To quote Memrise, a stroppy vocab learning app which has frustratingly
acquired permission to use push notifications, "it's been a while".
In the last two months, I have:
- Had a delicious $10 dinner in Melbourne's Chinatown
- Photographed a ruined French abbey in the North Yorkshire Moors
- Won a Tom Tailor minigolf tournament
- Eaten some mediocre pizza in Hamburg for a fiver
- Jogged up the side of a ski piste to the bemusement of an elderly Swiss couple
- Worked an all-day shift in a Tom Tailor store, djing and making popcorn... At the same time.
- Been to Phillip Island and not seen the penguins – cheers Fergus
- Had a solid 20€ dinner in an Indian restaurant in Versailles (biryani was the right choice)
- Changed country… Four times.
- Not used Memrise once.
With the boring details covered, I'd now like to write about my latest trip
to the supermarket. My local Carrefour hypermarché may not quite match up to my
favourite branch in the outskirts of Antibes, where freshly prepared sushi is
sold alongside immense 3D televisions and 0,89€ bottles of wine (a product
arrangement which could probably be improved upon). Though with live lobster marauding
aquariums and four aisles dedicated to cheese, the Porte d’Auteuil offering
certainly holds its own. Upon entry, the Gruen transfer effect was immediate
(non-Australians may need to google), and I eventually washed up outside the
store with far more stuff than I knew what to do with.
 |
| It was a three day hike to the stationery section. |
In that dizzying blur, ten minutes of consternation in the shampoo &
conditioner aisle stood out. In other countries, the name of the game in male grooming tends to be simplicity and
accessibility. Not so in France – unable to locate a familiar Pantene shelf in
this palace of FMCGs, I turned instead to the local hero, L’Oréal. Of the five distinct shampoos
available, each styled itself as the solution to some hair-related problem: two
were anti-dandruff, two were anti-hair-loss and one was anti-thinning. In other
words, the assumptions in every case were that you a) had a problem with your
hair, b) had identified it and c) sought measures to counter it. Their range
had somehow managed to miss the proportion of men who (i) don’t have a problem
with their hair, (ii) don’t know about it, or (iii) don’t care.
 |
| Blue+orange & blue act against dandruff, black+teal & red against hair loss, maroon against thinning. Where is my Pantene classic care? |
As a (i) or (ii)er, I felt alienated, frustrated and confused. For L’Oréal’s downbeat offering to work,
you’d have to assume a culture in which most men are actively looking for
problems with their hair. In my experience, that culture doesn’t exist in
England or Australia – but then, it probably would if the market-leading
haircare brand started listing all the things that can go wrong on their
standard selection. So well done, L’Oréal. You’ve balanced the unfair body
image expectations on France’s women by beating its men into paranoia too*.
You’ve traded in a little bit of liberté
for a bit more égalité on the part of
the fraternité. And now I’ll never
again lose a hair on my pillow without fearing the worst and cursing your name.
And giving thanks for the Arginine Resist X3 Shampooing Renforçateur in my
shower. Bastards.
 |
| Picked it for the colour scheme, I swear. |
So. Shampoo in hand (along with a couple of tartes tatin, some onions
and a bathmat), I brought home all my essentials for the next six months in
Paris. May those months be littered with LAP articles.
*Thereby making this hilarious but fairly depressing joke a
little less true.
