Face Goop

Omorovicza thermal cleansing balm review

M: Let us start then, E, by saying that I hate your guts.

E: Oh come now, M. You know I am basically, Single White Female but without the ginger bob. So when you told me recently about how much you were obsessing about special hungarian black mud cleanser, I went STRAIGHT OUT AND BOUGHT IT. Bwhahahahahaha. At school, that would have been the end of our friendship, wouldn’t it? You would have dumped my textbooks down the toilets and told everyone I had syphilis.

M: At school?!??! dude. you stole my life. Worse than that, you stole my CLEANSER.

E: I did. It was evil.

M: I am going to tell the world you have a tiny cockstump. Residual, mind you.

E: Well, M. I might have a tiny cockstump, but I also have Oroisurkfmgjrsljtmseriz or whatever it’s called SPECIAL BLACK CLEANSER. Hang on, I’m going to get the pot, to torment you.

M: Oh, sacred Hungarian mud! blessed be thy cleansing powers!

E: So. “Omorovicza Thermal Cleansing Balm”, it’s called. “The best cleanser you will ever use!” says the website, which is not scared of hyperbole, apparently. But firstly, I’d like to say, it’s not actually black at all, as you promised me. It’s more of a charcoal grey.

M: On s’en fout. It’s elegant, classic, charcoal grey.

E: Next, it smells …. expensive. That’s the word, expensive.

M: How expensive?

E: Stupidly expensive, M. Forty six of your English pounds. Oh, I’ve looked it up, apparently that’s the “surprising whiff of orange blossom”. Whiffy orange blossom doesn’t come cheap. It has the texture of, I dunno, what’s greasy and expensive? Sturgeon?

M: Yup. Or foie gras. Or a fat oligarch’s wife.

E: Yeah! It has the texture of a fat oligarch’s wife who has gorged on foie gras, and the scent of a limited edition Diptyque candle. It comes with a little spoon, like caviar.

(disclaimer: I have never bought caviar)

(but I hear it comes with a spoon)

And if you are really really rich – stroke – stupid, you can also buy an entirely plain white flannel with Osueitryiutyeskjthselet written on it to wash your face with for ten quid. You’d have to be REALLY stupid to do that *hides flannel*.

M: That’s all very well, dear, but tell me. TELL ME. Does it work?

E: Hmm. Define “work”

M: Does it hoover out all the bad shit and make your skin all glowy and baby soft and smooth?

E: Well, firstly it is fabulously easy and I like that. Tiny spoonful, smear it quickly all over your face including eye area. Warm flannel (need not be Oxwzrwjczajaja branded). Et voilà, even gets crusty old eyeliner off first time. Now, for the first few days I had a shitload of blemishes, which might suggest the special volcanic goodness is doing its thing. Then again, it might have been my diet of Marks & Spencer caramel bunnies and hot dogs.

M: But are the blemishes staying?

E: No, all gone. My skin is clear and soft. It’s not drying, it’s not harsh. But is it the holy grail? I dunno.

M: Hmmmm. HMMMM, I tell you.

E: Maybe we should give it more time?

M: “We”? “WE”???

E: Me and the homemade mannequin of you I keep in my wardrobe.

M: Aaaaaaaargh, is it like my skin, but stuffed with old tights?

E: That’s exactly what it’s like M. Now come here while I put this stiletto through your eye.

M: By “stiletto”, I hope you mean “thermal cleansing balm”, and by “through your eye”, I hope you mean “gentle facial”. Punk.

Omorovicza thermal cleansing balm, £45