Superdrug is a curious shop for a man to enter at the best of times. It’s stacked to the ceiling with enough mysterious cosmetics, magic oils and hair detangling devices to make our heads spin.
I adopt the exact same expression every time I enter Superdrug. It’s called the stray dog look. I pace four steps behind my girlfriend, occasionally nosing at products with ingredients that mean next to nothing to me, and veering towards whichever aisle holds the chocolate, or the exit; or both if I’m feeling criminal.
There are only two reasons why you would possibly find me in a Superdrug.
Reason number one: If I’ve heard rumours, albeit unconfirmed, that the Terry’s Chocolate Orange multipacks are back in stock. 4 for 99p is unmissable.
Reason number two: I’ve been collared by the girlfriend yet again. It’s Saturday afternoon and she needs my ‘expert opinion’ on which shade of brown hair dye is best for her. Ladies, if you’ve ever questioned the distant look in your boyfriend’s eyes as he weighs up this decision, I can tell you that he’s processing the exact same calculations as the rest of us: “Eenie meenie miney mo…”
There is one exception to my law of Superdrug avoidance, and it doesn’t happen very often.
To explain, just recently I mourned the demise of a shampoo product that had served me well for several months. Like many men, I have a problem with accepting that I’m out of shampoo. It’s just such a non-essential purchase for a man that I will often go days eeking every last smear from the bottle before I can bring myself to buy a new one.
Do you ever aim the shower-head at your conditioner so that it overflows and produces just enough foam to douse your hair one more time? Well, I do. I will punch the bottle against the shower wall, several times, before tripping over my flailing limbs and finally admitting, “enough is enough.” Then, and only then, will I stomp out the front door towards Superdrug.
On these rare occasions that I decide to replenish the bathroom cupboards, my demands are perfectly reasonable. I don’t want a spa day. I don’t need to be pampered. I just want some Head & Shoulders that washes my hair, destroys the flakies, and doesn’t cost an arm and leg. Is that so much to ask?
What part of this equation was so difficult for Head & Shoulders to understand?
Somewhere on the 127th floor of a towering skyscraper, Mr. Head & Shoulders Chief Executive is laughing his ass off at the thought of guys like myself confronting the 13 different variations of his product, and being forced to make a decision.
Do I want citrus fresh hair? Or how about cool menthol? No wait, there’s always the maximum anti-dandruff wartime option? And what’s this? Head & Shoulders ‘Endurance Shampoo’?
What life situation could possibly call for endurance shampoo? Is it just a friendly way of appealing to men with receding hairlines? Perhaps you’re telling me that every last strand is going to fight for survival before falling in to Widows Peak. Then again, if my hair is going to go out, maybe I’d like to lose it with a citrus fresh bang? Who are Head & Shoulders to tell me I can have one but not the other?
By the time I’ve made a decision, Superdrug is already getting on my nerves. To cheer myself up, I’ll search for meaning in some of their more abstract shop-floor decisions; such as why somebody felt the need to place security warnings on packets of Nurofen.
Seriously, when was the last time anybody entered Superdrug with the intention of an ibuprofen heist?
I have seen women in these stores looking slightly maniacal, but it’s not the Nurofen that needs security protection. It’s the mascara, the blusher, and the lip gloss!
How do you women get away with it? There is clearly an unspoken rule among your kind that explains how “try before you buy” extends to painting half of your wrist and still putting it back on the shelf because it wasn’t the right shade of purple.
I see so much theft down the cosmetic aisle that it’s a wonder Superdrug still makes a profit.
I start thinking, hmmm… maybe I should start my own party in the supplement section? I’ve always been interested in the effectiveness of those Vitamin Bs, Cs and Ds. If Superdrug is so relaxed on its policy of try before you buy, maybe I’ll bring a jug of water next time and help myself to a cod liver oil cocktail. Who’s going to tell?
One thing is for sure. I won’t be helping myself to Nurofen tablets anytime soon. Getting arrested over a Tension Headache is not my idea of a Saturday afternoon well spent.
Finally, there’s the Superdrug beautycard. It comes with a mirror surface that you can see your face in, which is a shame, because I resemble a sort of constipated horse by the time I reach the checkout.
I’m going to be honest, I just don’t get the purpose of the beautycard. I appreciate the principle, but it causes such irrational anger in relationships.
Once upon a time, I ventured to Superdrug without my girlfriend and committed the heinous crime of buying some Lynx without using her rewards card. I thought I was attempting to smell respectable, she thought I was deceiving her in the worst possible way.
The almighty cold shoulder taught me a valuable lesson in life, though…
Hell hath no fury like woman who could have had Superdrug points.