As a 47-year-old mom of two who has never been to Ibiza, I'm pretty sure I'm not the target customer for the new limited edition Shimmer Scrub from Australian beauty brand Frank, which is basically being billed as a highlighter for your body.
Ok, fine. I'm definitely not the target audience. But I've been obsessed with body glitter since the late 90s when Britney, Christina and all five of the Spice Girls rocked the shimmery stuff like it was their job --which I guess in a way, it was.
At the time, I was working as a 20-something beauty editor, and glitter gel quickly became one of my party girl staples. It made me feel as cool as a boho glam Iman striding into Studio 54 in her gold sequin jumpsuit, and so I happily smeared it everywhere -- in my hair, down my arms, at the tops of my shoulders, across my cheeks. One of my guy friends even once joked that I wore it so much it had become embedded in my skin.
There was just something that felt so magical about dousing myself in sparkle dust before going out each night. I'm not saying it gave me wizardly powers or anything, but the ability to shine bright like a diamond while dancing to Biggie's Mo' Money Mo' Problems definitely made me feel like it was all about to happen.
Plus busting out a glitter pot in da club was always the best way to make instant friends with all the drunk girls waiting in line for the bathroom. The best legal way, anyway.
The big drawback, of course, was that the stuff was a bitch to clean up. The twinkling pieces never really came up off the floor or washed fully out of the sheets. And I swear my tub had a permanent glitter ring around the drain. But it was a small price to pay for a body full of sparkles and the mystical jolt of confidence that came along with it.
And that is why, when I learned about the Frank Shimmer Scrub via a sponsored Instagram post a few months ago, I quickly clicked over to add my name to the waitlist, which was already 50,000 people long. Guess I wasn't the only one nostalgic for the 90s.
If you haven't heard about this stuff yet, allow me to get you up to speed. The Shimmer Scrub is a limited-edition exfoliator, made up of things like sugar, salt, ground coffee and mica. Which basically makes it the Red Bull of body buffers. And somehow, among people who care about such things, it's managed to become the beauty score of the summer.
You can kind of understand, then, why I was ridiculously excited when the highly coveted concoction finally landed on my doorstep a few days ago, packaged in a sleek, silvery, holographic pouch.
Here's a pic of it I took:
Pretty cool, right? "Throw shimmer -- not shade," it cheekily announced. I hadn't even used the stuff yet and I was already totally hooked.
The scrub is designed to be rubbed on in the shower, so I hopped in and tore open the package. Mad props to whoever Frank is, because while the gritty mixture looked like a wet glop of sand, it smelled like the most perfect mix of just-ground beans from your favorite coffeeshop on Leather Lane.
In other words, like heaven.
I scooped out a handful and massaged it into my skin. Right away, I noticed a nice little gleam on my arms. So I happily slathered on the rest of gunk, then rinsed the residue away with water, as directed.
I couldn't wait to get out of the shower and admire my full-on glistening self in the mirror. But when I did, the results were kind of a bummer. Because while my skin was super-soft and smelled exactly like a venti soy latte hold the whip, I was far from disco ball fabulous.
Sure if I leaned in real close and tilted my arm just-so I could detect the faintest sheen. But there was certainly no major glow up happening here. And when I came downstairs for dinner in a tank top later, not a single person mistook me for Beyonce.
As it turns out though, I was actually kind of OK with that. The scrub may not have been the glitter bomb my 20s self once dreamed of, but my skin felt more silky and hydrated than ever. And bonus points for the kickass coffee scent. Because while I haven't rolled up to a club since the early aughts, I currently crave a rush of caffeine on the daily.
Would I be lying if I said my awesome pre-rinse shimmer hadn't momentarily made me feel like B. Spears crushing it in her sparkly nude unitard at the 2000 VMAs? Damn straight. But that brief moment of rockstar status in the shower was just enough of an ego boost to let me cruise through the rest of my kids' carpools that day like a boss.
So go ahead and hit me one more time, Frank. Because just like a certain former midriff-baring Mouseketeer, I'm convinced this pretty package is worthy of an encore.
Or at least a glitzy, four-year residency in Vegas.