I Make "Natural" Soap. But My Skin Disagrees.

In my last blog post, I left off with these closing statements:

This is why the phrase “natural soap” can be misleading. It suggests that some soaps are free from chemistry or somehow closer to nature than others. In reality, all soapmaking is chemistry. Oils are transformed through chemical reactions. Alkalis are refined through industrial processes. Even the oldest traditional methods relied on chemical transformations happening in wooden vats and iron pots.

What matters far more than the label is how thoughtfully a product is formulated: which oils are used, how the cleansing system behaves on skin, and how the final bar performs in everyday life.

And this is where my relationship with soap gets… complicated.

My husband loves soap. Truly. He notices it, collects it, seeks out new bars the way someone might explore coffee or wine. Naturally, that meant I started making it.

And I became obsessed with the process.

Soapmaking is deeply satisfying. The precision of weighing oils, the transformation at trace, the quiet alchemy of saponification—it’s a formulator’s playground. You can tweak fatty acid profiles, adjust superfat, play with cure times. It’s endlessly variable.

And yet, after all that… I confirmed something I’ve always felt about soap:

Meh.

No matter how “gentle” the formula, how low the cleansing number, how high the superfat—my hands feel like I’ve dipped them in paint thinner. Or like I’ve just finished sanding them down. Raw. Tight. Slightly squeaky in a way that doesn’t feel clean, just stripped.

After a ten-minute shower, it’s even more noticeable.

So I had to ask: why?

Why soap can feel so stripping

True soap—the kind made with oils and lye—is inherently alkaline. Most finished bars sit around pH 9–10.

Your skin sits much lower, around pH 4.5–5.5.

That gap matters.

Alkaline cleansers:

• disrupt the skin’s acid mantle
• swell the outer layer of skin
• increase transepidermal water loss
• and most importantly, bind to and remove oils indiscriminately

Soap doesn’t distinguish between “dirty oil” and your own skin lipids. It lifts both.

Hands feel it the most because:

• they’re washed frequently
• they have fewer oil glands
• they’re constantly exposed

So even a well-formulated soap can feel stripping—because chemically, that’s what it’s designed to do.

The memory that didn’t fit

In the middle of all this, I remembered something.

As a kid, I loved Aveeno soap.
And I never had that same stripped feeling with Dove Beauty Bar.

That didn’t make sense—until I looked closer.

They’re not actually “soap” in the traditional sense.

They’re syndet bars.

What is a syndet bar?

“Syndet” stands for synthetic detergent.

Which sounds harsh—but in practice, these bars are often milder than soap.

Instead of relying on saponified oils, syndet bars use surfactants that are:

• formulated closer to the skin’s natural pH
• more selective in how they cleanse
• less disruptive to the skin barrier

Many of these surfactants are derived from plant materials—like coconut or sugar—then processed into consistent, stable cleansing agents.

So while they’re not “traditional,” they’re also not disconnected from natural inputs. They simply take a different route through chemistry.

And that difference matters.

Because pH-balanced, milder surfactants:

• remove what needs to be removed
• while leaving more of your skin intact

Which explains why my hands don’t feel raw after using them.

Now, don't get me wrong—I'm not ignoring the fact that some of these syndet bars do contain added synthetic chemicals like fragrances and colorants that I'm not keen on. But I am pointing out that the skincare industry often takes a concept (in this case "traditional soap" and spins it to take advantage of our quest to live more aligned with nature while ignoring the chemical truth.

A note on lye, “natural,” and what we’re actually doing

There’s a certain narrative in soapmaking that emphasizes how “natural” lye soap is.

And yes—lye (sodium hydroxide) is neutralized during saponification. A properly made bar of soap does not contain free lye.

But that doesn’t mean the chemistry disappears.

Sodium hydroxide is an extremely strong alkali. It’s used industrially to break down organic material—including, notably, in processes that can dissolve human tissue. For this very reason, its handled as a corrosive, caustic substance requiring safety precautions to prevent soap makers from dissolving themselves.

That same reactivity is what drives soapmaking.

And while it is transformed in the process, the resulting product is still an alkaline cleanser designed to interact aggressively with oils.

For some people, that’s perfectly fine.

For others—especially those with more sensitive skin—it can feel like you’re constantly working against your own barrier.

For me, it feels like I’m trying to dissolve myself, slowly, one wash at a time. I might lean more towards being an introvert but by no means do I need to make myself completely disappear!

Where this shows up in real life

At markets, I’ve had more than a handful of people come up to my booth and assume that everything I make is “all natural.”

And while I understand where that comes from, it made me pause. 

Because there’s a difference between:

• something being thoughtfully formulated
• something being derived from natural inputs
• and something being assumed to be “natural” without question

That gap—between assumption and reality—is where people can unintentionally mislead themselves.

And where a maker has a responsibility to be clear.

A small but meaningful shift: lip balm flavours

Last year, I made a decision that reflects that responsibility, but not for marketing's sake—but rather a personal decision that benefits my customers.

I switched from natural lip balm flavours to certified organic lip balm flavours.

Not because I suddenly believed “organic” is inherently better—but because it’s verifiable.

Flavour oils, like fragrances, can be complex mixtures. They can contain or be formulated with compounds like phthalates, which are sometimes used as solvents or fixatives. Some phthalates have been associated with endocrine disruption and reproductive effects at certain exposure levels, and they are not required to be declared in an ingredient list. In fact, suppliers don't even declare them, so unless we know to dig further and ask the questions, they could very well be lurking in your so-called "natural" skincare products.

Parabens, on the other hand, are preservatives—not typically used in flavour oils—but they come up in the same conversations around ingredient safety and perception.

Suppliers often state that their materials are “phthalate-free” or “paraben-free,” which is helpful—but it’s still just a declaration.

Certification is different.

Certified organic flavour oils have gone through third-party auditing to meet defined standards. In organic frameworks, phthalates are not permitted, and ingredient inputs are tightly restricted and documented.

It doesn’t make them perfect.

But it reduces the gap between what’s claimed and what’s verified. it gives me certainty about what I'm putting on my lips and ultimately, in my body. 

Why this matters more for lip balm

Unlike soap, lip balm doesn’t get rinsed off.

We apply it to our lips. We ingest small amounts of it, repeatedly, over time.

And while the body does have systems to process what we consume—including the liver—it’s not a reason to be careless.

Personally, I’m very particular about what I eat, because my gut is far more sensitive than my skin.

So it makes sense to extend that same level of care to something that lives on my lips.

Not out of fear—but out of alignment.

Coming back to formulation

This is the thread that ties it all together.

Not “natural.”
Not “synthetic.”
Not even “traditional.”

But:

• What is this made of?
• How can we be sure it is actually free-from harmful ingredients?
• How does it behave?
• What does it actually do in real life?
  

Soap taught me that I can love the craft and still feel indifferent about the outcome.

Syndet bars reminded me that chemistry can be used differently.

And something as small as a lip balm flavour became an opportunity to close the gap between assumption and reality.

Because at the end of the day, formulation isn’t about fitting into a category.

It’s about making something that works—honestly, transparently, and with intention.