Last week, I learned that my eye shadow has been discontinued. Specifically, it was what they call a ‘quad’ — four colours in four tiny pots in one shiny little silver box. It was made by Clinique and named “Teddy Bear” because of course we need to give these things dumb monikers. The name is the one thing I disliked about this product. What about “Natural Neutrals” or “Soft Sands” or something a tad less juvenile? Well, whatever. It’s moot now. I’ve been wearing it for years, and it took me ages to find it in the first place. I have ridiculously sensitive eyes, and almost all shadows make them red and itchy, which of course is very attractive. So I tested and tried and cried and scratched, until I found this pleasing, matte, glitter-free, neutral shadow palette. Yippee!!

I’ve been wearing a bit of makeup for my entire working life, mostly to smooth out the skin tone and give my eyes a little definition. Without shadow and mascara, I look exactly like a sleepy rabbit. That doesn’t seem very professional to me. People would think I was dozing off during interviews. Ergo, makeup. And then, for weeks, I couldn’t find Teddy Bear (argh) anywhere. Not in stores, not online, not even on the Clinique site. Finally, I “chatted” with a “real” person, who said yup, it’s toast. (Ha! Another name possibility. Toasted Almond and Chocolate?) I actually yelled. Out loud. “NOOOOO!!!!” Scared my husband. Oops.

Whoa, I thought a second later. I’m actually really upset. What is wrong with me? It’s eye shadow, for heaven’s sake, not (for example) a life-saving drug. So then, four days later, I read the Globe and Mail. In the opinion section was an entire page written by columnist Adrian Lee on this Very Same Subject. The death of products we love. The headline: When we lose a beloved product, we lose a part of ourselves. Call that what it is: grief.

Whoa, I thought again. He’s not kidding around here. In Adrian’s case, he lost his Old Spice Arctic Force deodorant, and had a similar experience. Often out of stock, then poof. He got in touch with Procter and Gamble, makers of this desirable item, and sure enough. Verified demise. I felt thoroughly validated by this brother in misery. And a lot better. I’m not the only one grieving. Apparently, this is a thing, this sadness over “losing” products you have come to use long-term and love. They’re part of you, part of your routine. They allow you to carry on without looking endlessly for the next perfect thing, which is annoying, time-consuming and expensive. Psychologically, they inform our lizard brains that there is at least some stability in life and therefore all is well.

s well. (I could go on here, too, about my discontinued pillow, and the hundreds of dollars I have spent trying others to support my messedup neck. Pillows, you know, are not returnable. But I won’t. I note this, however, because sometimes a product can literally change your life and your comfort by letting you, for example, get some sleep.) To his credit, despite the racket I made, hubs sympathized. He drinks, on occasion, a certain locally-brewed beer which he can no longer purchase in bottles. Cans only. He is sad. There are a few well-known products leaving our Canadian shelves. Bugles, a snack I never did like but others did, were eliminated several months ago. Now, Kleenex is on its way out, says Kimberly-Clark, due to “unique challenges” whatever that means and despite its eponymous name. Yup, I buy Kleenex, and yup, I’m going to miss that brand, too. So if you miss your cosmetic colour, your deodorant scent, your favourite snack or tissue, you are not alone. Here’s my shoulder to cry on.

***

On, briefly, to a much bigger thing. As I write this, a bit early because inspiration around dying products hit, the air quality is 10+ nasty. It’s been so bad lately, there was a possibility of cancelling the Labour Day Classic. (Which would have been a tragedy, considering the outcome. The Riders won!) If this smoke problem has not resolved by the time you read this, I may have gone completely mad. These apocalyptic-looking skies, the lung-curdling pollution and nosecrushing reek are not just physically but mentally unhealthy. I’ve had enough. Someone. Make. It. Stop.

-Joanne Paulson