people make a lot of touch-starved gay jokes about Lush but the truth is it’s not a gay experience, it’s a human experience. no one is safe, no one is immune.
you walk in there for the first time thinkin’ I’m gonna buy some hand soap today and then some dude who smells like something impossible, like he’s being described by a YA author, he smells like lavender, leather, and the steam coming from hot pavement after a short summer rain,
That guy. He comes up to you and he asks if he can help you sample something. He leads you to a small, metal basin of water. It’s so pastoral, it’s so quaint. You can imagine it sitting beside your bed with a porcelain pitcher in your farm cottage for you to use to wash your face in the morning.
He rolls up your sleeve a bit, and you awkwardly apologize for not doing it yourself, and he says it’s fine.
Sir LeatherRain gently rinses your hand in the warm water, and then he dries it off attentively. Then he massages some of the product into your palm. It’s the cinnamon bean massage bar. He says “don’t you love how it feels warm as you rub it in?”
He’s making more direct eye contact with you than you’ve ever made in your entire life.
As he finishes, a woman who smells like coffee beans and pink-skied winter sunrises approaches and says “oh I LOVE that product.”
You know it’s about the sell. It’s transactional, but you’re in love. You can’t help it.
You’re also More uncomfortable than you’ve ever been in your entire life.
As you walk away to the register, you clench your hand and unclench it like Mr. Darcy when he touches Elizabeth Bennet’s hand to help her out of a coach.
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