Hand Lotion
Hand Lotion occupies a paradoxical place in the Republic of Gilead: officially banned as a vanity for Handmaids, yet secretly coveted and used as a minor but meaningful act of resistance. For Offred, the quest for hand lotion becomes a thread connecting her to the Commander's illicit world, to the shared rituals of the Handmaids, and to the fragile maintenance of her own humanity.
Prohibition and the Logic of Vanity
In Gilead, hand lotion and face cream are considered vanities, forbidden to Handmaids. The regime's logic, as Offred understands it, is that women like her are "containers, it's only the insides of our bodies that are important. The outside can become hard and wrinkled, for all they care, like the shell of a nut." This decree originates from the Wives, who do not want the Handmaids to look attractive. The prohibition strips Handmaids of the means to care for their skin, reinforcing their status as mere vessels for reproduction.
The Butter Substitute and Shared Ritual
Deprived of commercial lotions, the Handmaids develop a substitute: butter. Offred learns this trick at the Rachel and Leah Re-education Center, known as the Red Center. She saves butter from her meals, wrapping it in a paper napkin and hiding it in the toe of her shoe. At night, she rubs the butter over her face and hands. This practice is widespread among the Handmaids; Offred notes that her predecessor in the room, the woman with freckles who wrote "Nolite te bastardes carborundorum" on the closet wall, must have done the same. The buttering ritual becomes a private ceremony of hope: "As long as we do this, butter our skin to keep it soft, we can believe that we will some day get out, that we will be touched again, in love or desire." The butter, though greasy and prone to going rancid, is at least organic, a small connection to a world of choice and care.
The Commander's Gift and Its Ambiguity
Offred eventually asks the Commander for hand lotion during one of their secret Scrabble sessions. He is initially puzzled by the request, musing that using butter is "very clever." On the fourth evening, he gives her a plastic bottle of unlabeled lotion. It is of poor quality, smelling faintly of vegetable oil, and Offred suspects it may be hospital-grade, intended for bedsores. She thanks him anyway. The gift is fraught with ambiguity: it is a small concession, but it also reinforces the power imbalance. The Commander watches her apply the lotion with "that same air of looking in through the bars," and Offred feels as if he is in the bathroom with her. She must keep the lotion in his study, because her room is subject to searches for contraband like razor blades, books, and black-market goods. The lotion thus becomes a token of their secret arrangement, a reminder that even this small comfort is contingent on his whim.
The Body as a Site of Resistance
The hand lotion, like the butter, represents Offred's refusal to let her body become entirely instrumentalized. In a system that values only her reproductive capacity, the act of moisturizing her skin is a way of asserting that her body still belongs to her, that it is still capable of being touched with tenderness. The lotion is a fragile, almost pathetic tool of resistance, but it is one of the few means she has to maintain a sense of self. It is a small, tangible link to the past, to a time when she could choose her own cosmetics and care for her body without permission. The lotion, like the butter, is a ceremony of hope, a way of believing that she will someday be touched again in love or desire.
