Why Everyone’s Selling Soap Like It’s 1994 Again
Look around. Not at your phone. Not at AI think-pieces. Look at the ads. All of them. From that indie skincare brand on your Instagram feed to the curated, desaturated YouTube pre-rolls. They’re all trying to convince you that using body wash is a revolutionary act of self-care.
It’s the 90s aesthetic, but with better lighting and anxiety. Copy says things like “ritual” and “clean philosophy.” Models half-laugh in bathtubs with potted plants in full view. We’re in a commercial renaissance for soap, and we’re doing it with the poetry of a startup and the sincerity of a therapist. Dove pioneered the narrative of emotional hygiene. Now everyone from Aēsop to that guy selling lavender-salt bars at the farmer’s market is borrowing from the script.
Here’s the twist: it’s not about hygiene. Never was. New Zealand’s indie brands know this. They’ve gone full vibe. Their entire pitch is that cleansing is an experience, not an act. That bar of soap? It’s basically an identity statement. And we’re not even mad about it. Strategically, it’s genius. The cost per production is low, the perceived value is high, and the palette can be hand-mixed into oblivion. It’s moisturiser theatre. Add a linen label and a Helvetica-worshipping website and boom, you've got a brand.
But it works because it feels honest. Not in a gritty, tearful way. More like a quiet flex. The kind that says, “I buy handmade things and read about fermentation in my spare time.” It's less about looking clean and more about projecting control. In a world that feels like a browser with twenty open tabs, soap is now the aesthetic reset button. And somehow, it's brilliant.
It’s the 90s aesthetic, but with better lighting and anxiety. Copy says things like “ritual” and “clean philosophy.” Models half-laugh in bathtubs with potted plants in full view. We’re in a commercial renaissance for soap, and we’re doing it with the poetry of a startup and the sincerity of a therapist. Dove pioneered the narrative of emotional hygiene. Now everyone from Aēsop to that guy selling lavender-salt bars at the farmer’s market is borrowing from the script.
Here’s the twist: it’s not about hygiene. Never was. New Zealand’s indie brands know this. They’ve gone full vibe. Their entire pitch is that cleansing is an experience, not an act. That bar of soap? It’s basically an identity statement. And we’re not even mad about it. Strategically, it’s genius. The cost per production is low, the perceived value is high, and the palette can be hand-mixed into oblivion. It’s moisturiser theatre. Add a linen label and a Helvetica-worshipping website and boom, you've got a brand.
But it works because it feels honest. Not in a gritty, tearful way. More like a quiet flex. The kind that says, “I buy handmade things and read about fermentation in my spare time.” It's less about looking clean and more about projecting control. In a world that feels like a browser with twenty open tabs, soap is now the aesthetic reset button. And somehow, it's brilliant.