The Christmas Pudding I’m Washing With: Wavertree & London’s Holiday Soap

Confession from a fragrance reporter who tests more sprays than sanity allows: the most decadent scent in my bathroom right now isn’t a perfume. It’s a bar of soap. Wavertree & London Christmas Pudding has been scenting my sink, my hands and frankly my mood, and I’m not mad about it.

This is a triple milled bar, which means it’s dense, long lasting and not the kind that melts into mush by mid-December. First sniff hits with brown sugar and sweet spice, then a spark of citrus peel cuts through the gooeyness. There’s a warm brandy hum in the background that feels cheeky in the best way, and the raisins translate as a plush dried-fruit accord rather than grocery-aisle granola. On skin, the lather is creamy and the scent clings just enough to make you keep sniffing your wrists. In the room, it perfumes the air like a stealth candle.

I grew up with a kitchen ritual where the pudding got a quick kiss of the match. One year the flame leapt a little too high and kissed the ceiling instead. This soap nails that caramelized edge without the chaos. It’s cozy, a little grown-up, and it doesn’t veer into cloying room-spray territory.

Reality check if you’re not a gourmand person: skip it. The profile is unabashedly edible-adjacent. But if spiced desserts and citrusy peel make your heart beat faster, this bar scratches the holiday itch in a way most themed candles don’t. It’s also friendly to layering. After a shower, the subtle trail of sugar and spice plays nicely with anything amber, vanilla or wood-leaning in your fragrance wardrobe.

At $8.95 for 200g from Smallflower, it’s a low-commitment seasonal thrill that actually lasts beyond a weekend. I’ll keep mine out through the bleak weeks of January, because there’s something defiant about washing up in a cloud of pudding when the world outside smells like slush. If you know, you know.

Notes in a nutshell: sweet spices, citrus peel, brown sugar, brandy, rich raisins. Texture: firm, slow-melting. Vibe: nostalgic without being kitsch. And yes, it made me crave warm custard.