Not so long ago, a man’s bathroom looked like the scene of an archaeological crime: a mummified bar of soap dating back to the Sarkozy era, a fossilized can of shaving foam, and a bottle of cologne gifted by Aunt Ginette in 2014, never opened, never missed. Male hygiene could be summed up in one simple philosophy: “if it stings in the shower, it must be cleaning something.”

Then, suddenly, it happened.

An epidemic.

Young men, their brains vacuumed into their screens sixteen hours a day, made a seismic discovery: there are other liquids in the world besides the legendary 3-in-1 shower gel for “hair, body, and soul.”

Meanwhile, their elders, suddenly convinced they would live to the age of one hundred and ten thanks to a €40 serum, began stockpiling creams, exfoliators, and lotions the way people stockpile excuses for not doing the dishes. The result? Men’s grooming sales are exploding faster than the beard of an influencer overdosing on vitamin D, B12, and ego.

Marketing experts, those great scholars, thought unisex products would change everything.

They were wrong.

The true architects of this hair-and-skin revolution were an army of fifteen-second videos, the famous “looksmaxxing” movement (meaning: spending three hours measuring your jawline angle instead of replying to your messages), a handful of facial-optimization gurus, and hordes of young men studying themselves from every conceivable angle as though they were negotiating for a role in Thor.

While certain wellness prophets were busy presenting PowerPoints on seventeen-step skin-chakra harmonization routines (morning, noon, night, and just in case, at 3 a.m.), Dr. Squatch was selling soap with playground jokes, limited editions, and videos capable of turning an ordinary bar of soap into a global TikTok superstar.

The result? Mountains of soap sold and customers laughing almost as much as they were lathering, a marketing feat that deserves, if not a Nobel Prize, at least a gold star.

In short, ladies, the ideal is not to expect these gentlemen to become Greek gods of personal care sculpted in argan oil. The goal is far more modest: simply that they no longer trigger a public health alert every time they enter a room.

That’s what we call progress.

We also call it: the bare minimum.

FM