E: Today we are comparing an Elf gel liner, and the product they will have to prise out of my cold, dead, claws, Bobbi Brown Gel Eyeliner. You don’t like gel liners, do you M?
M: No. They are fucking fiddly. I used one today for this post and I have a big splodge of it on my hand where I “took off the excess”. I can’t be bothered to take it off.
E: Oh, like a plague spot.
M: It’s more cancerous in appearance. Moving on.
E: That’s nice, M. Whereas I love them. You need a tiny, accurate brush and then it’s dead easy and gives a nice soft line.
M: I think you’re right. It is all about the tools.
E: So, usually I use Bobbi Brown Espresso Ink, or Caviar Ink.
M: What’s caviar? Like a dark grey?
E: I suppose. I really can’t tell. It’s sort of indescribable and dark, but not black.
M: Are you blind as well as lash-less?
E: Hey, usually you’re the one who describes colours as “”LIKE A FAIRY’S ARSE” or “LIKE VANESSA PARADIS” or “IT’S JUST RED, OK????”. It’s a dark browny grey. Better?
M: Deliciously salty. That’s what it’s like, wonderful on chopped onion, with a sprinkling of lemon.
E: Look, here’s a photo of all our liners.
From top: Elf coffee, Bobbi Brown Espresso Ink, Bobbi Brown Caviar Ink, Permanent Ink Marker N90.
E: I drew a line on my hand in permanent marker pen too. It’s a control line. I’m all about the science.
M: Riiiight. Who’s in the other corner?
E: In the other corner is the cheap and cheeky Elf “Coffee”. Elf has one massive point in its favor, which is that it is really really CHEAP.
M: The packaging often looks really cheap with Elf products, but this tiny jar is satisfyingly heavy.
E: Oh, I don’t think the Gel Liner packaging is bad. And I dunno what they put in it, but it’s pretty convincingly like the Bobbi Brown.
M: That is not scientific, E.
E: Oh, but it is. I have tasted both. Thus it is scientific.
M: Oh god. You haven’t, have you? HAVE YOU? Because I am going to call the “services”. And have you looked at by professionals.
E: I’m not saying either way. ANYWAY. Elf Coffee versus Bobbi Brown Espresso.
M: I think we need a little graph.
E: Knock yourself out, Mrs Science. So, I did not like the Elf colour much in the jar. It’s a bit pale for coffee. Like, Nescafé with a good glug of full fat milk.
M: Oh, gross.
E: Whereas Bobbi is a proper roasted espresso served by a leering, but attractive barista.
M: Would you say ELF is from the office coffee distributor, and BB is from the artisan coffee shop down a little cobbled lane?
E: That’s a bit harsh, but yes. Elf is Option #3 self-vend white coffee, Bobbi is doppio espresso from the Monmouth Coffee Company. However, Elf rescues itself a few points in the application. It is just as easy to put on for me as Bobbi.
M: See, for me, my fucking lashes get in the way. And my stupid crêpey skin. How about staying power?
E: Excellent for both. Barely budges all day. BUT, Elf, ugh. There was this horrible sticky feeling around my eyeline once it was on, like conjunctivitis. My eyelids were gumming together.
M: Ew, and ew.
E: Thankfully, that only lasted about 10 minutes.
M: I suppose it must have time to dry. I didn’t feel the stickiness.
E It’s probably a no lash thing. Anyway, then I forgot about it and it behaved fine all day, no itchiness, and it stayed in place.
M: OK, I’ve just rubbed the shit out of mine and it’s still staying put. Tiny bit on my finger, but that’s about it.
E: Gel liners have mahoosive staying power and Elf is no exception. The Nescafé colour is much better once it’s on too. Quite understated, but that’s ok. It’s daytime. I’m wearing a filthy hoodie and the tshirt I slept in, I don’t want to look like Joan Collins.
M: Ha, is that what I look like? Joan collins with an unsteady hand.
Elf Cream eyeliner in black
E: Maybe a little. But in a good way.
M: I need some sequined shoulder pads. So, verdict?
E: I have to be honest, I do like Bobbi better, because of the lack of eye stickiness and I would have liked a slightly darker shade from Elf. But it’s good. And when you consider it’s, like, a tenth of the price, it’s VERY good.
M: I wonder if you could mix some black and brown together to create your own espresso?
E: Hmmm. You probably could.
M: Would you buy it again?
E: Probably. But I’d rather Bobbi Brown just gave me shitloads of free eyeliner. Hey? Bobbi? Can I have free stuff?
E: And you?
M: Well, I bought it, and I will continue to use it, but I think I prefer liquid liners.
E: You can tell us about them another time. Now shoo, Alexis.
E: I am worried, M. Facegoop is full of joy and happiness and product love at the moment. This is not representative of us.
M: Do not worry, E. I am going to rant about Liz Earle sunscreen now. For I am ANGRY.
E: Oh good.
M: I’m going to keep this short. I got a sample of this Liz Earle suncream squidged into a pot at John Lewis. It has all the good stuff: SPF 20, physical sunblock, no dodgy ingredients, lactic acid, pleasant orange flower smell. So far, so good, if you make allowances for its guano-like appearance:
E: Indeed. I wonder where this is going?
M: Well, this morning I put it on my face.
E: That is the suggested usage.
M: It was like coating your face in melted resin. It just sat there. Like a coating of STICKY DUSTY CRAP.
E: Gross. Liz Earle???? What were you thinking?
M: Making my face grey. And STICKY. Did I mention the sticky??
E: I think you did. So it made your face like an old lollipop abandoned down the sofa.
M: Exactly. But GREY. I waited a good 15 minutes, and then, rather idiotically, decided to try and put on mineral foundation. Not my finest moment.
M: I looked like I’d just rolled my face in some finely milled porridge oats.
E: Making you into a healthy, if perhaps slightly high GI snack.
M: SO. I went to wash the whole dirty mess off. EXCEPT THE FUCKER WOULDN’T COME OFF. IT JUST SAT THERE.
E: This is like a cosmetic nightmare.
M: YES! LIKE A NIGHTMARISH MILKY SNAKE. COILING ITSELF AROUND MY FACE. TIGHTER AND TIGHTER. Or, as my boyfriend has just suggested, like that thing in Aliens, jumping out of the pot and affixing itself onto my breathing hole. I had to oil cleanse TWICE to get the wretched stuff off.
E: I am giving myself wrinkles just thinking about this.
M: And you know what the crazy thing is?
M: This is supposed to be the new and improved version. I mean, WTF.
E: Christ, what must the original be like? Rubbing floor polish on your face?
M: WHATEVER. Liz Earle, I am done with you. I did not like your Hot Cloth Cleanser, and I do not like this, this… this CREAM OF THE DEVIL.
E: Ooze of Satan.
M: SATANIC PUS.
E: I feel much better now. Thanks, M.
We are not linking to this. If you want to buy this crap, google it yourself.
E: So, M, although this may not be obvious from Scotchland, the summer is coming.
M: Oh? Hold on, let me wrap these seal furs around me. Carry on.
E: Yes. The summer is coming. Voilà l’été! Cue the Négresses Vertes, please.
M: Uuuuuuuugh. Must I? You do realize it means you’ll be (gasp) baring skin soon?
E: M, as the good burghers of Belgiana could tell you, I ALREADY HAVE. As you know, my skin is not normally suitable for exposure. It is blue, flaky, and lizardlike.
M: In the manner of a newt.
E: A rare blue newt. Making my skin ready for public scrutiny is the work of several Facegoop posts. But let us talk through the first, and easiest step.
M: Oooh, is this Part 1? Does it involve buying a new pair of legs from a Chinese orphan?
E: Yes, and no. This is Part 1. But no leg purchases. They are unethical. No, Part 1 is called Basic Descaling for the Celtic Lizard in Your Life.
M: Please tell me you don’t take a large knife to your legs to scrape the scales off.
E: No. Instead, the celtic lizard in your life must purchase Origins Incredible Spreadable Scrub.
M: Is it really incredible?
E: Well, M. I have not been unfaithful to this exfoliant for many many years. Because it is, and watch out, this is a technical term, fucking awesome.
M: Whoa, hold on there, newt. *I* need to get technical on your lizardy arse here. Firstly, what are the scrubbing particles? And secondly, it sounds edible.
E: Funnily enough, the scrubbing particles are “brown and white sugar”. Which kind of answers your second question. You know my weakness in the product eating area and will not be surprised to hear that I have tasted this on several occasions and it IS very tasty, because it is basically sugar, olive oil and ginger. I mean, that’s pudding!
M: That would explain why you’ve finished the pot. I think you’ve discovered the magical Origins Secret of Scrub.
E: I don’t think there’s a secret. It tastes good. It scrubs good. And it leaves you sexily greasy.
M: Mmmm, a sexy greasy lizard.
E: I may be revealing too much in saying I find grease sexy. Never mind.
E: It gives you one of those “sheen” things they talk about on proper beauty blogs, it smells good, and if any should happen, accidentally, to end up in your mouth, it’s no biggie.
M. I bet you could make a pot of that at home. I have some cheap ginger massage oil from Lidl. It smells amazing. Do you think I could just put 2 sorts of sugar in and scrub myself with it?
E: Try it. And report back.
M: I will. I might just do that tonight. Do you need moisturizer afterwards?
E: No. It is extremely hydrating. You are ready to move to Phase 2, which we will be revealing in a future post. Dot dot dot.
E: So, M. What’s going down in the world of Scotchland beauty?
M: I have been shopping. Cheap shopping, because I am poor.
E: HSBC are cruel masters. Even worse than the space lizards. What did you get?
M: I bought stuff from 17.
E: That’s No. 7 for children, right?
M: Yes. I believe it to be a range of cosmetics for impoverished teenagers.
E: And what is on offer to today’s teens, apart from “Meow”, Justin Bieber and binge drinking?
M: Well, I was sucked in by their current offer of a cute metal tin if you buy two products, so I bought a nail polish the colour of a mermaid’s tail. And a cheek blush/highlighter duo.
E: Mermaid’s tail sounds lovely. Silvery grey?
M: No, it’s sort of dark sparkly seaweed coloured. I am a bit wary of it, but we will see. We will SEA.
E: Oh, very good. Funny.
M: Tsssssss. Funny – if you’re LAME.
E: When you do that “tssssss” thing, is that a high hat cymbal type thing? Like, ‘thank you ladies and gentlemen, I’ll be here all week’
M: Badoom PAH. No, it’s more of a tsk. ANYWAY. The blush thing is good.
E: Oh? Wassitlike?
M: I read on some other blog that it was a “dupe” (that’s a beauty blogger technical term, check me out) for Nars Orgasm. Wait, let me show you it. Check out the colour swatches, they are really very close and it is a very pretty, shimmery peachy pink.
E: Interesting. That is actually an impressive match. How does it look on? Do you have a healthy glow? Do you look edible?
M: I haven’t put in on my face yet. Just on my arm. I am too tired for faces.
E: Ha. Does your arm have a healthy glow? Let us examine it….
Yes. I think it does. Erm. I have a question M. The blue eyeshadow? Did you, er, CHOOSE that?
M: No. The sparkly aqua blue eye shadow came in the freebie box.
With a matching eyeliner and some red nail polish. But I like it! It looks like fish skin. This pleases me greatly.
E : Because I thought you might have got it to prepare for our Mexican Wrestling Makeover. Cassandro wears a remarkably similar shade. (FUTURE POST WARNING).
M: Ha! Actually, it would be perfect for that, wouldn’t it.
E: There is an aquatic theme to your purchases.
M: “Nautical”, they call it. “Nautical but nice” (tsk)
E: TSK. A big fat TSK.
M: Of course, I was handed a 5poundsoffno7andrubymillievoucher.
E: Of course.
M: So I bought an eyeliner brush for our upcoming gel eyeliner review (FUTURE POST WARNING). Yes. I will not be defeated, gel. You can’t see me now, but I am shaking my fist at the gel.
E: That should scare it. And what is this “sleek” thing I see lurking among your purchases?
M: Well. I’ve always liked the look of those bobbi brown shimmer brick things but can’t be bothered spending gazillions of pounds on one, because I don’t think I would use it much. So I got this cheap alternative.
E: Have you tried it out?
M: I have tried it on my arm, and taken a picture. And look! I can look at my boobs in the mirror. Which is nice.
E: Oh yeah. Nice. Checking out your own breasts. Are you having a nice weekend M?
M: Sigh. This is as good as it gets.
E: Good. And how much did this princely haul cost you?
M: Not sure. Less than a tenner.
E: It’d cost you twice that to sniff Serge Lutens wrist.
M: Mmmm, smoky spicy lamb chops. I introduced you to my friend Dr Mystery, he who has the necklace used for measuring testicles.
E: Yes! Doctor Mystery who has a pet eagle and a necklace of testicles!
M: He does. These two statements are fact. Anyway, today I’d like to introduce you to another doctor.
E: Ooooh. I like doctors.
M: His name? DR SPOT.
E: Oh. Dr Spot. Is he a character in a board book for under 3s?
M: See Spot perform a tracheostomy. Actually, he’s a character in a cardboard box for the over 16s, I think. The Spot Afflicted.
E: Ah! Dr Spot is a product! I thought he was a potential boyfriend for me.
M: No. Dr Spot is a Soap & Glory product. It comes in a tiny tube the size of a fat packet of Tic Tacs. Or a Zippo. Yes, that’s it. A pharmaceutical Zippo for your spots. Look:
E: He’s cute. Is he single?
M: I don’t know, I think Dr Spot might be a girl.
E: Either way he or she is really very small. Why do spot creams come in tiny tubes? Is it to emphasise their powerful magic mojo?
M: Yes. Dr Spot is big on hype. Being a Soap & Glory product, naturally the box is covered in hyperbole. “Better than excellent… my spots disappeared instantly!”
E: Ha. That sounds like LIES.
M: It is lies, obviously. BUT: He has a tiny dainty nozzle, for only giving out a tiny amount of product. Which is good for, err, spot treating spots.
E: “Tiny dainty nozzle”. I see.
M: Also, you know how I’m basically a zombie servant to Lisa Eldridge now?
E: Yes. You are one of her army of the undead. She has eaten your BRAIN.
M: Of the undead, and one day, perhaps, clear-skinned.
E: Undeath is very good for the complexion.
M: You would know. ANYWAY. Lisa Eldridge recommends lactic acid as her favourite ingredient for clearing skin and making you all glowy and doe eyed and soft as a baby dik dik.
E: Lactic acid? really? Isn’t that the stuff you give out when you do an-thingy exercise? Anaerobic. that’s it.
M: Dude, you’re talking Exercise, I no understand. Lactic acid. It is gentle but potent and is the active ingredient in this little Zippo of goodness. I am obsessed with lactic acid at the moment, and this is satisfying my milky needs.
E: So? Does it WORK???
M: It’s very good! It’s not a miracle, but it’s kept my angry spots under control, and is quite good on those under the skin ones, with no dried cack around the offending areas. I think we should trademark “cack”, don’t you?
E: Yes. Yes we should. Cack ™.
M: Now, it’s no good immediately before makeup, especially mineral powder, unless you want to look like a witch with a peeling sunburn. Boak.
E: I don’t, thanks. Is it more a nighttime thing?
M: Well, it says you can use it whenever and wherever. But, again, LIES. Because, erm, wherever? No.
E: In a board meeting? NO. Swimming? NO. Measuring testicles in a busy Casualty department? NO.
M: So, listen up, Dr Spot. Stop trying so hard. We know you’re all shiny and dinky and your packaging is cute and practical.
E: But noone likes a boastful spot cream.
M: Nope. Don’t say we didn’t warn you when you end up doing rectal exams on the geriatric ward.
E: I might try this though M. You have tempted me. It’s cheap, right?
M: Yeah, £9, although utterly sold out everywhere, APART FROM at Harvey Nichols where I got mine. Hang on. I have just checked, it’s £6.50 at Boots. Shame on you, Harvey Nics!
M: E, do you ever feel like you just want to hide from the world?
E: Almost always M. You and I have often discussed our desire for a snail shell to retreat into. Inside a cave. And the cave inside a hermetically sealed dark box. And the box in a flotation tank. In Panama.
M: But sometimes it’s not just possible. Sometimes, you have to make do with hiding your ugly mug from the world. And I believe you have something that does just the job.
E: Yes. You are quite correct. It does not (yet!) cover despair or agoraphobia, but it is excellent on blemishes, thread veins and other facial crappinesses. It is Laura Mercier’s Secret Camouflage.
The name makes it sound like Laura is conducting a stake out from a bush, with twigs and netting on her head. She isn’t (as far as I know).
M: Hmph. I like to think of her as wearing camouflage jumpsuits and killing deer.
E: No, M, she has been wearing a lab coat, and making genius make up, including this excellent concealer. Until I met Secret Camouflage, I thought concealer had to be a bit crap. Like, either it emphasised the spot you were trying to cover, or it just covered you in goopy crap that was worse than the spot.
E: Gummy??? I think that person is lacking vocabulary. But it is certainly a lot harder and creamier than any other concealer I have used. You need to really bully it with the clever Laura Mercier Special brush to get it going.
M: Oh of course. Let me guess, the special brush is made from the tail of baby sugar gliders and cost 5 gazillion squids each.
E: I don’t remember how much the baby sugar glider brush cost. But I do know it is very good. So good, that when I lost it, I immediately bought another one. Of course, then I found the old one.
M: Of course. Are you trying to tell me, that the secret camouflage was HIDING? Oh the irony.
E: Yes. It was hiding. Very good, M.
M: Tsss. So, what about the two colours? Are they useful? I mean, I can barely cope with one colour. Two colours seems a lot like hard work.
E: Confession: I have only used one colour so far. You will recall that I have the deathly pallor of the long dead. The sun has not hit Belgium for seven hundred years. I hope that the other colour will be useful if I ever have more pigment in my skin than an albino mole rat.
M: Hmph. And is it really any good?
E: Well. Not only did I have to replace the brush INSTANTLY when I lost it, so addicted was I to its furry caress, but on the very rare occasions I find myself without my Secret Camouflage, I properly PANIC .
E: Hyperventilation. Sweaty palms. Whimpering. Breathing into – and possibly wearing – a paper bag time. Along with Bobbi Brown gel eyeliner, it is the total essential I can’t live without. Basically: the colour is excellent for me (I have SC-2). It stays on brilliantly all day, and the coverage is perfect and really invisible. I love it. Oh, and also, I went on a photo shoot last month and the professional make up artist type person was using it. So there.
M: Any of that dried up cack around spots? Crusty bits?
E: Ew! No. It is a heavy creamy texture. No crusting or cack. And the brush also enables you to be super accurate. So I can cover the tiny burst vein on my left cheek without ending up with crap all over my face. We should say, it’s for blemishes, and not an under eye concealer. I don’t think the texture would work at all as an under-eye concealer.
M: I’m (almost) sold. How much will this military-grade camouflage goop set me back, E?
E: How the fuck should I know? Look it up. But I’m telling you, Laura Mercier can come and shoot deer in my yard any time she likes.
M: Secret Camouflage: It’s the sniper of concealers. Deadly. Precise. Merciless.
E: It’s deadly like Jack Bauer.
M: Ha, Jack Bauer is not deadly. He’s a bumbling idiot. Crashing into things and contracting deadly virii all over the place.
E: He could kill you with a tube of Eight Hour Cream in 5 seconds. FACT.
M: They’re Barry M’s finest. Nail photos are stupid. I feel like a dork. Ooooh check me out clutching a tiny bottle.
E: You strike a good nail pose, I think. Dainty and stylish.
M: It’s not a fucking pearl. Your hand = not a fucking oyster. There is no good way to do this, is there.
E: Nope. Actually, you are so good at the hand moddlepose, that I would like to see you in alternative nail poses:
1. Stroking a pony. Or possibly an emu.
2. Doing Claude François style tiger claws.
3. Maybe raking your hands through something. Gravel.
M: Mmm, sensual gravel. But that would require me doing my nails again. Because this is chipping, after a couple of days. I blame the scourer.
E: Fie, Barry M. Fie, scourer. Nah, you could do the pictures with chipped varnish. It would be like a photoshoot for a hipster magazine.
M: Have you seen me? I am not a hipster.
E: Yes, but M, you can’t TELL that from your hands. Not when they are raking through gravel.
M: When I have smudged eyeliner, I look like a smelly racoon, not a rock star.
E: You are fiercer than the fiercest of hipsters. You could kick their scrawny asses all the way to Hoxton and back.
M: What is Hoxton?
E: A place in London full of scrawny twerps with ironic hair. They’re a nice bright colour, your nails. Shame you aren’t stroking a balding ostrich or squidging cooked spaghetti through your fingers, but hey.
M Yes. I do like it, and it’s cheap as chips.
E: So it’s cheap as chips but it chips?
M: Oh dear.
M: Slight problem is it makes me want to lick my nails. Because they look edible.
E: What kind of food do they look like?
M: I don’t know. Er, Rubies. Rubies are a food group, aren’t they?
E: Probably. You’re half French. You freaks eat anything.
M: Cherries. The blood of a suckling pig.
E: Those sweets that looked like lips and tasted of soap.
M: I refuse to eat those. What kind of a crazy fuck eats sugar lips?
E: They’re nicer than snail gel. So: Barry M nail polish. Cheap as chips and unsuitable for doing the dishes in.
E: Yes. In the beginning, there was BUTLINS. A magical enchanted land, full of brown, limp, food, shrieking children, and financial ruin. I have been in this magical land for FOUR LONG DAYS.
M: You must look all lovely and dewy skinned from all that fresh air.
E: If by ‘lovely and dewy skinned’ you mean, “peeling like a leprous motherfucker”. My skin has been coming off in actual chunks. My nose is peeling. Not from the sun, you understand. Nope. From the chemical scent of honey bacon deep fried popcorn doughnut bites they diffuse into the air. From the pints of Domestos they use in the “fun” pool. From Ice Blue WKD. And from the incredibly drying effects of DESPAIR.
M: Honey bacon popcorn? That could work.
E: Although I remembered to pack not one but TWO Laura Mercier retractable concealer brushes, I didn’t bring any moisturiser. Not even the tiniest sample. I was all alone in Bognor Regis without moisturiser!
M: It sounds like the plot of a (low budget) (British) horror movie.
E: It gets scarier. I went to the Spar. Do you know what the Spar is M?
M: No. Is it a spa? With fluffy white towels?
E: No, no it is not a spa with fluffy white towels.
M: It’s like a spa for pirates. Spaaaa-r.
E: Good try. No. It’s like a shop, but for people who hate shops. And humanity. So, where in a normal supermarket, you would normally have a tube of inoffensive, cheap and cheerful Nivea moisturiser, next to the shampoo and toothpaste, there is NOTHING. Nothing but vast packets of condoms and pregnancy testing kits and verucca burning kits.
E: Whatever. I survived, like a Ray Mears style survivalist, by rubbing lip salve on the worst of my peeling skin, and Laura Mercier tinted moisturiser on the rest.
E: Yup. I liked the way the peeling skin rolled up into little grey balls with the lip salve.
M: That is all very well, but what does this have to do with the jar of honey/beeswax/bear bait?
E: Well. I finally returned to London and fell, like a dying, er, beauty bloggist, upon my step-mother’s beauty supplies That is to say, this:
L’Oreal “Age Re-Perfect” Which is a stupid name, L’Oreal. Sort it out. M, if this is ageing, I want no part of it.
M: It looks like butter mixed with honey. Did you eat it? With a spoon? Or spread it thinly on toast? Can old people eat toast?
E: Maybe after they use this. It is “anti-slackening + anti-crinkling”. Since you have asked, and I am always pushing the boundaries of beauty blogging, I have just tasted it. I can confirm it is definitely not set honey.
M: What the hell is wrong with you? STOP EATING FACE GOOP.
E: IT IS MORE NOURISHING THAN ANYTHING I ATE IN BUTLINS, M.
M: Ok, ssssh. There there. It’s over now.
E: I put it on my skin too. It feels heavy and greasy, like a Tory MP. Not that I put Tory MPs on my skin.
M: So what’s it doing to your face then? Is it taking it out for a stroll at 11 every morning to look at the gardenias? Is it promising lower taxes if you get married?
E: Frankly, M, I’m tempted to say fuck all. I am quite flushed, but that’s probably the wine. Maybe I am not combining it with enough Sudoku and Ovaltine?
M: Maybe. When you look into the pot of bear bait, do you see your future?
E: I really hope that isn’t my future I see in there, because if it is, my future is peach and greasy.
M: Like a peach and bacon sandwich?
E: Exactly. I think they had that on the menu in the Skyline Cafe in Butlins, actually.
M: Last week, prompted by one of our more convincing readers, I went to a presentation by a well known American direct sales cosmetic company. Let’s call them, errrr, Carrie May.
E: Carrie May. The missing third Olsen twin. Triplet.
M: They are the sort of company who only sell through “Consultants”, at “parties”. You know the ones I mean?
E: Like Tupperware?
M: Yes, like Tupperware. But with free pink luxury German cars and a bonus unicorn if you meet certain sales targets.
E: It’s a cult, isn’t it? The Cult of Barbie.
M: “No”. “No”, it isn’t a “cult”.
E: Oh god. They’ve got you haven’t they??? M? SPEAK TO ME!
M: Shhhhhhhhhhh. They might hear you. It’s more like AA actually.
E: Ok, I’ll whisper. Is there a 12 step programme to pinkness?
M: Yes. Except, instead of trying to get you not to drink, they try to get you to BUY STUFF.
E: Surrender to the higher power that is PRODUCT.
M: Yes. 12 steps of weird ass smelling crap. They have a special name for makeup. It’s called “glamour”.
E: Really? REALLY? “I need to put my glamour on?” Like that?
M: Yes. Like THAT.
E: Woah. Did you get to try any Glamour?
M: They gave us samples of lipstick. In tiny little capsules. One was FROSTED PINK.
E: Oh dear.
M: The other was BERRY KISS. Neither of them is going anywhere near my lips.
E: No? Honestly, M. what’s so bad about a berry kiss?
M: You have no idea. You weren’t there. Anyway, the vibe was really creepy. Consultants had to get up and present themselves, saying how long they’d been with the company.There was applause and awarding of diplomas, in this particularly drab meeting room o’ purple:
E: Were there snacks?
M: NO SNACKS.Consultants do not deserve snacks. There was a raffle.
E: I thought you said “a rifle” for a minute. As another sales prize.
M: No. The cult leader senior consultant gave her personal story. She flashed her Company-distributed diamond at us.
E: Was it like a daytime made for TV film?
M: YES! YES IT WAS EXACTLY LIKE THAT! They had crazy 80s frosted blonde hair and extremely heavy handed “glamour”.
E: I am significantly weirded out by this, M. It seems sinister.
M: The whole thing filled me despair.
E: Make up is supposed to be fun! Not like a 12 step programme turned into a lifetime channel mini series.
M: Because – and I say this with much love and empathy for the ladies in the room – roughly 90% of them were on the ugly side of the pretty scale.
E: Ahahahahahahahah. I can see why you had to change their name now.
M: They were all looking for the warm glow of approval, and unfortunately they could only get it from Carrie May, the giant pyramid scheme American corporation feeding on their bruised self-esteem.
E: That sucks. They should go down the Gala Bingo instead.
M: Yes! At least there would be shouting! and laughing! and drinks!
E: And those really fat pens! You are not suitable Carrie May material really, are you? Was there ANY good product? Or do you reject the whole thing with the zeal of a cult deprogrammer?
M: Being the beauty gurus we are, people ask us for advice all the time.
E: Deluded fools.
M: They want to know – what red lipstick do you recommend, Facegoop? TELL ME, my love life/promotion/sanity depends on it.
E: They are barking up the wrong beauty bloggist if they ask me about red lips. Wearing it for our special moustache photos nearly destroyed me. But you have some qualifications in this field.
M: Yes. I am going to recommend one red lipstick, that is neither red, nor a lipstick. It is the Nars Velvet Matte Lip Pencil in DRAGON GIRL.
E: Again with the Nars. I know Facegoop readers suspect us of being on “Mr” “Nars” payroll. If only that were true. In reality, we just love his work. Awesome name. Awesome crayon.
M: DRAGON GRRRRRRL. It makes me want to do wheelies on my bike, even though I’m not sure what a wheelie is. I only bought it to get a freebie at Nars with 2 purchases. But when the grannies in John Lewis kept on complimenting me on my lips, I knew I was onto something. I love the bright pinky red colour. It’s punchy and pretty and hot stuff.
E: The Velvet Matte Pencil is truly make up for idiots too.
M: Yes, and I am an idiot. I love that I don’t have to mess around with a lip pencil, lipstick, and a lip brush, in the manner of a depressive clown. Just put it on, and forget about it. It doesn’t move.
E: Nope. It’s a crayon. Crayon your lips. The end. Idiot proof. On your recommendation, I bought one in ‘Walkyrie’.
M: How’s it been working out for you? It is a bit drying though, isn’t it?
E: I love it. It feels gorgeous going on. And actually I find it way less drying than some other lipsticks.
M: I usually top it up with balm half way through the day and then it just has a nice stainy quality to it.
E: Hang on, let me put go fetch my purple robes. Ok, go on.
M: I promised LillaBrunaElk, the winner of the No7 lip jam, my bottle of Kiehl’s Creme with Silk Groom the other day. Because I bought it last summer, and didn’t like it.
M: It promises an “optimal styling experience”. Now, I think it is fair to say, my “styling experience” has never been optimal. Unless you count looking like a lion that’s been dragged through a car wash ‘optimal’.
E: I distrust their claims. I mean, do tiny hairdressers come out of the tube and give you a blow dry, complete with current issues of celebrity gossip magazines and cappuccino? NO. Therefore: suboptimal.
M: Indeed. I have hair. A LOT OF IT. All over the fucking place. So my styling experience is usually composed of a lot of whining and some half arsed blow drying. UUUUUUUGH do I haaaaave tooooo?
E: So much hair.
M: So I had high hopes for this. I went all the way to Paris, and got lost in Printemps Beauté to find it. Little did I know they sell it at Jenners. Bastards.
E: What did it promise? Why did you seek it out in this way?
M: Well, everyone goes on about it. Magazines, celebrities, blah blah. And it’s supposed to be good for thick curly hair.
E: I see.
M: But it feels like horse glue. Or what I imagine horse glue feels like. Thick. Sticky. Viscous. Not what I want in my hair.
E: Gross. Does it smell of hooves?
M: Yes! A hoof that’s been half heartedly rubbed with wheat protein, soy protein, and jojoba oil. Anyway, I’d lost the damned thing, so didn’t send it to LBE. But when I found it the other day, I tried it again. I only used a tiny amount – about a pea sized dollop for my long hair – and rubbed it thoroughly into my hands to warm it first, until they looked like the white face of a mime artist.
M: And wow! It’s great.
E: Aha! The celebrities (or rather, the faceless PR drones who make up their ‘recommendations’) are right!
M: Rubbed this way onto wet hair, it transforms into a sort of liquid, emulsified styling creme of gorgeousness. And gives sleek, controlled, voluminous blow dried hair that doesn’t get gunky or greasy for ages.
E: Whoa. That’s pretty amazing. LBE, you won’t be seeing your hoof glue.
M: Nope, sorry LBE. This one’s all mine. Better luck next time.
M: The Guerlain Midnight Secret is not so good with its hips though.
E: I suppose the secret is that you dance at the ambassador’s ball until the wee small hours, then you are up bright and early looking radiant the next morning for a gala breakfast with er, the ambassador’s wife . HOW????
M: Wait wait wait. Hold on. What is this, a Ferrero Rocher ad??
E: Yes. This is my view of Guerlain, see? It is basically a highly aspirational 1950s film condensed into small, expensive pots.
M: Except, in our version, you’ve been up to no good, snogging the ambassador’s son.
E: On current form, I would be more likely to have been snogging the ambassador’s dog.
M: You’ll need some Midnight Secret for that too. Continue.
E: So. In the Guerlain version of events, you kick off your dancing slippers (mirrored Louboutins, presumably) and sink into your goosedown quilt, pausing only to grab your Midnight Secret.
In E’s version, you reel home from a seedy transvestite cabaret by a method you do not remember the next morning. You wave a towelette in the direction of your face if you are feeling fancy. Then, despite the fact that you are too drunk to undress, the blue jar of promise winks at you so you slather some on optimistically. You wake up in the morning with eye make up and drool all over your pillow, and a head like a badger’s arse.
But! Your complexion is not as shit as it deserves to be.
M: Hmmm. Your method may differ from that of the polished socialite, but the result is the same, isn’t it? And that result is glowy, and dewy, and impossibly even skin.
E: The level of dewiness depends on the G & T count. But it is definitely pretty good. Also, it smells totally delicious.
M: What does it smell of?
E: It smells like a rose garden trampled at dawn by the dainty toes of M. Guerlain, possibly dancing like M. Louboutin in this video.
M: I think more M. Guerlain’s angelic, blonde haired little grand daughter. She is all dimples and smiles as she CRUSHES the flower into the heavy blue sarcophagus of a jar.
E: Now you’re making it sound like Gigi. With Maurice Chevalier as M. Guerlain.
“sank ‘eavens, for Midnight Secret!”
M: “fo’ you face she get more CRAGGY evereee daaaaaay”
Of course, there’s another ill guarded secret related to Midnight Secret. It’s fucking expensive.
E: Horribly so. But the ambassador is paying.
M: And what price your dignity?
E: My dignity is priceless.
M: Oh? Maybe you should wipe that dog slobber off your face then.
E: Sssssh. So: Midnight Secret. Magical. Expensive. Made by cinematic giants and set to music by Maurice Chevalier.
E: So, M. We have seen your cosmetics, corralled into recycled bread baskets. I do not need to tidy mine. Look! They are tidy. This is my bathroom cupboard:
There is a shelf for face, one for body, one for make up, and then some Other Stuff Shelves.
M: Ahahahahhahaha. “Tidy”.
E: What are you laughing about? They are tidy! Is that not tidy? It’s tidy by my standards.
M: Nothing, nothing.
E: Have you seen the box? We don’t mention the box.
M: Why is there a set of teeth in the box?
E: That is my tooth whitening mouth guard thing. But I won’t whiten my teeth any more because it hurts worse than childbirth. So, now I just have teeth in a box.
M: Of course you do. Teeth in a box.
E: There are a couple of upcoming review products in the cupboards: notably a Dior snake oil that actually looks like actual oil from actual yellow snakes.
M: Yes, yes. That’s all very well, but I have some questions for you.
E: Erm. Ok.
M: WHY do you have two identically grubby, half bottles of Benetint?
E: I don’t know. There is a third, full one in my makeup bag. It smells nice.
M: Ha. You must be the only person who actually uses the damn thing. I gave mine to my sister. She’s not using it. Next question. WHY do you have 5 gazillion tubes of No7 Protect & Perfect serum?
E: Yeah, I dunno. I think the unscrupulous pharmacists at Boots must have snuck in in the night and placed them with me. I never use them. I don’t actually believe in them, despite what Science tells us.
M: Ha. Science is Lying.
E: Science is an Ass.
M: Well, not exactly lying, just confusing us with statistics.
E: “23% of women experienced between 1 and 3% of satisfaction with this serum”.
M: “Look! A percentage of people saw a marked improvement of 0.00005% in their wrinkles! Miracle product! MIRACLE PRODUCT!!!”
I have one final question.
E: Uh oh.
M: Are the contents of your cupboards roughly the equivalent of the GDP of Malta?
E: At a conservative estimate, I would say they are. BUT. The Crème de la Mer gel was a present. Ditto the Dior oil and Dior lip gloss. All from Mrs Trefusis, who gives very brilliant make up advice, as well as quality presents. The rest is all my own ruinous work.
M: The overlords at HSBC will be pleased.
E: Yes. I believe that is what they are saying in the letters I never open. “Good work Emma”.
M: And in this spirit of generosity, let’s give some stuff away.
E: Ok. Well. This is The Facegoop NANOGIVEAWAY.
M: WOOH! Teeny tiny things.
E: Loads of tiny things.
M: Some good, some bad.
E: Yes. Like on this site, but not quite as good. All unopened and pristine though. We are not animals.
M: Ish. I sniffed some of mine.
E: Unopened and pristine apart from M sniffing. We will be each giving away a bundle of our teeny tiny samples.
M: What’s in your sample bag E?
E: Well, M. Because I am secretly fiendishly competitive and want mine to be best, there is some Good Shit in there. Look:
Can I just say, the thing that says “Lub” on the left is NOT lube. There is some Caudalie stuff, some Nuxe stuff, some Sisley, some Elemis, and some of the stuff from the Space NK bag of tricks. I might throw in some surprises too. Not my teeth though.
What’s in your sample bag, M?
M: What I lack in quality, I make up for in undercover action at dubious American Direct Sales Cosmetics companies’ events. Look:
There’s a good supply of Estée Lauder stuff, some Caudalie, some Avène, cute pots from Neal’s Yard, various foundation samples, some inexplicable Barry M dazzle dust I found in the drawer of doom, and a lifetime supply of Mary Kay frosted pink lipstick.
For your chance to win a sample bag of teeny tiny stuff, email us a photo of your cosmetic cupboards/drawers/bin before the 25th of April 2010. Tell us what your best/worst/weirdest purchase is. We’ll post a selection of your cosmetic confessions for our communal amusement and announce the winners at the end of the month. GO GO GO!
M: But! I did find some old friends, who I had completely forgotten the existence of. And by good friends, I mean tubes of face goop.
E: Ooooooh What did you find?
M: Well, there are these very handy singly portioned eye drops. No brand on them, got them in a French pharmacy. Yes. I get crap in my eyes all the time, and these are great to carry around in your handbag for crap-in-the-eye emergencies, minus the bacteria that gathers in eye drop bottles like snails waiting to eat your FACE.
E: I like. I will be searching for them on my next pharmacy visit.
M: Eau thermale d’Uriage facial spritz. I like it because it is “anti-radicalaire”. So no chance of turning into a commie strikist while using it.
E: That sounds, er, muscular.
M: Yes, and possibly moustachey.
M: Baume des Tigresses Pattes Arrières.
E: I remember that!
M: Tigress Balm Hind Legs. A gift from you! And the most awesomely named cosmetic product EVAH. Also quite good at moisturising my scaly hobbit feet. And look how pretty! It has almond and mango butters. That is some good shit.
E: Even if it was no good, it would be awesome because of the name. Pattes Arrières.
M: Yup. Also, a Pout foundation brush. Pout no longer exists, but its soft yet firm foundation brush endures. Why do brushes always look like the tails of furry animals? This one looks like a fox changing colours for the winter.
E: I think they actually ARE made of animal tails M. That’s probably why.
M: Tiny animals, shrunk by nano technology.
E: Yes! Nanospheres.
M: And, finally, Yes to Carrots C me blush lip tint. Technically, I found this under the sofa. I’d been looking for it all winter. Bastard.
E: I hear good things about this stuff. Is it all it’s cracked up to be?
M: It’s very minty, which bothers me slightly. And the colour I got is wrong for me, I think.
E: Oh? Minty carrots? That sounds quite wrong.
M: Quite moisturizing, though.
E: Well, moisture is better than a closed throat. TAKE NOTE MAX FACTOR.
Tomorrow – we snoop around E’s cupboards and announce an astoundingly interactive new giveaway.
E: As promised, I have spent three days in the company of De Tuinen’s Chilean snail slime, made from unharmed, happy Helix Whatthefuck Snail.
M: Are you feeling sluggish? I know I am.
E: Ha. Very good M, I see what you did there. No, the gastropod gel did not have that effect on me. You will recall its promise of smooth silky skin and improved appearance of scarring? Well. I imagine it will come as no surprise to our readers to hear that it is ABSOLUTELY SHITE.
I can report the following effects:
1. Stubborn dry, irritated patch of skin on right cheek
2. Spots around mouth
M: That’s where you’ve been snogged by filthy boys. Filthy.
E: Hmph. Chance would be a fine thing. The closest I have got is being slimed on by a jar of snail mucous. Moving on.
3. Near death, as the jar of Snail Gel launched itself off the top of the fridge, aiming for my head.
M: Launched itself, extreeeeeemely slowly. In the manner of a snail.
E: No, M. The concentrated essence of gastropod moves alarmingly fast. I suspect an attack by the Snafia.
4. Mild irritation, cleaning gloopy slime off the floor.
M: Well, I must say I am disappointed. I thought the Chileans were on to something.
E: Well. It would appear they are onto something murderous, and crap.
M: They have rosehips, and llamas, how could things go so badly wrong with the snail gel?
E: Maybe if you have Chilean skin it works better?
M: Maybe. Maybe you need the high altitude and cheery personality to make it work. Living in Belgium, you have neither.
E: No. You are quite correct. However, I have learnt that my garden is home to a snail anvil, so all is not lost.
M: Oh god. What is a snail anvil?
E: Commenter Alison tells me it is a place where small, bastard birds smash snails open.
M: For snacking?
E: Yes. Oh! That reminds me. I also tasted the Snail Gel, because someone on twitter asked me to. It tasted horrid.
M: Now there’s a surprise.
E: Yes. Astonishing.
M: Honesty, you are a danger to yourself.Somebody needs to lock you in a empty room, with no internet access and no credit cards. You are grounded, E. BEAUTY grounded.
E: Why? Because of the tasting, or the breakage?
M: Why don’t you sit quietly in a corner and THINK about what you’ve done to your face. When you’re ready to apologize (to your face), you can come out again.
E: I HATE YOU AND I WISH I HAD NEVER BEEN BORN (you can’t see it, but I am flouncing now).
M: I WISH I WAS ADOPTED.
E: I AM ADOPTED AREN’T I? YOU AREN’T MY REAL PARENTS.
M: YOU STOLE MY PARENTS’ KIDNEYS. WHAT’S THE POINT IN LIVING ANYMORE?
E: YEAH. AND I NEED TWENTY QUID TO TOP UP MY PHONE. So. In conclusion: Snail Gel, even at half price, is a pile of evil mucous. The end.
M Yes. I had war paint on. And by war paint, I mean I combed my hair.
E: Because just occasionally I like to pretend I am in charge at Facegoop towers.
M: Oy! You are in charge! ish.
E: Of course i am. If by “in charge” you mean “your terrified subordinate”, then yes, I am in charge. Anyway. I sent you on a mission and you have, I believe, returned triumphant.
E: Tell me all.
M: I braved the squawking army of pink cheeked mac girls to retrieve this:
E: Ooooooooh my makeup bag! Come to momma.
M: Although why you would pay £24 for a bit of a print and a zipper, I’m not sure.
E: It has birds on, OK?
M: OK. BIRDS. Whatever. I did paw the scarf too though. It was nice. Thin and soft. Of course I blame you entirely for what happened next.
E: Oh dear. What did happen next?
M: I was drawn to the Chanel counter by invisible threads, like in a creepy puppet film.
E: Ouh la la. C’est pas bon, ça. Were they diffusing the scent of giant macarons to lure you in?
M: They had essence of Vanessa Paradis wafting. Not Joe le taxi Vanessa Paradis. Chanel Vanessa Paradis. Two very different BIRDS.
E: A taxi is a bird? I did not know this. I bet she’s a patchouli girl in real life though. Dirty barefoot hippie, living in the country with that bearded waster.
M: Yes. Do you think he just speaks in pirate speak?
M: Arrrr. That be a fine cupcake, Vanessa.
E: Arrrrrrrrr. First mate Paradis, plait me beard or I’ll make you walk the plank.
M: The end of the story is that I bought the fecking Mademoiselle lipstick, because I was brain washed by how pretty and wearable it is.
E: Oh man. And what colour is Mademoiselle?
M: It’s VANESSA PARADIS COLOURED. It’s the colour of Pretty. It is Joli.
E: Bon. Clearly I will get no sense out of you. You’ll just have to post a photo.
M: What, like this?
M: Not sure Vanessa would approve of my application “skillz”. Speaking of her, you must watch this:
E: Ils sont cons, ces français.
M: They are comparing her to Titi, the irritating yellow cartoon bird.
E: Nice tail. Céline on the Armani counter at Printemps Beauté would be jealous.
M: “On est dans une logique cartésienne”, they say. I am getting flashbacks to first year lectures at the Sorbonne.
E: C’est archi archi français, ça.
M: Oui. 100% français.
E: Hang on, we’ve got distracted again. What were we saying? You bought lipstick.
M: I blame you. The end.
E: I have also been beauty shopping, M. I have Chosen.
M: Chosen What?
E: The Chosen One. Every year, I choose a cellulite cream in which to place my ridiculous faith. I went to the pharmacy this week and It was on the counter.
M: Oh dear. This is not in the spirit of Easter.
E: The “presentoir” in which the boxes were placed was black and shiny, like it really meant business.
M: Cellulite business.
E: It was Vichy, my favourite of all of last year’s stupid snake oil creams. New Improved Vichy Nonsense.
E: Because the world has moved on since Lipo Dissolve, or whatever the last one was. Cellulite technology lies move fast. Now we have ….
E: Yes. It is a made up word they hope sounds scientific and slimming.
M: That’s like one of those bad overstock stores in Etienne Marcel. Kookai stock from 3 years ago. LA GRANDE BRADERIE de la CELLULITE!
E: PRIX HALLUCINANTS SUR LES CAPITONS!!!!! Je suis d’accord. However! Peer closer into the Vichy tube.
M: Must I?
E: Yes. The contents are pale green, the exact colour of Chanel Jade nail polish. And it contains something called a “lypolytic activator” How can it fail? It has a “lypolytic activator”, which is basically Mr Motivator for my fat. It pokes your fat until it wakes up and goes away.
M: Ugh. I am tired just thinking about it.
E: It is, you will be delighted to hear, “tested in vitro on lipocidine”. As opposed to tested on, say, LEGS.
M: Of course. Why wouldn’t it be? Legs are not hygienic, E. Everyone knows that. You think those lab-coated scientists have ever been NEAR a leg? Have they balls.
E: My favourite bit is the German for “diet resistant problem zones”, which is “Hartknäckigen Problemenzonen”
M: Knäcki. That’s a sausage, isn’t it? Well, my thighs DO look like sausages. I am sold. SOLD!
E: Well. It’s been a tremendous weekend for beauty purchasing. We have done well. Hohe funf, M?
E: How dare you. I bought reams of Nars goodness to get that for our readers. REAMS.
M: Ok, ok. Noone really doubts your ability to spend far too much money.
E: Thank goodness for that. And the winner is..
Soleil’s mother who went out with just one blue eyelid!
This was the full story:
Muchachas, I so want this pencil for my mamacita (who is, incidently, authentically Espanish), because she has had many misadventures with make-up. (NB: she normally wears none). Most recent misadventure. Mi mama querida decides to go through a really old make up stash, as generously left behing by my sisters and I when we left maman’s nest (many moons ago). She is irresistibly drawn to an electric blue eyeshadow, which she proceeds to smear not very skillfully but exceedingly generously all over her right eyelid. She likes what she sees, yes she does, and leaves it on, then gets distracted and carries on cleaning out the make up cupboard of marvels. Then leaves the bathroom, then takes her purse and goes to purchase her daily baguette (mamacita has lived in France for mucho tiempo) and some groceries, then stops to chat with some neighbours, then signs for a parcel delivered by a bemused postman, etc. Some time later she passes a mirror in her house and realises to her great desesperacion that she has been sporting ONE truly shocking bright blue eyelid all bloody day. She laughs and cries at once.
E: Well done Mamacita!
M: Because we’ve all done something stupid like that.
E: Oh yes. Sadly.
M: What have you done?
E: I look like a dick most of the time. I dress in the dark. My clothes have food on them.
M: I’ve turned up at work with what I thought was soft peachy blush, but was actually large streaks of bronzy orange.
E: Those false eyelashes I tried in Paris were pretty deadly. They were running away all over my face
M: Like caterpillars.
E: More like spiders. Navy bleu spiders. Because “il me reste que du bleu madame”. Which of course necessitated the purchase of navy blue eyeliner and various other extras. Then, 10 minutes later, a spider attack on my face in the middle of the Gare St Lazare.
M: Blue spider attack!
E: Yup. and let’s not even mention the endless fake tanning disasters.
M: Have you ever walked out with two different shoes, from two different pairs? Because, yup.
E: Ha! No. But hold ups falling down in the middle of the street? A weekly occurrence.
M: So a Facegoop hug to mamacita?
E: A huge Facegoop hug and a brand spanking new “Mr” “Nars” glitter crayon. Do one side, do two, draw yourself a cream glittery moustache. “Mr” “Nars” loves you just the way you are. Drop us Mamacita’s address in an email, Soleils, and the crayon of love is hers.
E: Well. I wanted to do a proper scientific controlled test of snail gel. Because, you know. I am all about the science.
M: Yes. Lab coat? Check. Severe glasses? Check. Clipboard? Check. You are the Monica of cosmetic testing.
E: Rigorous. Stringent. So I have been looking for snails with which to perform a controlled test. But you know what? Something very very sinister is happening.
M: Uh oh.
E: Where once the slithery little blighters were everywhere, now there are NONE. There is not a single snail in the whole of my slimy, neglected snail paradise of a garden.
M: Interesting. Iiiiinteresting. It’s the APOCALYPSE, isn’t it?
E: SNAPOCALYPSE maybe
E: Text edit says “this word not found in the dictionary”. Really, Textedit? That’s an oversight.
M: SNAILOCALYPSE. In all good dictionaries worldwide.
E: Anyway. The only thing I could find were these:
E: Dried out snail carcasses. I can tell you, my blood ran cold.
M: Do you think the snails are mutating? Turning into freakish slugs?
E: No. I do not think they are mutating. I think something far, far more sinister is happening.
M: Oh god. OH GOD. They are being harvested, aren’t they?
E: YES. The evil Dutch boffins at De Tuinen – which, uncoincidentally, means THE GARDEN – are sneaking into Belgium in the dead of night and harvesting my snails. The snail gel is in fact made with plucky belgian garden snails. None of this Chilean bullshit.
M: Gringo caracol.
E: Aaaaanyway. In the absence of control snails, I decided I would just decorate the pot instead.
M: Fair enough.
E: I thought so. Scientific.
M: Yes. Aesthetically scientific. So what’s it like, this wonder goo?
E: Well. It says on the jar that it has “a beneficial effect on impure skin”. my skin is very impure. It is full of wine, cheap chocolate, cold remedies and the occasional stick of cancerous death.
M: Oh boy. Your skin is definitely impure. I bet it has impure thoughts.
E: Pope Benedict the Bastard has issued an edict against my skin. Fact. Perfect, then, to test the snail gel, which makes the following promise in alluring, grammatically approximate English:
“The skin will become silky soft and very smooth. By coincidence it was discovered that the slime the Helix Aspersa Muller snails use to repair the snail shell’s, has a soothing and beneficial effect on the human skin”.
I have no idea if this is true as I have only used it once so far. But I can tell you this: It is VERY VERY STICKY.
M: Never. Snail goo? Sticky? Next you’ll be saying La Prairie is expensive.
E: There is absolutely no doubt that you are smearing the mucousy ooze of snails on your face.
M: Oh man. Is it on you right now? Can you go outside with it?
E: Yes. It is on me right now. Probably drying to a silvery, flaky trail effect. I am perfectly safe to go outside. I’ll be fine as long as I don’t eat too much salt. If I eat salt I will shrivel and liquefy. (It doesn’t say that on the jar).
M: No, but we know this to be fact.
E: I would like, at this point, to remind our readers that “Gathering the slime does not harm the snails” This IS stated on the jar.
M: We have photographic evidence to the contrary.
E: The snail cemetery that is my garden begs to differ.
M: So, is your skin soft and silky smooth?
E: So far there is no discernable softness or silkiness. But I am committing to applying this for THREE WHOLE DAYS.
E: I will do this for you, Facegoop readers, even though it will probably give me angry monkey face on easter weekend when I have Plans that involve leaving the house and seeing other human beings. Iwill report back on my mucousy progress.
M: I can’t wait, but is this wise?
E: No. It is not at all wise. It’s, it’s…………. SCIENCE.