I am dressed in a layer of beef tallow. I’m wearing clothes, too, but that’s not the point. You would think I’d smell like a slaughterhouse, but the jar of beef tallow I’m sampling, Fat Marshmallow (henceforth my stripper name), is modeled after Marshmallow Fluff, with the instructions “Try not to lick it off!”
I bought this whipped concoction at the suggestion of a friend who swore that it completely changed her skin—and now I’m wondering in what way. Her masseuse, who lives in Big Sur, suggested it, “and her skin is like butter,” my friend texted. I believe it because mine is now like butter, too, or, really, buttercream. Imagine blending a stick of Land O’Lakes with vanilla and confectioners’ sugar and smearing it onto your legs. Now step into your jeans and try to pretend that the sensation doesn’t make you want to rip everything off and run screaming into the street.
