I used to find the scent and feel of sunblock repulsive. Growing up in the often unbearable heat and humidity of southwest Ohio, I was forced to slather high concentrations of oily, pungent SPF on my pallid Scottish complexion each time I ventured out into the natural suburban terrain. It was not by choice. I wanted to be tan—just like an early-90s Richard Grieco—but the idea of having a son covered with bubbling boils eventually perish on the overheated tar-based blacktop parking lot of our local supermarket didn’t much appeal to my mother at the time. So a few coats of sunblock were a requirement almost anytime we set foot outside the house.