A local skin care formulator weighs in on one of the most popular buzz words in beauty marketing

A word that used to, back in the day, be associated with your daily house chores is now stamped on a wide range of skin care products—and statistics show lots of customers are sold on the idea of “clean” beauty.

According to the NPD Group, the natural skin care market has skyrocketed in recent years—growing 23 percent, about $1.6 billion, from 2017 to 2018 alone.

But what does “clean” really mean? Should this word drive a decision to purchase one product over another? We asked Karrye Flowers, founder and lead formulator for Oshun Organics, LLC in the Lynchburg Community Market, to help sort out the vocabulary.

Clean, defined (sort of)

First off, there is no set definition for what makes a product truly “clean.” The Food and Drug Administration does not regulate these product descriptions.

But Flowers says the general consensus in the skin care world is that “clean” means non-toxic.

“That’s also very subjective,” she explains, adding that they only use objective words to describe or market their plant-based products. “For example, we say our products are vegan. Vegan is a very specific word with a clear definition. Everything is derived from plants. We naturally scent and dye our products with essential oils or plant extracts.”

Don’t just read, research

She says with the rise of “clean” beauty products, customers are starting to take a closer look at that long ingredient list on the back of their face wash or eye cream. That’s a good thing, but with one caveat.

“People want things to be 100 percent natural, so they are looking for my ingredient list to only say things like ‘aloe vera’ and ‘coconut oil.’ But it’s very important to me that the products I offer are effective, as well as minimally processed. There is a balance,” Flowers said.

Meaning: You might need a stronger concentration of an ingredient, even a plant-based one, for it to work. For example, at first glance cetyl alcohol may look like an unrecognizable chemical. But it’s actually derived from palm oil, Flowers explained.

“You want to be able to trace an ingredient back to where it came from, even if it was lab created. You can’t make something from nothing,” she says.

Paraben propaganda?
Dermatologists are often critical of the natural skin care movement and the ingredients that have been red flagged through the years: such as sulfates, parabens, chemical sunscreens and others.

In an article published by JAMA Dermatology, “Natural Does Not Mean Safe—The Dirt on Clean Beauty Products,” two dermatologists wrote: “… many of the strongest voices in the clean beauty movement suggest avoiding ingredients owing to a theoretical risk of endocrine disruption and cancer, despite the fact that a causative relationship between these disease states and the concentration of these ingredients in cosmetic products has not been proven scientifically.”

They went on to say there is a safe use of preservatives such as parabens in order to prevent severe infections in users. Again, balance is key.

Flowers agrees that the research is limited, at best, about so many skin care ingredients, and says preservatives have their place, especially in skin care.

“You want to have some preservatives in anything you buy to prevent the growth of bacteria. Every time you put your hand in that jar of cream, you are taking bad microbia and putting it in there,” she says.

Getting practical

The only ingredients Flowers says she would try to avoid in skin care products are dyes.

“For many creams and lotions, you will find something like red 4 or yellow 2 at the end. They are so unnecessary and only make the product look good,” she explains. “They do nothing for you.”

Also, beware of greenwashing. Don’t buy a product solely because the creator claims it’s clean or more environmentally sound. Do your research.

Otherwise, if a “clean” product you swear by works for you, then by all means keep using it.

Just don’t get on a soapbox about it. It’s just a word after all.

Learn more about Oshun Organics, LLC at oshunorganics.com.

Memories of a sweet summer job

Virginia loves melons. They grow wonderfully in our climate, and they make the perfect sweet addition to every picnic table. However, there is one melon that has brought Virginia some attention: the cantaloupe, a deceptive fruit with a blandly colored, rough netted rind and soft, juicy center.

There is a hidden beauty in these modest melons. They aren’t printed on tablecloths and sundresses or painted into Norman Rockwell’s idyllic picnic scenes. However, I would argue that they should be. After all, despite the cantaloupe’s quiet, non-ostentatious reputation, it is the most popular melon in America, consistently outselling the pompous watermelon.

But despite loving and growing up around cantaloupes, I can honestly say I didn’t fully appreciate them either until I spent a summer years ago deep in cantaloupe juice. That kind of intimacy with a melon? Well, let’s just say it changes things.

If you are traveling north on Route 43 in Bedford County towards the Peaks of Otter, you will spot a quaint little store resting in mountain shadows and encircled by crouching peach trees. The single ancient gas pump still works, and inside you’ll find the best pie in the Blue Ridge, among other wonderful treats.

At Mountain Fruit and Produce, where I worked that summer, we got cantaloupes by the box load. By the shopping cart load. By the truck load. And we sold it, too, hand over fist.

Restocking dry goods on the shelves involved battling the crates of cantaloupes that were left in the aisle for lack of better floorspace. We sold them whole, we sold them in slices, in ice-cream form, and in juice form.

People would wander up the mountain specifically in search of a good cantaloupe. They would tap their fingers against the rind, sniff the bottom where the vine was once connected, give it a good shake and inquire as to where each cantaloupe was grown until they settled on the perfect one—the cantaloupe of their dreams. Over the course of that one summer we probably sold a thousand cantaloupes. Suddenly, a large portion of my hourly wages was thanks to this one particular fruit.

That summer I sliced, diced, peeled, pulverized and blended hundreds of pounds of cantaloupe. I would arrive at the store in the morning and be ushered to a shopping cart straining under the weight of our most recent shipment. It was delivered to us from the orchards in beat up flatbed trucks loaded down with farm hands.

I learned even more tips and tricks on spotting the perfect cantaloupe: one that is nearly round, weighs about three pounds, gives just a little when you squeeze it, and makes a nice hollow knocking sound when tapped.

Unlike the watermelon, the cantaloupe is easy to work with. A sharp blade slices through the rind with little effort and the center of the fruit is so soft that if the knife wielder is not careful, he may lose control of the tool and cut himself, caught unaware when the blade falls rapidly through the meat. (Trust me.) Once halved, the delicious sun-colored fruit clings closely to the thin rind where a ring of light green brings the two together. The fruit is light, soft and sweet.

At the center of each half is a hollow cavity where around 400 little seeds are stored in a runny liquid, best removed by a metal stirring spoon. But as I learned at Mountain Fruit and Produce, you must be careful to not scrape away too much of the fruit. In the cantaloupe ice-cream business, every bit counts.

Long before becoming a beloved summer farmers market find, the cantaloupe wasn’t even grown in the U.S. It originated in Iran, India and Africa, around 5,000 years ago, where it grew naturally and was a staple food for the natives of each region. Europe’s first encounter with the cantaloupe, however, is quite an interesting tale.

There is much debate surrounding the truth of this story, but it is worth being told. Thirty miles north of Rome, there was a small papal village by the name of Cantalupo di Sabina. In this village rested the country estate of Pope Paul II, a very large, very demanding Pope who held his office from 1464 to 1471. During this time, an envoy of Armenians arrived from the East bearing gifts of melons, namely, the cantaloupe. Pope Paul had one taste and was mystified. He became obsessed with the cantaloupe, devoting garden space to the wandering vine and demanding that they be grown and harvested in the best possible conditions, ensuring the best possible outcome.

Paul was a pious man. (Maybe. It’s debatable.) But his desire for the melon was insatiable, and in July of 1471, at the age of 54, Pope Paul II suffered a heart attack and died. What brought on this heart attack? He suffered severe indigestion brought on after gorging himself on multiple cantaloupes hours before his death. Or so the story goes.

Fast forward several years and Christopher Columbus brought the cantaloupe with him on his maiden voyage to the New World in 1492. The fruit grew wonderfully in America’s fertile, loamy soil and thus the cantaloupe turned a new leaf, feeding settlers, natives, colonists and revolutionaries, to eventually find a soft landing place in every grocery store across the U.S.

Virginia has particularly loved and embraced the cantaloupe. In fact, in pre-pandemic years, we had a thriving festival dedicated to it. The Virginia Cantaloupe Festival began in 1981 in Halifax County, where it is suggested that the best of the best cantaloupes are grown. In past years, the festival limited ticket sales to “only 1,500” and they would always sell out.

With all of this information in mind, I hope the next time you discover that pale orange cube in your fruit cup you won’t dismiss it entirely. The cantaloupe is not meant to be plucked before its prime, crammed into a plastic cup alongside other, less worthy fruits and refrigerated for weeks on end. It is meant to be enjoyed fresh, in its boldest colors. Or better yet, as a dessert.

To this day, enjoying a spoonful of freshly made cantaloupe ice cream at Mountain Fruit and Produce brings back memories of that summer where I learned to respect this misunderstood melon.

How to Choose a Cantaloupe

Color—The outside should be a uniform pale, creamy yellow, with no green or white.
Webbing—The web-like texture covering the melon should be consistently rough ridges all the way around.
Stem—A ripe cantaloupe will fall on its own from the vine. The point where the stem was attached should be a little indented. If it is poking or bulging out, it could mean the farmer cut the melon too early.
Scent—The stronger the smell at the stem, the riper the melon.
Feel—Give it a good squeeze. If it’s hard, it’s not ripe. It should give a little in your hands. If it’s squishy, it’s overripe. That doesn’t mean it’s a goner! These are great for juicing.
Sound—Finally, give it a little knock. You should hear a low, solid thunk. A high-pitched sound could mean unripe.