When the Yoni Duster was gifted to me just before I embarked on my eight month excursion to South America, the first thought that came to mind was “obviously this is a joke, I am not currently in possession of a yoni!” And really, the tendency of feminine hygiene products to be given to men in jest is high. I was assured that this was not, in fact, a gag gift, and it came highly recommended for my nether regions during the hundreds of kilometers I would be biking, hiking, and possibly log rolling.
Along with providing lots of adventure, travel will usually present some unexpected twists and turns. I keep this in mind while packing, only bringing the most useful of essentials that will serve me in a variety of situations. So I reluctantly added this to the precious space I had left, with the same thought to all of the things packed, if it does not serve useful, it can be jettisoned to those who are more in need of it than myself. For all throughout South America, surely there must be a yoni in need of freshening!
For the first few weeks of travel I was immersed in city life and the Yoni Duster, much like Sauron’s Ring of Power, became lost. It sat at the bottom of my travel pack with all the extra batteries, first aid kit, passport photocopies, and American coins, only to make extra weight and remain all but forgotten.
Even after the first, second, and third bike rides the YD stayed with it’s “I packed you because you’ll be useful later” friends. Meanwhile, the Columbian heat and humidity were having their way with my skin, unbeknownst to me the solution, like all solutions in this world, lay within (my rucksack), and all I had to do was dig deep (in my backpack).
Then, through the fortunate event of my flashlight running out of battery, I had to venture into the abysm to get replacements. EUREKA! There sat the Yoni Duster, beckoning for me to remain fresh and dry! And not only did it do that efficiently, but upon application it felt as if Selene, goddess of the Moon, allowed a faint kiss of the summer breeze to the area of influence.
Of course this proved enough validity to justify Yoni Duster’s passage, but as the cycle portion of my journey came to pass, the Duster once again found itself stowed away. This time moved up in the packing order, amongst the bug repellent, condoms, extra hair ties, and all of the things that are more likely to be useful, but still not daily. That is, until I reached another booming metropolis.
While planning this journey, I was under the impression the majority of my time would be spent in the wilderness, on the road, consorting with other nature lovers such as myself. And although us Children of the Forest are clean, we tend not to accentuate importance on the significance of body odor. This, however, is not the consensus of the tragically stylish, ridiculously good-looking populace of Medellin, and with quick alienation, I came to realize a change was needed.
But I did not want to walk the path of the Old Spice or Speed Stick, much like all of the other Western solutions that mask the genesis of the problem while compounding it underneath a bandage. I wanted au naturale. And because I came to find this void in my life just before submerging myself into the discotheques, all of the organic stores had withered to close hours prior.
This time I actually remembered that all of the answers I need are inside! And if the Yoni Duster had worked so well on my nethers, why shouldn’t it be able to handle moving up a few floors?
Sure enough, I felt like I was in a 1980s deodorant commercial, dancing my way through the clubs, arms up in the air like a silly gringo. I didn’t smell like a dirty hippy until five in the morning when everyone in the club reeked of post Soul Cycle. By then I was sure of the effectivity of the Yoni Duster, after polling numerous Colombianas the same question, “¿Tengo olor?” Score one more for the Yoni Duster.
Of course, I wouldn’t be this enthusiastic for a product if it stopped at two uses. Oh no, the Duster continued to impress.
Along my journey I was joined by my sister, fresh out of society with the keen nose to prove it. Quickly, sharing a hostel became an issue when the effluvium of her brother’s shoes permeated the habitation. Not wanting to leave the shoes outside exposed to the elements, feral dogs, or rabid alpaca, I had to find another solution. As I had just recounted the saving grace of the YD, and it moving up in the pecking order to the toiletries bag with all of the daily users, that magic powder was fresh on my mind.
I thought to myself, if it had been this effective on my body, why wouldn’t it work on another emanation my body has generated? It was the first time the power of the Yoni Duster failed to impress. After liberally dusting the shoes, as the name implied, before bed, I ran to greet them the next morning like a child on Christmas Day. And like Ralphie hoping for his Red Rider BB Gun, I was met with a steaming pile of disappointment when I hit the wall of putrid stench. Alas, I thought, the limitations of the Yoni have been reached.
Luckily, I had my astute sister along for this part of the journey. “Your shoes smell like a goat ate a pile of tainted cabbage and then threw up in them. Do you really think one treatment overnight will alleviate that scent?”
OK, maybe patience and perseverance could pay off. It seems to be important in other areas of my life from time to time, so why not this one?
One more night of application, a big disappointing nothing.
Third night of application. Glory be! And on the fourth day he rested. Finally, after the third holy dusting, the shoes were exorcised to the point they were allowed back into the home without complaint. With regular application, the hikers maintained their freshness for as long as their soles continued useful.
Now I know all of these uses were in a similar genre of odor elimination and drying capability, but the Swiss Army knife of toiletries still had another trick up its sleeve.
My next part of the adventure took me high into the Andes. A place that is unparallelled in beauty, with very little human contact and even less human comforts. Being at 4,000 meters, it was cold most days. Having the nearest civilization hundreds of kilometers away, electricity was unavailable and hot water was unheard of. Which meant my appointment with Dr. Bronner and his lovely, lavender soap, was kept to about four minutes of tortuous, skin tightening, Wim Hof breathing to get through the glacial scrub. This did not leave much time for hair care, and after a week of living like this, my hair began to have the natural look of Jheri Curl application.
The greasy look did not bode well for the photo shoots that proved that I was, in fact, in this magnificent landscape. I knew it doesn’t even count having been to a place if I can’t post it on social media, so I had to solve this problem without the aid of Walgreens. Since the Yoni had solved all (well, almost all) of the problems I had prior on this journey, why not this one?
This time it didn’t even take three tries to work, the Duster hit a home run on the first application. Rubbed a bit into my hair and, alakazam! Grease be gone!! And lookin’ mighty good for the next top o’ the mountain photo shoot I might add.
Like all incredible adventures, this one too had to come to an end. After one final application, prying off the top of the container to scrape the last flecks of Yoni Duster snowflakes onto my pits, I felt a chapter in my life coming to a close. The Duster and I had been through a lifetime together, 4,200 kilometers across a continent, venturing with me in my most intimate of places. YD gave me confidence, health, and a freshness upon this journey. You served me well Yoni Duster, you multi tool of human hygiene, and hopefully this plug gets me a free container of Yoni Duster for my next adventure. Thank you Yoni Duster.
Follow Caleb's adventures at @calebrozina