Do I honk that much that I need the Postman to bring me deodorant every two months? I don’t think I do but then again you never know. As the saying goes ‘a fox never smells it’s own hole.’
Before I dig myself any deeper…. I can understand running out of deodorant being inconvenient and maybe involve a last minute dash Boots or Superdrug in your lunch hour. What I’m less convinced about is that it requires an ongoing contractual relationship.
Somewhere along the way, buying a deodorant became something you could subscribe to. You choose your scent, arrange your deliveries and presumably get on with your life, secure in the knowledge that someone is keeping an eye on the armpit situation. There’s probably even an email welcoming you aboard and you can join the ‘deodorant chat community.’ Oh Whoppee!
I can see the practical appeal. If you’ve found one you like, use it regularly and appreciate having it delivered, fair enough. Refillable packaging can be a sensible idea, too. A sturdy case you keep and refills you replace sounds perfectly reasonable to me. Plus less plastic or aerosol cans floating about the place, that’s got to be a win win.
It’s the leap from “this needs replacing occasionally” to “let’s establish a recurring payment” that makes me question this supposed ‘convenience.’
My previous system which worked for decades involved noticing the deodorant was getting low and putting it on the shopping list. Or better still finding that said deodorant was on special offer when I walked down the Toiletries aisle at the supermarket and thinking ‘happy days. Two for one. I’ll grab a couple and shove them in a cupboard.’ Admittedly, this system has its weaknesses. Sometimes I forget to write it down. Sometimes I write it down and leave the list on the kitchen table, where it does an excellent job of supervising the post. And sometimes I just plain forget. Even so, I’m not sure the situation had deteriorated enough to require an account and a password.
The trouble is that deodorant isn’t being offered to us in isolation. Quite a lot of businesses would now like a small, regular claim on our bank accounts or credit cards. Each one sounds manageable when you consider it separately. It’s only a few pounds. You use it anyway. You can cancel whenever you like. Before long, you need a quiet afternoon to establish who’s sending what, when it’s coming and whether you still want it.
There’s something rather impressive about turning the purchase of a basic toiletry into an administrative responsibility. I used to own a deodorant. Now I could potentially have deodorant settings I never even knew I needed.
Perhaps I’m supposed to adjust the delivery frequency until it matches my personal rate of use. This is where I begin to feel that rather more thought is being devoted to my underarms than I’d intended. I don’t know how long a deodorant lasts me. Until it’s finished, generally. I hadn’t been keeping records and I don’t intend to.
A regular delivery can be useful when you get through something at a predictable pace. When you don’t, there’s the possibility of a small stockpile developing. You open the bathroom cupboard one morning and discover you’re prepared for considerably more perspiration than you have planned.
You can skip a delivery, of course. Provided you remember before it arrives and most of the time you’ve got to read the email to remind yourself of that too.
That’s the bit I find myself questioning. A service sold on the basis that I won’t have to remember something can introduce a different thing to remember. Instead of “buy deodorant”, it becomes “check whether I need the deodorant I’ve already arranged to buy”. Maybe it’s just me, but the convenience of the subscription also uses my brain power to do the admin. And frankly I can’t be arsed with that.
For now, I’ll stick with the old fashioned shopping list. It’s on the kitchen table if anyone needs it inamongst all the bills, local pizza delivery service flyers and the pamphlets from Iceland and FarmFresh Foods that come in the post.
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