What We Are Buying Today: Soap and Glory

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Updated 06 March 2020
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What We Are Buying Today: Soap and Glory

As someone with skin that is drier than land in the desert, I have always struggled to find skincare products that can adequately moisturize and nourish my skin. Soap and Glory was suggested to me when I shared my struggles with a friend and has been a revelation.

This brand will help you take care of your body. Its products are not greasy but still manage to stay on your skin and nourish it in just the right way. The shower gel, for example, contains moisturizer so that even before you apply any lotion your skin already feels soft when you step out of the shower.

My favorite thing about Soap and Glory’s products is the scents. After using The Righteous Butter body butter, which contains shea butter and aloe vera, I received compliments for how good it smells. There are also hand cream and foot care products, also made with shea butter, that smell of roses and bergamot orange.

The products are fun to use and come with creative and playful instructions. For example, the Hand Food hydrating hand cream, with shea butter, macadamia and marshmallow, cautions that “even though it smells tasty, it is not meant to be eaten.”

Overall, Soap and Glory provides the best skincare products I have tried and is my favorite brand. Its products are available at the Boots Pharmacy in Jeddah.


Decoding villains at an Emirates LitFest panel in Dubai

Updated 25 January 2026
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Decoding villains at an Emirates LitFest panel in Dubai

DUBAI: At this year’s Emirates Airline Festival of Literature in Dubai, a panel on Saturday titled “The Monster Next Door,” moderated by Shane McGinley, posed a question for the ages: Are villains born or made?

Novelists Annabel Kantaria, Louise Candlish and Ruth Ware, joined by a packed audience, dissected the craft of creating morally ambiguous characters alongside the social science that informs them. “A pure villain,” said Ware, “is chilling to construct … The remorselessness unsettles you — How do you build someone who cannot imagine another’s pain?”

Candlish described character-building as a gradual process of “layering over several edits” until a figure feels human. “You have to build the flesh on the bone or they will remain caricatures,” she added.

The debate moved quickly to the nature-versus-nurture debate. “Do you believe that people are born evil?” asked McGinley, prompting both laughter and loud sighs.

Candlish confessed a failed attempt to write a Tom Ripley–style antihero: “I spent the whole time coming up with reasons why my characters do this … It wasn’t really their fault,” she said, explaining that even when she tried to excise conscience, her character kept expressing “moral scruples” and second thoughts.

“You inevitably fold parts of yourself into your creations,” said Ware. “The spark that makes it come alive is often the little bit of you in there.”

Panelists likened character creation to Frankenstein work. “You take the irritating habit of that co‑worker, the weird couple you saw in a restaurant, bits of friends and enemies, and stitch them together,” said Ware.

But real-world perspective reframed the literary exercise in stark terms. Kantaria recounted teaching a prison writing class and quoting the facility director, who told her, “It’s not full of monsters. It’s normal people who made a bad decision.” She recalled being struck that many inmates were “one silly decision” away from the crimes that put them behind bars. “Any one of us could be one decision away from jail time,” she said.

The panelists also turned to scientific findings through the discussion. Ware cited infant studies showing babies prefer helpers to hinderers in puppet shows, suggesting “we are born with a natural propensity to be attracted to good.”

Candlish referenced twin studies and research on narrative: People who can form a coherent story about trauma often “have much better outcomes,” she explained.

“Both things will end up being super, super neat,” she said of genes and upbringing, before turning to the redemptive power of storytelling: “When we can make sense of what happened to us, we cope better.”

As the session closed, McGinley steered the panel away from tidy answers. Villainy, the authors agreed, is rarely the product of an immutable core; more often, it is assembled from ordinary impulses, missteps and circumstances. For writers like Kantaria, Candlish and Ware, the task is not to excuse cruelty but “to understand the fragile architecture that holds it together,” and to ask readers to inhabit uncomfortable but necessary perspectives.