Do it with kindness

Or, the French body oil that taught me how to love myself

I hope this finds you in the light of kindness. This letter deals with issues of body image; please skip it if you are not in a place to safely and comfortably engage with this topic.

I arrived in Paris from Bangkok one bright, cold December in 2016, just a few days shy of my 31st birthday. I made my way to my hotel, down a small street just off Boulevard St Germain, already beginning to feel my world expand again. It was my first trip back in almost two years, since my move to Bangkok from Seattle (the first year of which was one of the hardest of my life). It was during that trip that I stumbled into a small shop on Rue Bonaparte, enticed by the ornately decorated bottles in the window display.

I had no idea about Buly 1908, the French apothecary and perfumer dating back to the Napoleonic era until that day. I stood in the small, quiet room in awe of everything but especially the body oils, housed within white porcelain bottles with illustrations of ancient Grecian figures. Together with the sales attendant I tested a few scents until I arrived at the one I loved; Ancient Mexican Tuberose. She dropped a little bit of the golden oil on my open palm and told me to try it on my arm and so I did, in my usual rushed, utilitarian way until she stopped me saying “no, no, you must do it slowly, with kindness.” It was, without a doubt, one of the most influential moments of my life.

On the verge of tears, I quickly paid for the bottle and went straight to my hotel. The instructions on the bottle said that it should be applied to freshly washed skin so I took a shower and went to work slowly, kindly covering my body with the oil. After a lifetime of avoiding, hating, and often abusing my body, this mindful tenderness was revolutionary. That day I surrendered to the quiet hatred that lived just below the surface of my daily self care. And, as hard as it was for me to see myself with open eyes, it was the turning point I desperately needed.

In the two years I had been living in Bangkok, a society that very openly and aggressively worships thin whiteness, I had become even more hateful of nearly everything about myself. I had taken to wearing exclusively grays and browns, an attempt to disappear into the background as much as possible. That day, I shed all the layers and looked at every inch of myself, and I showed her kind tenderness. I felt grateful to her, this body that has been by my side through it all. And I asked her to forgive me.

Later that day, eyes red and puffy from crying all the tears I had tightly controlled for years, I walked to the Tuileries garden and took a picture, not of the place but of myself. I posted it to Instagram with the caption “I hope some of this happiness will be mine to keep.” It was the lightness of finally receiving kindness from myself that brought the happiness, catalyzed by a bottle of perfumed body oil that I didn’t think I needed, but I bought anyway. It was one of the best purchases of my life. I’ve been buying the Mexican Tuberose oil on most trips to Paris ever since, not because there’s any magical ingredient that makes me be less hateful to myself, but because scent is a powerful agent of memory and every time I smooth it on I am reminded of that day.

Today I went back to Buly 1803, again after two difficult years that have brought many unwanted changes to my body and mind. And while the issues of today are too strong for this potent oil, I was still brought back to the woman I was five years ago: brave and alone, full of love and kindness for others but herself, a woman who was afraid of many things but did them anyway, always easy to make friends, bright and bubbly even while her heart breaks. I love her so much.