Archive for October, 2010
E: M, the elves have been busy again
M: Yes! They have sent us another package.
E: Instead of mending shoes over night, they have been sending us packages of stuff
E: The man in the post office stares at me like a halfwit when I collect them. He’s got a THING for me and my elven packages.
M: What kind of thing? Like, a creepy he’s rubbing his trousers beneath the counter thing?
E: A starey thing. He doesn’t speak, he just stares at my face. Really closely. It’s probably all the elven makeup. Or maybe he’s thinking “that girl could do with a decent concealer” See what I did there???
M: Yes, E, very good. Maybe, MAYBE he’s thinking – WOW. What a flawless complexion. Where can I get myself some of this shitz?
E: That seems unlikely in suburban Belgium, but maybe he is.
M: I need to come clean. I wrote a letter to Santa and asked him to send us some of this concealer.
M: Because Lisa Eldridge, the patron saint of cosmetic zombies, used it in one of her videos. And she said it was quite good.
E: Saint Lisa is never wrong. So what do you think of the Elven concealer?
M: Well, it’s tiny, innit. Made for elves, by elves.
E: Yeah. You don’t need much though.
M: I use tan. It’s a perfect match for me.
E: I use “corpse”.
M: That’s what I said to the elves. “Send E whatever the palest shade is”. I find it a bit hard to put on though.
E: Yes. So did I. I used my Laura mercier brush, which was very pissed off to be used with someone else’s product. I think it’s sulking.
M: Was it like you’d set it up on a blind date with a girl from the ghetto?
E: Yes. One with a full beard.
M: I’ve been using my No7 eyeliner brush, which is small but not entirely adequate. It needs to be warmed up a bit on the hand first I find.
E: Yes, I agree. but the colour and coverage are good. And it’s, what, 3 pence?
M: The problem is, of course, that I wanted to compare it to Laura Mercier’s nuclear-grade secret camouflage so I went out and bought some. Because I had to compare, you see? I just had to.
E: You “had” to.
M: And I do like that one better, though it costs 25 gazillion times more. It’s more stiff and dry. But somehow more creamy on the skin.
E: I do love me a bit of SC. I’m on the Mercier Special Ops team. SC is better.
M: I think we need to do some sort of chart. I like charts.
E; Ok, M.
M: what goes on the chart?
E: Cost. Ease of application. Cuteness. Fear of a swift, deadly professional assassination.
ELF sent us the concealer for review.
ELF studio concealer, £3.50
Laura Mercier Secret Camouflage, £25 and a bullet in the neck.
M: E, We have another problem for the Ask Facegoop Agony Clinic. Reader T.Twisted (which is an awesome name), has asked us a question.
Hello Facegoop, I prostrate myself at the feet of your glorious wisdom. Please, please, please help me find a light moisturiser, preferably oil-free, that has an SPF in it. I don’t wear foundation and my current moisturiser (Liz Earle Skin Repair Light) does not have sun protection. I will be eternally grateful for any suggestions!
Glorious wisdom. We need to live up to this, E.
E: Oil free? what does that mean?
M: It means it must have no oil in it. Some beauty experts we are. Oil. You know. The stuff you get out of fruits and what not when you squeeze them. Like, avocado oil. Sesame oil. Mineral oil. SEAL OIL.
E: Squeezed out of .. what? Seal is not a fruit.
M: Chilean miners. LET US MOVE ON. FORGET ABOUT THE OIL.
M: STOP FIXATING ABOUT THE OIL.
M: There’s nothing wrong with a bit of oil, anyway.
E: I thought we weren’t talking about it any more.
M: So, I would like to put forward my new Becca Luminous Skin Colour.
E: Is that a moisturiser, then? It doesn’t SOUND like moisturiser.
M: It is a very very very lightweight foundation that feels like a cloud. No, a marshmallow. NO! a cloudy marshmallow.
E: A cloudy marshmallow. Right. So, the lady wants moisturiser and you’re offering her cloudy marshmallows??
M: It’s super hydrating, makes your face glow in a non sweaty way, and you can’t feel it on. AND it has SPF25.
E: Oooh. Fancy.
M: And it’s Australian, innit. They know about sunscreen. And koalas.
E: That is true. Also beer.
M: It’s very moisturising. It has all sorts of vitamins in it, like a smoothie.
E: Well then. It sounds lovely. Are you sure it’s oil free?
M: You’re just cranky because you’ve run out of seal blubber. No, it’s not oil free. But I’ve been using it all week and it’s not broken me out. And everything, but everything breaks me out. Looking at my own face breaks me out. Anyway, what do you suggest, cranky pants? Won’t you just tell the nice lady what you’re using to shield yourself from the big yellow orb in the sky?
E: I like Daywear. It’s nice and green. It smells like something good for you. It has SPFS And it’s not made of marshmallows or miners. But what do I know? Now I want your Australian miracle cream made from wombat poo.
M: Daywear, huh?
E: Yes, Estee Lauder the demon grandmother’s Daywear. She’s your mean gran, the one you didn’t ever want to visit. She’ll tell you you’ve put on weight and that green doesn’t suit you. But she really doesn’t want you to get wrinkles.
M: She’s all about the caring, granny. Is it like, a housecoat in a tube?
E: That’s exactly what it is. Well done M. It’s a housecoat in a tube.
M: The cosmetic equivalent of a housecoat and a set of curlers. In a tube.
E: So, T Twisted. The choice is yours. Wombat approved marshmallow clouds?Or a housecoat in a tube? NO, NO NEED TO THANK US.
Any other recommendations, facegoopists?
Becca Luminous Skin Colour with SPF 25, £33.01
Estee Lauder Daywear Plus Base with SPF30, £30
E: So, M. I have sensitive eyes. Very very very sensitive eyes. I don’t know why I’m telling you this
M: Because you like to whine?
E: Oh yeah, that’s it.
M: I have sensitive eyes too. We are eye twins.
E: Awww eye twins. That sounds creepy. ANYWAY. Because of having no lashes I ALWAYS wear eyeliner and shadow, so they’re always getting irritated.
M: That sounds atrocious. I have a thing about eyes, ever since I had an eye operation when I was little and the nurse removed my stitches with TWEEZERS
E: Ewwww. Gross.
M: GIANT STEEL TWEEZERS, E.
E: I actually have the dry heaves thinking about that. ANYWAY. I have used Talika eye make up remover for years. It’s for “yeux ULTRA sensible”. It’s excellent, but it’s dear.
M: Also, it has a vaguely stupid name. Like something someone on the Xfactor would call their love child.
E: True dat. Here at Facegoop’s Belgian HQ money is tight. So I have been looking for a cheap substitute
M: How tight would you say money is? Tight like Dita von Teese’s corset?
E: I would say it was tighter than my black and silver dress that I can’t ever wear again unless I have 3 ribs removed.
M: Wow. Robot tight.
E: Yup. Now. My friend Ms Sali Hughes is, like, a proper beauty writer and so on. And she is ALWAYS recommending Body Shop Camomile Eye Makeup Remover.
She actually recommends it as a stain remover. Apparently it is the dogs bollix for getting makeup stains out of clothes.
M: Ha. Is this for Hannah HW? Who got Laura Mercier on her fancy dress?
E: Among others. Sali swears by it. So. I was thinking to myself. If it’s good at getting make up off clothes, maybe it’s also good at getting makeup off, you know, EYES?
M: This is very interesting. You’re all about the logic, E.
E: I really am. So I bought some.
And you know what? It’s pretty good.
M: Does it smell of dewberry? Or Peach? WHITE MUSK?
E: Ha. No, thank fuck. Fuzzy Peach. That was rank, wasn’t it?
M: I loved fuzzy peach. I loved it with a passion that still burns deep.
E: Ewwwww. That’s almost worse than eyetweezing, you perv.
M: So, this chamomile infusion. Is it good at removing waterproof mascara? Or sending granny to sleep?
E: I have not tried to give it to my granny at bedtime. But it doesn’t really smell of anything. It has a watery texture. It does not sting. It takes eye make up off without having to scrub until your eyes are like pieces of meat.
M: Jesus mother of god. I can’t even read that. It makes my eyes burn.
E: I KNOW. So, for £3.00, I approve. I will be buying it again. And when I next spill something down me, I know what I’ll be using too. Double win!
The Body Shop camomile gentle eye makeup remover, £3.00 for 60ml
E: Why are you shouting at me to go faster?
M: Keep up, E. “Veet” is international sign language for “your upper lip is hairy, bitch”.
E: Aha. Is there a hand gesture to go with that?
M: Yes. It’s one where you hold the skin taut and pull FAST.
E: OUCH. Being bald is such an advantage at times like this.
M: I know, this is what us hairy people have to deal with. Did I tell you about my chin hair?
E: This is karmic retribution for you laughing at my attempts to fake tan.
M: Yes. Karma. Well, let me tell you, the karma has a new formula.
E: Oh? Tell me more, oh hairy one.
M: It is pleasingly pink, which is apparently what girls like.
E: What’s pink? the actual wax?
M: Yes. But why? Do men wax their moustaches? No, didn’t think so, Veet-formerly-known-as-Immac.
E: Poirot waxed his moustache. But he waxed it to a curly point, rather than waxing it off.
M: Pfff, wusses. The thing is, the Veet strips are really good. They take everything off, fast. Shamefully, however, they invariably leave tiny little bits of wax around the edges. Tiny little bits of wax that are IMPOSSIBLE to take off.
E: A waxstache. What do you do about that?
M: I have tried everything. The ridiculous oil-soaked tiny square of crap that comes in the box.
M: I’ve tried cleansing oil. Soap. Olive oil. AVOCADO oil. Even butter for goodness’ sake.
E: Have you tried sticking a wick in them and burning them off?
M: Hmm, ok, I haven’t tried to burn it off.
E: I don’t think you should try that at home, facegoopers. Health and Safety announcement.
M: What is in this wax? Superglue?
E: Yes. Or … fox poo? That is also impossible to remove.
M: Oh god. Well it’s like that. Fox poo. But pink. And it gives you spots.
E: Eeew. I could have sworn we were saying Veet was good at the start of this. But with this fox poo pink wax, I am not so sure.
M: I KNOW! It’s rubbish. Damn you, Veet. Damn you to hell.
E: What other ‘tache options are there?
M: Dunno. I’ve been tweezing them by hand, which is a bit like what’s his name in the greek stables.
E: Erm. Theseus? A minotaur? Zeus? A hydra? Ok, you’ve reached the limits of my greek mythology there.
M: That’s all I have to say on the subject really.
E: So: Veet. It’s crap. Right?
E: I am laughing. That was a really stupid post.
M: Totally crap. A bit like the product.
Veet mini face strips, £5.19
How do you deal with a furry upper lip, readers?
E: You seem very pleased with yourself, M. What gives? Stolen a pony?
M: Well, you know how I’ve just finished my course of face hoovering.
E: Of course. Are you in withdrawal? Eyeing up the hoover at home with hungry eyes?
M: Yes. I have a Dirty Devil which could be just right.
E: I think you mean a Dirt Devil.
M: Whatevs. Well, my skin was much better after that, but I had all these weird little milia and tiny angry red spots that just wouldn’t go away.
So, I’ve been wondering, as one does, what could be the cause of these aggravations. Stress?
M: Chocolate? A diet of potatoes and cheese? The work of the devil?
E: Weeping? So have you got any answers to this puzzle?
M: Well, I’ve been suspecting Sodium Lauryl Sulfate.
And what is this substance?
M: Sulfate – see? That’s what they have in hell, isn’t it?
E: Yup. It’s the devil’s own additive.
M: I dunno, some people react badly to it. It’s that stuff that makes shit foam, innit. Well, not actually shit. Just, products. OH GOD.
E: It’s OK. I GET IT.
E: Ick. Shit foam.
M: So, I picked up this Good Things Stay Clear purifying cleanser at Boots the other day. It’s had a lot of press. Alice Hart-Davis, who is apparently a beauty writer, created the line. And you know what? That shit is GOOOD.
E: Ooooh! Tell me more.
M: It’s a gel that you rub on your wet face for a minute or so. It turns sort of thick and creamy so you can really massage it in. And then you take it off with a flannel. It’s free from all the bad stuff, hence the name.
E: Ok. So far so .. cleansery. What’s so good about it?
M: It’s the exorcist, in a face wash.
M: I’ve only been using it for 3 days, and the tiny angry red spots that have been there for MONTHS are gone.
E: Wow. that’s some awesome shit.
M: Black magic, if you ask me.
E: I am so buying it. I bet it cures scurvy (I have scurvy).
M: Maybe. If you drink it. It has mangoes and blueberries in it.
E: It’s like putting a toad in your pocket or saying the rosary.
M: Ha, that reminds me of the toad purse.
E: What the fuck is the toad purse?
M: It’s a toad! It’s a purse!
E: WHY HAD I NEVER SEEN THAT BEFORE?? OH MY GOD. It’s a dried toad you put money in? Is that correct?
M: Well, a dried hollowed toad you put money in
E: Oh god. Still, better than the vagina one.
M: Dude, why are we bringing vaginas into this?
E: I really don’t know. Quick! Send for the Good Things Cleanser! I need a full brain wash.
M: I’ll get the flannel.
Good Things Stay Clear cleanser, £4.99
Ask Facegoop is back. Send us your questions and we will mock them. Nah, we’ll answer them if we can. Maybe.
This week, Tracey asks:
I have rather stupidly signed up to climb Mount Kilimanjaro next year for a local cancer charity. During this trek we will have 7 days between the beginning and end of the climb and I’ve been advised that there are no showers on the mountain. Bugger. So, my information pack tells me that I get one bowl of warm water each morning for washing.
Can you recommend any products that would make my hair bearable and skin feeling as clean as it can be with only 1 bowl of water?
Any help greatly appreciated!
First of all, I think we need to give you some props. Some mad crazy person props. The Kilimanjaro? Really? Some people would be quite content to contribute by sitting on their sofa, texting donations to the charity of their choice through the medium of modern smart phones, or perhaps absentmindedly feeling up their own bosoms in a feckless attempt at early detection. But you – YOU, Tracey! Not only will you be climbing the world’s highest freestanding mountain, you will also be facing bugs as big as your fist, mangy lions, and a measly water allocation that would make most right minded people pale.
I feel pathetically ill equipped to deal with your question, prone as I am to laughing hysterically at the mere mention of a hiking boot. Or, indeed, a hike. However, I did once spend three weeks in a house in Cambodia that had no running water, a resident gorilla spider in the “bathroom” and a bucket for a toilet, so here are my suggestions:
- La douche à la lingette: this will form the cornerstone of your hygiene regime. E swears by Bioderma, but I think in your case an industrial pack of baby wipes will probably be best. If it’s good enough for a baby’s bottom, it’s probably good enough for your face. Or your vajay-jay.
How about these SLS, chlorine and alcohol free ones?
- Talcum powder: I was going to suggest dry shampoo, but this should also help with any chafing emergencies. Toe moistness must be avoided at all cost.
- If you have a fringe, grow it out. Nothing feels more manky than a limp lock of greasy hair on a sweaty forehead. Bring hair bands. Lots of them.
- Homeoplasmine: It’s suspiciously homeopathic but mildly antiseptic and heals burns and grazes better than anything I’ve tried, and you can also wear it on your lips. Or try lanolips if your lips are likely to crack and peel off your face.
- And finally, something a bit luxurious that doubles up as a moisturizer and sun protector. Institut Esthederm is highly rated by Saint Lisa Eldridge and their High altitude and cold weather cream sounds like just the thing you need.
Good luck, you crazy whack job you. Good luck.
Your crazy auntie M
Facegoopists – any other suggestions? Help Tracey out in the comments.