B-Side

Bar None

Tariffs hit my shower. That’s not a metaphor. That’s just what happened.

I’d been using the same shampoo bar for a while — Anihana, out of New Zealand. Clean ingredients, lasts forever, smells like a spa. Then I went to reorder and the price had jumped two-fifty. Tariffs. I sat there doing the math. That’s thirty dollars a year just to wash my hair. For the exact same product. Nothing changed except someone’s trade policy.

So I thought: what if I just made it myself?

I wasn’t looking to become a soap maker. No lye. No curing times. No chemistry experiments in my kitchen. I just wanted my bar back at a reasonable price.

Here’s the thing — I was already remixing soap without realizing it. I’ve been using Trader Joe’s castile liquid in the shower, mixing it with Dr. Bronner’s eucalyptus because I like the scent combination. The bar version is the same idea. Take something clean and simple, add what you want, skip what you don’t need.

But it made me ask a question I’d never thought to ask before. What is castile soap, actually?

Growing up, my dad worked at Procter & Gamble. We were an Ivory soap household. I’d watch that white bar float in my bath and never once wonder why it did that. Now I know — it doesn’t float because of something good. It floats because of something whipped in. Castile is different. Just vegetable oils — usually olive or coconut — turned into soap. No synthetic detergents. No air pockets. No mystery ingredients. The original clean soap. Been around for centuries.

Once I understood that, the rest fell into place fast.

Dr. Bronner’s unscented bar. About four dollars at Walmart. More than double the weight of the Anihana bar. Coconut, olive, hemp, jojoba. Gentle. Conditioning. I already use their eucalyptus liquid, so I knew I liked the base.

You grate it — medium holes, same side you’d use for cheddar. Put the shavings in a jar, add ten to fifteen drops of whatever essential oil you want, shake for a minute, wait twenty-four hours for the scent to distribute. That’s the whole method. Active time under ten minutes. Two bars for half the cost of one Anihana.

And here’s where it starts feeling like cooking.

You’ve got your base ingredient. Now you pick your flavor profile. Eucalyptus and peppermint. Rosemary and mint. Tea tree and menthol. The combinations are endless — just like in the kitchen. You’re seasoning it. You’re making it yours.

The reason this isn’t common knowledge isn’t because it’s complicated. It’s because there’s no drama in it. No chemistry, no ceremony. Just grate, scent, shake. Companies would rather sell you a scented bar at a premium than teach you to customize an inexpensive one yourself. This technique lives in zero-waste communities and homesteading blogs — places where practical skills still have currency.

The real cost? Two dollars a bar versus ten. Something bigger, more versatile, exactly what you want.

That’s the Remix approach — not just in the kitchen. Everywhere that ingredients matter.

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