I was at the football with my family when it all started.
My sister Evelyn was staring intently at her phone while Richmond warmed up and I inhaled a tub of hot chips. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t touch the screen. I’m pretty sure she didn’t even blink. She just let Instagram roll through various videos, all of them featuring two things:
- Sharp objects
I looked over her shoulder at the people cutting soap methodically. Perfectly even slices were falling onto the table below, one by one, with such precision.
Sometimes the soap was shaved, in the way you would peel a potato. Sometimes the soap was chopped liked a diced tomato. Sometimes the soap was crushed, like my dreams when Love Island ends tonight.
All of the times it is effing delightful.
I was hooked.
Did I know why these people were cutting soap? No. Did I know why I kept watching them? No sir. I was too entranced by the sound of soap being divided into teeny tiny pieces of soap to care.
And oh, my, god. I am far from alone. There is a secret tribe of soap cutters out there who share my obsession.