Monday
Today I switch from Persil Non Bio to the vaguely scary-sounding Dr. Barbara Sturm laundry detergent. With futuristic packaging and a molecular logo, it’s more Space NK than a laundry aisle. At £40 a litre, it’s almost six times the price of Persil and has a silver meter instead of a measuring ball. Perhaps it’s meant to be a reminder that fun still exists, somewhere, on top of the dirty laundry.
The liquid promises to be “kind to the skin, kind to the clothes, kind to the planet” and I promise myself that I will see the results. Easier said than done. Simply removing clean clothes from the top of the washing machine feels Herculean most nights, so I’m afraid I won’t notice if the product has been kind to my skin or not.
However, I have my son’s dirty soccer gear so I can be nice to him. The bar is high. (Results to follow.)
Dirt Scene Investigation: Do More Expensive Products Really Add Shine?
Tuesday
It’s exciting Diptyque day and I have to try a liquid detergent. It comes in a beautiful amber glass bottle with the same iconic gothic label as the candles.
Pouring Diptyque over burnt porridge feels decadent, like an aging supermodel going mad in the Cotswolds. It smells like expensive shower gel, which is fine, although incongruous in the kitchen.
I pit it against Fairy in another frying pan and remember the old television commercials for liquid detergents with their references to the mythical “dry egg.” Both products do equally well, but the £35 Diptyque spout looks more stylish next to the sink. So much so, that it continues to be confused with hand washing. If I bought it regularly, I would find it quite annoying.
Wednesday
Sheet washing calls, and I try to ease the pain with a £45 Maison Francis Kurkdjian linen care set at Aqua Universalis – little 250ml bottles of detergent and fabric softener in a white box like a gift set.
The effect is so elegant that it seems a shame to store them in the closet next to the washing machine. In fact, this exercise has made me aware of my lack of a “status utility room.”
Afterwards, the sheets smell good, but you have to smell them a lot to notice it. I spray the pillows with Scented Linen Mist. They now smell like a five star hotel, as you’d expect given the spray costs £115 for 200ml (cheaper than a room at Claridge’s).
Thursday
It’s time for the exciting Aesop Post Poo Drops, which cost £25 for 100ml and have cult status. I use my youngest son, three years old, as a guinea pig. We look forward to what the bottle sheepishly describes as “vigorous bathroom activity.”
We then had a great time dispensing three magic drops into the bath and inhaling deeply. Miraculously, all smell dissipates.
Intrigued, I read the fine print and am surprised. This sounds as lethal as Harpic, despite his cheerful exterior. “It can be fatal if swallowed,” she warns, with instructions to “do not inhale” and “store locked up.”
Since the three-year-old is just coming out of the death-seeking phase, I follow this advice.
Friday
Today I’m trying the Diptyque Vinegar Multi-Surface Cleaner (right), which smells like pickles with gift shop background notes. At £35 for 500ml, it’s excellent for degreasing a stainless steel plate and is reassuringly gentle on wooden surfaces. But it’s rather vinegary. Kids prefer Method Pink Grapefruit Multi-Surface Cleaner (£4.35 for 828ml), which smells like Haribo.
Saturday A final laundry test, via Juliette Has A Gun’s cute Not a Detergent (£30 for 500ml). It’s scented with the brand’s much-loved Not a Perfume scent, which was a hit in 2006, and I spend a nostalgic day sniffing the ’90s and thinking about macarons, Paris Hilton and giant handbags.
However, all this is wasted in children’s pants. In other laundry news, the Sturm from earlier in the week removed mud from football, but not a bolognese stain.
Sunday
I take a Saturday of all froufrou products. While I can’t say they are superior to their standard counterparts, they are no worse. My house also doesn’t look or smell any more luxurious than it used to: a few bottles of chichi and scented laundry are no match for three children under ten.
I will definitely keep the Diptyque products by the sink and refill them with Waitrose Essentials when needed. It’s ridiculous, I know: who am I trying to impress? Meanwhile, the silver laundry dispenser has been successfully repurposed as an injection measure. Everyone wins.