Archive for May, 2010
M: E, I’m wiped.
E: Oh? What have you been up to?
M: I’ve spent the whole day with a bunch of grotty children and even grottier adults
E: Ew. That sounds unhygienic.
M: Have you got something for me?
I feel DIRTY.
E: Hmmm. How about some lovely cleansing wipes? Cleansing wipes. Possibly the best thing about living in 2010 along with the Zooborns website and the thing on the iphone that stops you getting lost in Blankenberge sur Mer when you are trying to locate a giant spidercrab.
M: And tranny makeup videos. So versatile, the wipes.
E: And the trannies. What did we do before wipes? I suppose hygienic people cleansed and toned the old way. I doubt I did.
M: We had to have showers. And used bleach to clean bike grease off our hands. Eh? I just said that out loud, didn’t I.
E: Ssssh. It’s ok.
M: I used Simple facial wipes. BUT. I have given up face wipes, for Lent.
E: Dude, it’s not lent.
M: Oh? Well, when I say Lent I mean FOREVER.
E: Huh? YOU CANNOT GIVE UP WIPES! Can you? Wipe cold turkey?
M: You can. I have done it. I still use wipes for bike chain accidents. Cheap antibacterial ones from Poundstretcher. Wipes are bad for you, aren’t they. They leave a sort of filmy residue on your skin.
E: Fuck filmy residues, I will never surrender my wipes. NEVER. They are good for cleaning screens, glasses, children, wiping the dog’s ears, cleaning the sink when you have company and realise the bathroom looks like the siege of Sarajevo.
M: In between your toes?
E: Not yet, but now you’ve suggested, I am sure I’ll be trying it. Wipes are good when the choice is between wipe or nothing.
M: That’s not a choice, that’s a fail. I AM HOLIER THAN WIPE.
E: But M. When there have been lychee cocktails, what will you do?
M: I will oil cleanse my face, as God is my witness. Or maybe use a cotton wool and some Mixa Eau Micellaire.
E: Fucking hell. Dude, I sleep fully clothed when there have been too many cocktails. Sometimes with shoes. You really think I’ll be dicking around with cottton wool? I fear our joint brain is ripping apart.
M: Small rip in the space brain continuum. We’ll survive. Please tell me you use the Bentley of Wipes.
E: Well. I use wipes recommended by Saint India of Knight, holy mother of the interwebs and everything that is beautiful. Bioderma Crealine. They are not offensively scented (I am looking at you, Sanctuary, and Boots). They do not sting my eyes. They do not leave a greasy residue. Or if they do I am too drunk to care. I do not look like a badger’s arse in the morning. END OF.
M: I suppose we should offer prayers to Saint India of Knight.
E: I will strew lychee cocktails at her beautifully manicured feet. Except, you can’t get them in Engerland. So that’s not much use, is it.
M: No, E. It is pointless.
E: How about we give a packet away? To make up for giving useless recommendations?
M: Ok. How about this – commenters must tell us the most unusual thing they have used a wipe on?
E: So. I have a packet of Bioderma wipes for the person who can tell us in the comments the weirdest thing they have used a wipe for. BE BRAVE, FACEGOOPERS. We will not judge you.
Bioderma Créaline H2O wipes, €6.70. You can buy them online.
E: The winner of the wipes is Kat Maddison for the giant stubbly white mouse wipe story.
Now you may clean the faces of many fancy dressed men, Kat, without leaving a filmy residue. The rest of you with your sex and cat stories are revolting. Use your wipes for good, not evil. Highly commended to the snake wiper though. Next time, Joi.
E: Goop morning, M. Today is an exciting day for science!
M: Uh oh. I’ll go fetch my lab coat.
E: Please do, there may be splashes. Get your safety goggles too.
M: Ok, go on then.
E: Well. You may recall that I was conducting an important scientific experiment for Facegoop.
M: What were you doing again? Eating slugs? Slugs coated in Coenzyme Q10?
E: Nope. No slugs, no snails, no product eating. Though now you mention it, I should have tasted them. I have been derelict in my duties. No matter.
You will recall that I was comparing Gel de la Mer, made out of unfeasibly expensive cashmere jellyfishes and £5 L’Oréal supermarket moisturiser.
M: On two halves of your face. Like Two-face from Batman. But CRAZY.
E: Precisely. So. I kept the experiment up for a week, with only minimal left/right confusion.
M: And by minimal, you mean drunken.
E: Ssssssh. Then, because I am all about the science, I decided to ask random members of the public (well, ones I know) to guess which side was which.
M: Interesting. I’m sure there is a scientific name for this observation methodology.
E: You may be right. What might it be? Randomised double blind control testing?
M: “Uncontrolled and unreliable”. But do go on.
E: Well. The results were SHOCKING. Do you have your goggles on?
M: If you want.
E: Every single person (about, er, eight) I asked CORRECTLY IDENTIFIED THE GEL DE LA MER SIDE.
“This side looks much better” said my friend Tara “it’s visibly different”.
“You pointed at the right side when you said Crème de la Mer” said my friend Tamara. We will gloss over that.
M: What did she mean by visibly?
E: Fresher. Plumper. More baby seal-like.
M: Furry? Vulnerable? A little bit too demanding?
E: Probably, with a huge liquid eye. Yes.
M: Well let’s see some photographical evidence, Two-Face.
E: Erm. I have some photos but I don’t think you can actually see the difference on them. However, you can see an amusing photo of me with a line down the middle of my face and another where I am holding a small cut out of Gordon Brown on the losing side, and, mysteriously, a small cut out of Kirsten Davies on the winning side. I hope that is helpful to our readers.
M: WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN, E??
E: I fear, M, it may mean that Gel de la Mer is better than £5 moisturiser. This is not the result I hoped for. Bugger; I am going to have to become a sex worker to pay for Gel de la Mer now, aren’t I?
M: What do you mean, become? A hardi har har.
E: Oh, very good. Hardiharharharhar. Truthfully, I thought the Gel side was a little plumper and less craggy. But is it significant enough for me to want to pay ££££££££ for it? I doubt it.
M: How long will the pot last you? Have you been putting it on your whole face?
E: Yes, since the Shocking Trial Results, I have taken to using it all over my face.The pot will last quite a while. You only need a teeny bit or else it gives you spots.
M: Ha. They should put that in the brochure.
E: So in conclusion, I am saddened to announce that Gel de la Mer outperforms £5 L’Oréal moisturizer. Sorry, everyone.
M: God damn you, Crème de la Mer.
E: As you know, M, I have been specially selected – possibly by the Nigerian royal family, or by a special lottery – to participate in a Secret Squirrel Product Trial by Cult Beauty, which I thought was a brand, but which it transpires is a website selling various beauty brands. It’s an honour.
M: E, they just said you had to be 35 or over.
E: Sssssh. I had to go for a Special Face Assessment. It involved sticking your head into a white sphere of doom so a nice man who we will be calling The Face Mechanic could take the worst photos of your life.
M: I see. did The Face Mechanic give you an MOT? (I don’t know what an MOT is)
E: I think I failed my face MOT. My face is broken.
M: So, can The Face Mechanic repair it? Or did he suck in air through his breath and say “pfffff”"that’ll cost you”
E: ‘There’s your parts and your labour”. “It’ll be a two man job and we can’t fit you in before October”. No. He didn’t. Though he did suggest at one point I might want to get my nostril veins ablated. I have no idea what that even means.
M: Ha. Doesn’t your nose need veins?? I mean, for blood flow. Your skin needs blood, right? Or it will just fester and fall off in disgusting black chunks.
E: What a nice vision. Thanks, M, our special Face Scientist. Apparently my nose doesn’t need the kind of veins it has. Anyway, that wasn’t great, but the worst picture was a blue one of FACE BACTERIA. I don’t want face bacteria!
E: I know. This is worse than when my nails all turned green.
M: Rather you than me, E. Parce que, let me tell you, if the mechanic took one look at my face, he would run away screaming, face wrench in one hand and chamois cloth in the other. Did he use a crank on your jaw??
E: No. There were no face tools at all.
M: THEN WHAT IS THE MIRACLE SOLUTION??? Surely you don’t have to live the rest of your life with face bacteria and nose veins?
E: I do not have THE MIRACLE SOLUTION yet. THE MIRACLE SOLUTION is in Ireland, held up by volcanic ash. The long and the short of it is: I have hideous sun damage (despite living in nowhere sunnier than England, France and Belgium all my life and wearing fucking sunscreen) I do not have many wrinkles, but he would dearly love to blast the ones I do have and my skin is uneven and full of bacteria. So either I kill myself.
E: Or I use THE MIRACLE SOLUTION.
M: Which is stuck in ireland
M: Well that sucks.
E: It does. Maybe it will all be all right when the MIRACLE SOLUTION arrives. And maybe we will all be buried under volcanic ash before that happens. However all is not lost as I bought the magical Muji cleansing oil to try. Take that, bacteria mofos.
M: Aha! We can add it to our special oil cleansing post.
E: Nice subtle trailer there, M. Yes, our special oil cleansing post featuring the Special Fancl Test. Watch this space.
Photos from Visia complexion analysis. E’s photos will be revealed in all their hideous glory at the end of the trial.
E: M, you are going to be so proud of me.
M: I’ll be the judge of that.
E: Yes. I have been to a Beauty Evening for research. And not just because there were free drinks.
M: Right. I am not impressed yet.
E: Well, it was run by Harper’s Bazaar, and you could get makeovers from make up artistes. And Newby Hands, the beauty director at Harper’s gave a talk and said that Fred from Armani was THE BEST. She said that she didn’t want all the shiny pretty laydeez fighting over getting a makeover from him but that he was amazing and they should try. Guess who was FIRST?
E: YES. ME ME ME.
M: Did you shove everyone out of the way? Did you kick shins?
E: My elbows are steel tipped.
M: Was there blood?
E: Ssssssh. We don’t talk about that.
M: High five!
E: High GBH five.
M: And? How was Fred? Is he a space lizard?
E: Yes. A tiny French space lizard. A space gecko. He said their new lipstick was better than Mr Ford’s.
M: A talking tiny french space lizard would not lie.
E: No. Then he put tonnes of blush on me.
M: Was it nice blush?
E: Yes, actually, you get two shades in one compact, a browny and a pinky and he did amazing cheekbone conjuring and contouring tricks with them, look:
E: Then he he put some taupe shadow worthy of a cast member in Grey’s Anatomy on me, and a nude magic lipstick. He showed me the red and it looked awesome, but it gave me a funny turn, what with my Morbid Lip Colour Phobia.
M: PUSSY. Your lips deserve better than nude. What else? Tell me more.
E: Well, there were six rooms with different brands doing stuff. But instead of rooms, Harper’s Bazaar called them ‘beauty playgrounds’. There were no slides though. Or swings or an ice cream van.
M: Ha, playgrounds. Was it like the Tellytubbies playground? Except that freaky baby face sun had MR ARMANI instead, glaring at you coldly. And judging. JUDGING.
E: Wordlessly. Liplessly. I would totally watch Armani tellytubbies.
M: What would that be like? The mind boggles. There wouldn’t be nice grassy hills. It would all be sleek. And black. And perfectly flat.
E: Matte. And Celine the terrifying space lizard from Printemps Beauté would do educational things with her tail. She could be the Noo-Noo! I don’t think it sounds very suitable for preschoolers. ANYWAY. It was not matte black. It was kind of of taupe and full of beautiful, amazonian women. I felt like a hobbit.
M: A hobbit with sculpted cheekbones though.
E: I suppose. Newby Hands gave a talk. She said:
1. Diorskin Nude foundation was brilliant
2. That YSL do the most genius gel eye mask ever; and
3. That Dolce & Gabbana did excellent nude shades.
Wow, this is like lecture notes. I am the sad, lecture note beauty geek.
M: I’ve been testing the Dior Nude foundation. I am almost ready to buy it.
E: Do. She says it’s brilliant, on the cusp of skincare and makeup AND it makes you a better person and five inches taller. She was like this amazing, glowing uber-mensch, so I trust her.
M: I could be a better person. I could totally be a better person. I could be that girl, in the ads, with the pouffy pink dress and bicycle and flowery hat. Her:
E: With Dior you could. You would be good at that, you’re already a bike perv.
M: Continue. What else?
E: Well, the Bare Escentuals ladies were there swirling and buffing and they had tiny cupcakes.
M: Were they swirling and buffing the cupcakes?
E: Yes, swirl buff swirl buff.
M: That’s weird, man. Onto their FACES?
E: Ok, I lied. But they had swirled icing.
M: WHAT ELSE.
E: Well, Armani had chocolates.
M: Dude, I’m sorry, but I don’t give a shit about the food. I’m here about the STUFF. Gimme my wholesome Harper’s beauty crack.
E: Ah, sorry. Well, Lancôme have magical mascara that makes your EYELASHES GROW SO FAST YOU CAN PLAIT THEM.
M: Yeah, I don’t believe in that.
E: It no longer changes the colour of your eyes which hello? FREAKY.
M: I don’t know, different coloured eyes are sexy. Like, one yellow, one purple. HAWT.
E: Good if you’re in a witness protection program. You could have different coloured eyes and grow an eyelash curtain to hide behind.
M: I got one of those. With the Topshop mascara.
E: We will learn all about that in the forthcoming Epic Mascara Post.
YSL Top Secrets Instant Eye Wake-up Patches, £32
Diorskin Nude foundation, £29
Giorgio Armani Blending Blush duos
E: Hey M. You know how we’re really grumpy and cursed with the curse of Facegoop at the moment?
M: Ssssh. Don’t mention the curse of Facegoop.
E: Sorry. The leprous sores are starting to heal slightly now. Anyway, I thought, to cheer ourselves up, we could diversify into sending begging letters for beauty products we really really want. I’ve started by writing one to Tom Ford.
M: Oh dear. Well, I suppose I had better hear it.
E: Ok, well it goes:
“Dear Mr Ford,
We know you make your lipsticks from finely ground unicorn horn, pixies tears and the shroud of Audrey Hepburn, that they cure cancer and reverse the ageing process and that they will make us hotter than Scarlett Johansson and Jessica Biel and other pretty ladies rolled into one.
We want one. We have been very good and went to see your film and all that.
E and M
(ps u r hot)
M: Impressive. You know he’s gay, right?
E: Of course I do. He is still hot. In an eerily perfect sort of way.
M: Do you think he’s an android?
E: Probably. His torso is made of medical grade bronzed silicone.
M: Did you really see his film?
E: I was mainly hypnotised by the mohair jumper. It did not make me cry at all.
M: That’s because you are dead inside.
E: I can confirm that 110%.
M: Lord Alan Sugar of Clapton would be proud. Do you have DNA evidence of this film attendance?
E: What do you want. popcorn grease?
M: It’s not for me, it’s for Mr Ford.
E: Give Mr Ford my DNA?
E: But I know for a fact Mr Ford is in league with the DNA superthieves at Estee Lauder.
E: So NO. You can take my pride but you cannot take my stem cells in return for a fifty quid lipstick, as I believe Martin Luther King did not say.
M: You are principled, E.
E: Oh yes. But I would really like a coral lipstick.
M: Have you tried them?
E: I fucking wish. I have just read about how awesome they are. Have you?
M: No. And would YOU wear coral?
E: I dunno, but it sounds deliciously retro. “Coral”, like 1950s housewife. That whole Revolutionary Road/Mad Men that whole aesthetic. Lives of quiet desperation but with lovely clothes.
M: I would be an excellent 1950s housewife. I would totally have a bloody mary every morning.
E: You would be an amazing 1950s housewife, in your homemade apron. Except your apron would have “arse” embroidered in the corner. If I was rich and male and squinty I would marry you.
M: Thanks E, I think.
E: Now will you get Mr Ford to give me a lipstick? Just one. I will be careful with it. I will polish the case and stroke it and feed it tiny cakes.
M: So, we are now a real beauty blog.
E: We are? Sorry, we are. Yes.
M: We have been sent Free Stuff to review.
E: I KNOW. It’s easily the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me! Well. Maybe second after Mexican Wrestling.
M: Calm down. Remember, we have only been sent Cheap Stuff. Namely, a bag of ELF. Which is not to be confused with a bag of Elves.
E: That would be really horrible.
M: Annoyingly cheerful.
E: Squeaky. Neat.
M: And efficient. Basically everything we stand against here at Facegoop.
E: Yup. So thank goodness we didn’t get any of those. Instead we have a leatherette pochette of various cheap and cheerful products.
M: Including a bottle of purply nail polish called Purple Punk.
E: Ha. Punk. What do you reckon to the nail polish M?
M: It’s free from all sorts of things -Toluene, Formaldehyde, and Dibutyl Phthalate, which I think is supposed to be a good thing.
E: So what does it have in? Elf breath?
M: Squashed punks, obvs.
E: Oh yeah, squashed punks. I’m surprised squashed punks come out a such a pretty colour. I would have thought they would be grey, what with the black PVC and the pasty skin. What did you actually think of it?
M: I think you are confusing punks with S&M fetishists. Well, I actually really liked it. It’s pretty easy to apply, and the shade is good. I don’t have anything like it, and you could wear it in summer and winter.
E: Yes, I probably wouldn’t have bought it, but now I have it, I would totally wear it. It’s not very purple, is it?
M: No, I suppose not. It’s pinky purple.
E: Fuschia. The colour of, erm, anarchy.
M: The problem is it takes forever to dry.
E: Dammit, woman, now you tell me. I’ve just put some on my little fingernail!
M: I left it for at least 2 hours, and still got hair marks all over it during the night. Look:
E: So I’m stuck, you’re telling me? I can’t move all evening?
M: Yup. You can’t do anything with your pinky. From now until breakfast. No scratching your ear hole. No tickling your nose.
E: I will just have to hold it aloft and admire its pinky purpleness.
M: Shame you didn’t put it on your middle finger.
E: So: Elf Punk Purple. Nice with one of those quick drying topcoat things. Crap if you don’t have any and you’re in a hurry.
M: Crap if you’re crap, basically.
E: Which we are. Fatal flaw.
Elf Punk Purple nail polish, £1.50
M: Isn’t today amazing? Isn’t it wonderful?
E: Er, no? It’s shit. The world economies are collapsing and neither of our countries now has a government. What’s wrong with you? Have you been sniffing glue?
M: It is Spring. The blossoms are out. The sun is shining. The temperatures are a tiny bit over freezing.
E: Hmm. You have been sniffing glue.
M: SPRRRRING! And I have finished my accounts.
E: AHA! That’s what this is about.
M: Yes! They have been given to the new accountant, who is £300 cheaper than the old bastard accountant.
E: Well that is cause for celebration. High five M.
M: High five, E. Using the power of girl logic, this means I have £300 to spend.*
E: That’s a lot of money M*. What did you buy? Baby goats? Macaroons? Baby goats made of macaroons?
M: Well I happened to be walking past Topshop on my way to the office.** They have a new makeup collection. Have you seen it?
E: No, but I have read about it and it sounds good. ‘Good’ That’s a highly technical makeupbloggist term.
M: Well, it’s the magical launch week today so they had a special glossy stand in the big shiny new Topshop and they had flown*** over some Special Makeup People.****
E: And? And and and????? Did you try it? Is it good?
M: It’s actually very very good. I LOVE IT. Cheap. Nice products. Flimsy packaging but very cute. I could have bought practically all of it.
E: So what DID you buy?
M: Shall I give you the highlights?
E: Please do.
M: There is fat glittery eye pencil, suspiciously like our beloved Aigle Noir, and it comes in all sorts of other colours too. Only £6.
E: Ooooh cheap eagle, not bad, not bad.
M: There is a powder highlighter from the special summer collection, which is nice and finely milled (technical term).
E: Get you with your beauty bloggist terminology.
M: It also shines like the sun. The makeover artist recommended the mascara – she said it was great even with the crap hygienic disposable brush they have to use. I didn’t buy it but I will. SOON.
E: You must. It is your Duty.
M: Their cream blushes are nice. Like Stila convertible colours but not so gloopy,very sheer and light.
E: Oh, I want to gooooo! Why do I live in Belgiana? Whiiiiine.
M: There there, whiny. You will. Soon. I want to show you my favourite thing.
E: Yes please.
M: This is the Crayon in Sun Shower. It is AMAZING.
E: Ooh that is PRETTY . What does it do?
M: It’s a soft greasy crayon pencil thing and it twists out of the pretty gold case. It’s like a bronzy browny gold for your eyelids.
E: Wow. I love it already. GIMME. I like how it says you can do “face art”.
M: Yes. It will be good for our planned Mexican wrestling makeover. I also bought a couple of nail polishes. They have a huuuuge range of colours.
E: Which ones did you get?
M: I got two… one is “nice n neutral”, minky greige, and the other is called “art school” (HA).
E: HA. And what colour is “art school”?
M: “Art school” is a soft gorgeous pink.
E: Pfff, as if. Art school should be mental coloured. With sticky-outy bits of weirdness and gratuitous phalluses probably.
M: Art school should be half glitter, half leopard print, half comet vomit.
E: And half penis. That’s 4 halves. Facegoop maths.
M: That’s ok, art students can’t count. The varnishes look really good though. They had a good one which was black in the pot but came out petrol blue.
E: So, Top Shop make up is a massive Facegoop WIN?
M: Yes, BUT. The makeup artist. She grabbed me, and put crazy ass BLUE GLITTERY EYE MAKEUP on me. What is it with sales assistants and blue makeup???
E: What is it with YOU and blue makeup, you mean. You knows you love it.
M: I looked like a crazy person. I mean CRAZY. Like, the No7 makeover was neutral and calm in comparison. GIANT ASS GLITTER CRAZY. BIG FAT FLECKS. ALL OVER MY FACE.
E: Whoop. Disco M. Edinburgh has never seen anything like it.
M: She said “it’ll look great for an evening out”. Little does she know my evenings out consist of knitting and eating biscuits.
E: Great for a night out ON MARS. So we are excited about Top Shop make up then?
M: Yes. We love it. You will love it when you get your grubby Belgian paws on it. It is Cheap. And Pretty. And Crazy.
E: I can’t wait. Gimme some gold crayon goodness.
** Lies again: I was on my way home back to bed.
**** Poor Students.
Topshop makeup, all under £10.
E: You know how I am really into the Science, M?
M: Oh doux petit Jésus. Not again.
E: Well. I have started an Exciting New Facegoop Experiment.
M: Is it something to do with Excessive Capitalisation?
E: That’s my Germanic Scientific Side Coming Out. Anyway, let me tell you about it. My skin is dry at the moment. Really dry. It is dessicated, loose, flaky. I have slakke skin. Sexy stuff.
M: Like coconut.
E: Yeah. Like dessicated coconut sticking to my face. Exactly. There is obviously no hope of me ever looking like a human again, so I am donating my face to Science.
M: I’m not sure Science has much use for your face, but go on.
E: Well. My first project: Compare super ridiculously expensive Crème de la Mer “Gel de la Mer” …
Hang on. WTF. there is no GEL in the Mer. Not unless there has been an environmental disaster.
M: The Gulf of Mexico begs to differ. There are jelly fish – does that count?
E: Maybe, but I don’t know why they’d be so expensive. Anyway. I am comparing Jellyfish de la Mer with £5 supermarket L’Oréal moisturizer.
M: Which one?
E: It’s called “Triple Active Crème Hydratante, Peaux Sèches”
M: That sounds suspiciously like Belgian to me.
E It’s even better in flemish. ‘Droge huid” is dry skin.
M: And what scientific comparison are you doing exactly on your droge huid?
E: Aha. Have you got your lab coat on?
M: If it pleases you to think so, yes.
E: Well, on the LEFT side of my face I am applying the £5 droge huid cream and on the RIGHT side of my face I am applying the £££££££ Gel de la Mer. Twice daily. And we will see which performs better.
The “scientist” can’t tell her right from her left. M’s brain is liquefying from the confusion.
M: Is one of your sides going to get rather demanding? Will it ask for caviar for breakfast?
E Like Mariah Carey? Maybe.
M: Yes. It will tell people not to look it in the eye.
E: Maybe it will demand kittens to be rubbed against it.
M: So how is this tightly controlled clinical trial going?
E: I started this experiment on Thursday. So far, the Mariah Carey side has generated one spot. The £5 side none. Apart from that they both sides are slightly less coconutty.
M: Anything else to declare? Dewiness? Radiance? A desire to wear inappropriate clothing?
E: Nope. The Mariah Carey side has not made me glow with preternatural health and youth. Nor has the £5 side. Absolutely nothing to declare.
M: Well, I find this all rather deflating.
E: I know. But noone ever said science would be fun. Well, they might have done, but they LIED.
M: This review is a downer.
E: Do not despair, M, I am planning to report back at the weekend after extensive experiments with each side of my face. Do they repel goats? Can I see better out of one eye than the other? Does one side conduct electricity better than the other? Watch this space!
M: Can we just drink gin instead?
E: I’ll join you when I’ve finished dissecting this toad.