Early summer has its own kind of tiredness. The kind that comes not from cold or wind, but from sun and salt and long days spent chasing the light. Lips dry in the warmth just as they do in the frost, only with less drama. You barely notice until they start to catch, just slightly, on the rim of a glass or the edge of a smile.
That’s when I reach for my lip scrub jar…
It’s small and warm in the hand, a little weighty. Inside: a grainy lip balm the colour of coffee and earth. The scent is faint, roasted beans and something herbal, like fresh air after rain. Not sweet. Just clean.
Bath House’s vegan lip scrub…
This is a scrub, but not a harsh one. There’s sugar that melts slow, and finely ground coffee from an artisan roastery, used once, then gathered and given new purpose. The grounds are soft, like sand just before it dries in the sun. They smooth the skin without pulling, and they disappear under your touch.
The oils are what make it linger. Castor, Hazelnut, Jojoba, the kind you’d usually find in a serum or a balm for the face. They don’t just sit on the lips; they settle in. There’s Shea butter balm too, and Cocoa butter, rich and silky. Everything in balance.
And then, the Manuka. It cools as it touches, like a glass of mint water held to the skin. There’s a quiet sharpness to it, like green stems snapped in half. It soothes before you realise you needed soothing.
How to apply lip scrub…
You don’t need much. Just a fingertip, massaged slowly, then wiped away. No fanfare. No gloss. Just a softness you forgot you were missing.
I started using it now, in June – when the sun is high and there’s sand in your shoes. But I’ll keep using it when the air changes, when the wind returns and lips begin to crack. It’s not a summer thing or a winter thing. It’s just a good thing. Something to have by the mirror, or in a bag, or in the kitchen drawer beside the teaspoon you always reach for.
Committed to ethical skincare…
The lip balm jar is glass. The lid, not yet recyclable, something we’re working on. For now, I keep the empty ones. They hold mustard seeds, sea salt, a small safety pin I never seem to need but can’t throw away.
This isn’t a product that promises to transform. It won’t change your face or your life. But it will give you back your lips, soft and soothed, like they’ve had a drink of water. And maybe that’s enough.
