E: Laura Mercier Tinted Moisturiser
M: The Legendary Laura Mercier Tinted Moisturiser. Revered by beauty editors and makeup artists.
E: Sung of in heroic ballads by wandering minstrels.
M: Tell me what it does.
E: Well. Mainly it disappears. You put some on your hand, what looks like a decent blob. Then you put it on your face and instantly the texture changes and sort of dries, magically and there is nothing there. Nothing. Your face looks better, though. Undeniably. But I am weirded out by the disappearing.
M: It does have a lovely texture. Like, jelly meets marmalade, but non-sticky. It’s kind of, plump?
E: Plump but dry. I think I like it.
M: I think it’s responsible for the current explosion of what the FUCK all over my face.
E: Oh no.
M: On me, it becomes evil spot creating venom of DEATH. It makes my face 50% sweaty, 50% angry teenager. I mean, I wanted to like it. I really did. I wanted to love it. It’s either the Laura Mercier or the Belgian water.
E: Pff, Belgian water is TOTALLY safe. That chemical spillage was a one off. It’s the Sauce Américaine for frites you have to worry about.
M: I’m just glad I got a sample before spending 15 gazillion pounds on this tube of snake venom.
E: Ha. I spent the 15 gazillion, of course. And now I can’t even remember when, or why, or where. I go into a fugue state when I enter beauty halls, and come to an hour later with a metallic leatherette quilted washbag filled with blue eyeshadows and fifteen irate voicemails from HSBC.
M: The sales assistant squirted it into a tiny pot for me. Look, cute!
E: Ooooh. Teeny tiny Polly Pocket make up.
M: Gaaah. I can’t open the fucking thing. Ah! And now I’ve got it all over my keyboard! my Laura Mercier is cursed. CURSED I TELL YOU.
E: She’s put the evil eye on you. You need to borrow my shamanic charm.
M: Whiiiiiiiine. I want to be able to use it. Maybe I should try the non oil-free version.
E: Ok, I have put some on, and I am going to look at myself in the cold light of belgo-day.
E: Hmm. Christ, I look miserable. AND I hate my nostrils. There’s nothing you can do about weird shaped nostrils. Cosmetics are helpless in the face of them.
M: Good thing I photoshopped them out, then.
E: But yeah, it’s actually pretty good. Even. A bit glowy. Laura Mercier is stealthily making inroads into my makeup bag and with results like this, I can see why.
M: She’s crafty like that.
E: Despite the fact I don’t like the packaging at all. Brown and beige? Bleurgh.
M: I quite like it. It’s medicinal.
E: That’s your French side coming out. It’s dull.
M: Says the woman who wears nothing but shapeless black sack dresses. What’s wrong with beige?
E: Meh. It’s just crap. Those fleshy colours all are.
M: Because you are pale ghostly white.
E: Yes. It shows me up for the walking cadaver I am. Do you think Laura Mercier is making me pull those gloomy, Checkovian faces? Or is that my natural expression?
M: No comment. Do you wear it regularly?
E: Well. I do like it. But it lives in my bathroom and not my make up bag, which is a sign I don’t totally love and depend on it. It’s not what I use on weekdays, but at weekends, when I’m brushing my teeth, I might put a bit on if I’m feeling fancy. I have to be feeling pretty fancy to get around to brushing my teeth.
M: In conclusion then. Laura Mercier – lots of hype. Disappearing act on the skin. Glowy on some, snake venom on others. The jury is still out.
E: I actually think I should wear it more often. Who needs to look cheerful when you can look glowy?
M: Oh shut up, Anton.
Laura Mercier Tinted Moisturizer
£15 gazillion £32 from Space.NK amongst others