He looked at the tube. The tube was almost empty.

He looked at his forearm. There was a red patch on the skin. The patch was the size of a coin. The patch was dry. It was itchy. Wiremu had used the cream for three weeks. The patch had not changed.

The creak of the medicine cabinet

Wiremu opened the medicine cabinet. The cabinet door creaked. He saw three other tubes on the shelf. One tube was white. One tube was green. The last tube was a dark shade of blue.

The white tube said ‘Intense Recovery Salve’. The green tube said ‘Botanical Skin Shield’. The dark blue tube said ‘Advanced Barrier Repair’. Wiremu took the tubes out. He lined the tubes up on the sink. The sink was white porcelain. It had a small chip near the drain.

Wiremu looked at the back of the white tube. He read the ingredients. He saw the word Aqua. He saw the word Glycerin. He saw the word Petrolatum. He saw the word Phenoxyethanol.

Then he looked at the green tube. He read the ingredients on the green tube. The first word was Aqua. The second word was Glycerin. The third word was Petrolatum. The fourth word was Phenoxyethanol.

Wiremu felt a dull heat in his chest. He looked at the blue and silver tube. The ingredients were the same. The order of the words was the same. The names on the front of the tubes were different. The prices were different.

The machine of artificial novelty

The skincare industry is a large machine. The machine needs to move. It needs to sell products. A product stays on a shelf for a long time. People stop seeing the product. People stop buying the product.

The company has a meeting. The meeting happens in a room with a glass table. A man in a suit speaks. The man says the brand is stale. He says the customers want novelty. The company does not change the formula. The formula works well enough to be legal. It does not work well enough to fix the skin.

If the skin is fixed the customer stops buying the cream. The company wants the customer to keep buying. They change the box. They hire a designer. The designer chooses a new font. They choose a new color. They give the cream a new name.

Parker D. is a museum lighting designer. He understands how things look. He once told me about a painting. He said the light can change the mood of the room.

“The light hits the wall. The light shows the paint. The light does not change the paint.”

– Parker D., Lighting Designer

The customers see the purple box. The customers think the purple box is a new invention. The customers buy the purple box. The cream inside the purple box is the same cream from the white box. The patch on the arm stays red.

The pharmacist’s silence

Wiremu went to the pharmacy. He walked down the aisle. The aisle was long. The floor was waxed. The lights were bright. He saw the skincare section. He saw a hundred boxes. He saw boxes with pictures of water drops. He saw boxes with gold letters.

He found a pharmacist. The pharmacist wore a white coat. The pharmacist had a name tag. The name tag said ‘David’. Wiremu showed David his arm. Wiremu showed David the red patch.

“I have used four creams,” Wiremu said.

“Which creams?” David asked.

Wiremu named the creams. David nodded. David looked at the shelf.

“Those creams are very popular,” David said.

“They are the same cream,” Wiremu said.

David did not say anything. He adjusted his glasses.

A search for skin lipids

Wiremu left the pharmacy. He did not buy a fifth tube. He went home. He sat at his computer. He searched for skin lipids. He searched for skin structure. He wanted to know why his skin was dry.

He found a website about tallow. The website was not like the pharmacy. The website did not have purple boxes. It did not have gold letters. It had information. Wiremu read a guide. He read about tallow balm for eczema.

He learned that tallow is a lipid. He learned that human skin is made of lipids. The guide explained that grass-fed tallow has vitamins. It has Vitamin A. It has Vitamin D. It has Vitamin K. It has Vitamin E.

The glass jar on the bedside table

Wiremu ordered a jar of tallow balm. The jar arrived four days later. The jar was glass. The jar was heavy. The label was simple. It did not say ‘Advanced’ or ‘Intense’. It said ‘Tallow Balm’.

Wiremu opened the jar. The balm was firm. It was the color of cream. He took a small amount. He rubbed the balm between his fingers. The balm melted. It became an oil. He put the oil on the red patch.

The skin did not feel greasy. The skin felt soft. Wiremu did not put the jar in the medicine cabinet. He put the jar on the bedside table. He went to sleep.

The next morning he looked at his arm. The patch was not as red. The skin was not as dry. He used the balm again. He used the balm for one week.

The patch became smaller. The patch became pale. By Friday, the patch was gone.

Throwing away the plastic

Wiremu went back to the bathroom. He looked at the four tubes on the sink. He picked up the white tube. He threw the white tube in the trash. He picked up the green tube. He threw the green tube in the trash.

He picked up the blue and silver tube. He threw it in the trash. He picked up the dark blue tube. He threw it in the trash. The trash can was full.

He looked at the brown shoe. The smear of cream was still there. The cream had dried. It looked like a white crust. Wiremu took a damp cloth. He rubbed the shoe. The crust did not come off easily. The cream was designed to stay on the surface. It was designed to be a plastic layer.

Wiremu scrubbed the shoe until the leather was clean. Then he took a tiny bit of the tallow balm. He rubbed the balm into the leather. The leather soaked up the balm. The shoe looked dark and rich.

The industry relies on the search for the next thing. They want you to wait for the spring launch. They want you to wait for the new box.

Wiremu walked to the window. The sun was out. It was a Tuesday. He did not feel the itch on his arm. He did not feel the need to go to the pharmacy. He felt a sense of relief.

The relief did not come from a tube with a fancy name. The relief came from a jar of fat. It was simple. It was old. It did not need a marketing meeting. It did not need a glass table. It just needed to be what it was.

Finished with the tubes

He looked at the ceiling tiles one last time. He did not count them. He just looked at the stain. The stain was just a stain. It was not a map. It was not a problem to be solved. He closed the bathroom door. He went into the kitchen to make tea.

The patch on his arm was almost gone. He knew the name of the balm would be the same next year. He liked that. He liked that very much.

The cycle of renaming is a cycle of distraction. It keeps the eyes on the label. It keeps the eyes off the ingredients. When you look at the ingredients, the magic of the label disappears.

The ‘Advanced Recovery’ becomes water and wax. The ‘Botanical Shield’ becomes water and wax. The ‘Molecular Hydration’ becomes water and wax. Wiremu knew this now. He would not be fooled by a purple box again.

He wore a short-sleeved shirt. He went to the park. He sat on a bench. He felt the air on his arm. The air was cool. The skin felt fine. He thought about the fifty-two dollars. He thought about the trash can in the bathroom.

He did not regret throwing the tubes away. He only regretted buying them. He would remember the names. He would remember them as the names of things that did not work. He would remember the tallow as the thing that did.

Parker D. called him later that day.

“How is the arm?” Parker asked.

“The arm is good,” Wiremu said.

“Did you buy a new light?” Parker asked.

“No,” Wiremu said. “I found the right wall.”