Archive for the ‘The Science Bit’ Category
E: I am so tired, M, so tired. It’s mainly been boozeandfagsandnosleep in the E household.
M: That’s going to do wonders for your complexion. And by “wonders”, I mean “bugger all”.
E: Yup. All I need to do is attach my face to an exhaust pipe to complete the look.
M: “The look” being, um, what?
E: Erm, wrinkly cadaver. What, you may ask, am I doing to counter my poor lifestyle choices?
M: Drinking more fluids? Eating three wholesome meals a day?
E: Pfffff. Fuck off. Who do you think I am, Gwynnie? Wrong Goop, dude.
M: Are you embracing a vegan upbringing in a teepee?
E: Ewwwwwwww gross. White dreads and Seitan. No.
M: Seitan is for Satan.
E: I am throwing MONEY at the problem. More specifically I have hired Jean Michel Jarre to sort out my face. With the power of LASERS.
M: Mmmm. Mr Jarre and his bucket full of synthesisers.
E: Except, hang on, let me check the small print on this here packet. “Es ist kein Laser” it says. Oh.
M: Es ist kein miracle cure.
M: Let’s back track a little. What the hell is this? It looks… blandly un-laser like.
E: Yes. It is in fact, and disappointingly, Clinique’s Repairwear Laser Focus.
Est ist kein Laser.
Ceci n’est pas un laser
It’s not a laser.
The folk at Clinique are quite keen to make that clear. Thanks, Clinique. I had totally mixed it up with, you know, a magical death ray.
M: Yeah, thanks, Clinique lawyers. Are the lawyers formulating cosmetics now?
E: They might as well be. ANYWAY. It’s not a laser, and, like all serums, it looks like sperm. Apart from that, it’s pretty good, actually.
M: What does it do?
E: Despite my weeks of bad food and no sleep my skin looks even and smooth. I do not look like Ramses II. I have had no breakouts.
M: Would you say your skin is plump? and dewy?
E: Plump, yes. Dewy, hmmm. It’s only been two weeks, so let’s give it a bit longer.
M: I’m impressed. I tend to think of Clinique as the boring middle sister of the cosmetic world.
E: Yeah. It’s so … boring. But see, occasionally, they harness the power of French 80s electropop.
M: If I knew some Jean-Michel jarre, I would quote him right now.
E: I don’t think there are words, just beeps.
M: But for now, activate the lasers.
E: Beep beep
M: Beep beep beep
Facegoop would like to remind you that Clinique Laserwear is NOT AN ACTUAL LASER.
Clinique Repairwear laser focus, £38
M: You like a doctor, don’t you E?
E: I LOVE a doctor. I’m like those old ladies that make up illnesses just to get to see the doctor. Mmmmm. Doctors are LOVELY. Even ones who don’t have testicle necklaces like our friend Dr Mystery.
M: Well, check this guy out.
He has it all.
Greying hair? Check
Lab coat? Check
Freakishly smooth skin? CHECK.
E: Wow. Who is this awesome doctor, M? I totally want a piece of him.
M: Well, I want some of his freakishly effective science. The Cellular Water science. He is… DR MURAD.
E: Dr Murad! He sounds smooth. And sciencey.
M: Indeed. Take a look at this: ”the Science of Cellular Water looks at the ability of cell membranes to hold water within a cell as the fundamental marker of youthful good health.”
E: Cellular water eh? What is that? Water made out of, er, cells?
M: Or is it cells made out of water? The mind boggles. The diagrams aren’t helping.
E: But hang on a cotton picking minute, M. My cells are not SQUARE. That picture looks like a Battenburg cake! Not skin.
M: No, that’s just a cross section. But yes, think of it as, erm, a portion of cake. Anyway, Dr. Murad makes lots of products that I believe are generally well thought of in the Industry.
E: Where has Dr Murad come from? What kind of a name is Murad?
M: Who knows. But all of his execs are also called Murad.
E: It’s a family affair like.. THE MAFIA. Or, um, the Baldwins.
M: No, it’s like that Being John Malkovich film. Where John Malkovich walks into his own head and everyone there is JOHN MALKOVICH. Except here everyone is WEARING A LAB COAT. And saying “MURAD MURAD MURAD” while offering you cellular water.
E: Ahahahahaha. YES. “Being Dr Murad”. If Facegoop ever moves into film production, our first feature will be Being Dr Murad.
M: Nightmarish. But you’ll be pleased to know that the Dr’s products are not a nightmare.
E: Oh, and what have you tried from Dr Murad’s Cellular Water Lab?
M: I have bought his Oil-Free Sunblock Sheer Tint SPF 15, and it is ACE. Its only active ingredient is Titanium Dioxide, which doesn’t seem to irritate my skin and make it blotchy. I can’t feel it on.
None of this crappy sticky white sand texture on your face à la Liz Earle, and great under makeup too. It’s only SPF 15, but it protects you from sun and free radical damage, which I think is what you get when you hang out with commies.
E: Hmmm. Singeing with a copy of Das Kapital. That kind of thing?
M: Yup. I have not wanted to sing the Internationale once since using this. Also my skin is moist, evened out, and glowing. WIN.
E: I feel a little weak at this cosmetic success.
M: Go and lie down, E. I’ll get the doctor to bring you a poultice.
E: Hang on. Before you go, is he very expensive?
M: Not too bad. £20.59, though it’s a bit hard to find around here in greying Scotchland. But here’s a handy link to our amazon watchamacallit:
M: So, Professor Beddington.
E: Hello Professor Dailly.
M: I need to prepare for my finals. And by finals, I mean the 2 months in the summer when I have No Income.
E: Oh yes. I am familiar with this field of academic study.
M: To be honest, my cosmetics budget has gone through the roof since we started this
idiotic blog serious online beauty publication.
E: Yes. I noticed. You are in the grip of powerful cosmetic forces, making you buy 65 quid eyeshadow palettes.
M: Powerful cosmetic forces = brain washing. Oooh, an equation.
E: It’s all about the equations, M. All will be well for the summer, because you will be doing a crash course in FACEGOOP MATHS.
M: What kinds of Facegoop Maths are there, Professor Beddington?
E: When you call me that, it’s like you’re talking to my dad, but never mind. First phase: Division.
M: Right. I’m turning my book to page 123.
E: Please do. Then think of something you really really want. Say, a Tom Ford lipstick for instance
M: Right. A Remington IPL laser pixie hair removal device.
E: 38 quid.
M: 350 quid.
M: This is not going well for me.
E: It’s ok, we’ll just have to take the Facegoop Maths to a higher level. It’s a good thing professorness runs in the Beddington family. RIGHT. Think of the thing. Think about how often you will use it. Tom Ford lipstick – daily for ooooh, two years? And the hair thing?
M: Three times and then give up.
M: Ok, weekly, for years.
E: Better. Now, divide the purchase price by number of times used. Say, 6 million. Then that gives you a daily cost for the thing you want of VIRTUALLY NOTHING.
M: Right. Mine comes down to £29 per month. Which I’d happily pay for a month of less stubbly legs. Let’s just gloss over the fact that I would be too lazy to use it. Human emotions are not factored in to Facegoop Maths.
E: No. It’s pure SCIENCE. Win! Next phase of Facegoop maths?
M: I have a a theorem about cheap foundation to share.
E: Be gentle. My head is hurting a bit. With all this, you know, algebra.
M: I’m not wearing a bra.
E: Nor am I, it’s too hot. but this isn’t FILTHY TRIPLE X HOT SLUTS CHAT. STAY ON TOPIC.
M: Sorry, right. So, Armani Foundation. Lovely Armani foundation.
E: Lovely. 28 of your British pounds or something.
M: £32. That seems expensive, doesn’t it. BUT.
In my drawer, I have:
Mymix foundation: 12.99
Maybelline Pure Liquid Mineral: 7.99
No 7 essentially natural foundation: £13
Barefaced Beauty foundation kit: £12
E: That’s a lot of semi-cheapo foundation. And do you use any of this cheapo stuff?
M: Do I fuck. I am the proud owner of £45.98 of festering cheapo foundation. And by the magic of subtraction £45.98 cheapo crap – £32 Armani silkiness = I have actually saved myself £13.98 by buying the Armani foundation.
E: You totally have. Thank GOD we went through this. FACEGOOP MATHS WIN!
M: YES. WIN. And the £13.98 can go towards the eye wateringly expensive Mediterranean palette.
E: Next in Facegoop Maths, I was hoping you could help me with my multiplication, M. I am having difficulty with my Benetint table.
E: 1 Benetint x 1 bathroom cupboard = 4 Benetints. HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN?????
M: Listen up, fool. 1 Benetint x 1 = £23.50 1 Benetint x 2 =?
E: £47.Thank god they multiply asexually in my cupboard and I never have to buy them (OH GOD I AM CRYING HERE. 47 QUID ON BENETINT? )
M: 1 Benetint x 4 = ? Mmmmmmmmmmmm?
E: Nooooooooooooooooooooooo. Maybe I stole them? I really hope I stole them.
M: Nope. You spent £94 of your precious, precious squids. It’s a shame I gave mine away to my little sister.
E: Oh man I will never EVER buy Benetint again. Especially when you realize I could have got ARMANI FLUID SHEER for that.
M: This has been most enlightening. I feel a bit more prepared, Professor Beddington. Time for double biology now.
E: Yes. I am glad I came to the Facegoop Maths tutorial.
M: But I think I’ve just been a little sick in my mouth. We spend too much money, don’t we? Facegoop Maths suck.
E: Yes. For now. But maybe one day if EVERYONE NOMINATES US IN THE COSMO BEAUTY AWARDS we will get FREE STUFF?????
M: So go and vote for us.
E: Or M’s going to end up in prison for nicking Bunsen Burners and I’ll get apprehended in St Pancras Boots with fifteen Benetints stuffed down my pants.
E: You seem excited M. Why is that? Tell us, tell us!
M: Before I begin, can I just say how ace our readers are. Batshit crazy, but ace. In response to my Angry Face Syndrome cry for help, they’ve recommended rubbing plants on my face, baby lotion, expensive oils, Vaseline (?!?!?), not eating curry (ha! fat chance), stuff that looks and feels like lard, and organic hippie juice. And no one has mentioned the monkey. Ace.
E: I liked the cocktails best. They are big on cocktails. I am telling you, they are Our People.
M: Yes, Our People. On Crack.
E: Yes. Sssssh.
M: Ssssh. So, inspired by their advice, I went on a tour of Edinburgh’s Health Shops.
E: Uh oh. I remember when I came to visit you and we stared in the window of the Organic Sex Shop and laughed until I nearly peed at the hemp dildos.
M: What is it with shop attendants in health shops?
E: They are all on heroin.
M: The beards.
E: The deathly pallor.
M: The slackness in the jaw. The nervous disposition.
E: They look anything but healthy. ‘Eat our tofu, and you can look this shit too’.
M: So, I went to Neal’s Yard first.
E: Who is Neal anyway, what’s in his yard, and why does he spell his name in such a stupid way? I smell hippie. Ssssssss.
M: Sssss what?
E: That’s my hippie scaring noise. I grew up in a den of them.
M: Oh god.
E: I am fearful already. WHAT? What have they done to you?
M: So, the woman only ever looked at me out of the corner of my eye. HER eye. Not my eye.
E: That would just be weird.
M: Anyway, she pulled out all these creams, said “I haven’t tried most of them”, and then left me to it.
E: Er, right. ok. Stellar customer service there.
M: “I don’t want to stand over you while you’re trying them on”. Makes a change, hippie.
E: In the wrong job, hippie.
M: So, they all smelled really strong. Like someone had crushed truck loads of flowers into one tiny pot.
E: I hate that.
M: I got some samples, and made my boyfriend smell one, without telling him where it was from. He said “WHOA, now that smells like a hippie”.
E: He has a nose for hippy. Was he also raised in a commune?
M: After that, I went to Hanover Health Food, where I got some of that Weleda Almond cleanser and cream.
E: This is like a journey into my childhood. Hippies galore.
M: Childhoood? Doesn’t your sister make soap from twigs and bits of rock?
E: Yes. She has never quite broken away from the cult of hemp.
M: The almond cream smells like marzipan and bakewell tart crushed together. I want to lick my own face.
E: Mmmmm. That is a good thing. Sort of.
M: My tongue is not long enough, sadly.
M: I need a lizard tongue.
E: A bear tongue. 25cms.
M: How do you know this statistic?
E: Le Journal de Mickey. My son showed me a picture this afternoon.
M: Now we get to the good bit.
M: I went to Holland and Barrett.
E: Uh oh. UH. OH.
M: Where I bought some aloe vera gel. Not just any gel. Bio Active Soothing Hand Filleted Organic Aloe Vera Gel.
E: You sound like an M&S voiceover. It is pleasing to me.
M: You’re an M&S junkie.
E: That is a matter of public record. Continue, hippie licker.
M: There was this little dark shelf, full of “manager’s special” products – all heavily discounted.
E: Oooooh. I have fear. Was there whey powder? In giant butch tubs.
M: Far far worse. First I saw this ClearGen thing. It is a spot treatment.
E: That sounds like it might be made from stem cells in an underground Swiss laboratory. Ace.
M: Made of extract of Mangosteen. The Mangosteen is “the Queen of fruits” in South East Asia.
E: Mangosteen. Pfff. Hippies.
M: Do not diss the mangosteen. There is all sorts of pseudo science behind it. Look!
E: Whoa. I didn’t bring my Phd with me. That shit is complex.
M: it stimulates something called phagocyte cells. PHAGOCYTE. It is also a Potent Inhibitor of COX-2 and COX-1 enzymes. HOW SCI FI DOES THAT SHIT SOUND?
E: Phagocytes. Cox enzymes. This is made by The Double Entendre Pharmaceutical Company isn’t it?
M: I am obsessed with it, even though it’s clearly crap because no one bought it and it ended up on the bargain basement shelf. WHY DID I NOT BUY IT?
E: YOU CAN GO BACK. IT WILL STILL BE THERE BECAUSE IT IS USELESS SHIT.
M: There are in-vitro studies, E, IN VITRO STUDIES.
E: How do you study fruit in vitro anyway? What vitro do they put the fruit in? And what happens next? I NEED ANSWERS.
M: Maybe one day we will find out. Anyway. Moving on to the pièce de résistance.
E: Urgh. There’s more hippie shit?
M: May I present: De Tuinen Helix Aspersa Muller SNAIL GEL.
M: Currently whipping up a storm in Holland. Sourced from the slime of Chilean snails. It brings your skin into a “class of its own”, allegedly.
E: Ahahhahahahahahahahahahhahahahaahhahahahahhahahahahhahahahahahahhahahahahaha. Chilean snail slime? Really?
E: Und the name! Who the fuck puts snail slime on their FACE?
M: THE DUTCH.
E: You know what that is, don’t you. It’s the extremely potent cannabis resin in their siroopwaffeln.
E: Oh holy mother of god. It’s actually called Snail Gel. I could not be happier. It would be IMPOSSIBLE to be happier.
M: YES! SNAIL gel. S.N.A.I.L. GEL.
E: How much is snail gel M? Because I think we have to try it.
M: You’ll find it’s a very reasonable £20.45. BUT it’s half price at the moment.
E: Oooooh. BARGAIN. SNAIL GEL HALF PRICE STEAL.
M: My boyfriend wanted to know if you have to use the snail as an applicator. I said I wasn’t sure.
E: On that photo, is the snail big, or is the pot small? Is it one of those GIANT snails?
M: Like an African land snail?
E: Yes. It looks like our African land snail looked before my ex decided it “would be happier outside”.
E: It was not happier outside.
M: Outside… in snail PARADISE.
E: It was,in fact very rapidly dead. And happier In A Better Place.
M: In the big Chilean snail farm in the sky.
E: Actually, De Tuinen means ‘garden’, I believe, so they are probably just bog standard Dutch snails from someone’s backyard cannabis farm. Oh, Holland and Barrett. You are Facegoop GOLD.
M: It was amazing. AMAZING. There was so, so much more. Goji berry creams. Ear candles. Aloe vera colon cleanse!
E Dutch snail goo. Is the “Holland” in their name related to Holland Holland? Because that would explain a LOT.
M: Yes, yes it would.
E: I am in London next week. I will also go on a field trip to Holland & Barrett. I will not rest until I have smeared my face in the secretions of Dutch snails. Using an actual Dutch snail to apply it.
De Tuinen Snail Face Gel, £10.22
Mmmmm, Spring. 10% hysterical joy, 18% pneumonia from stepping out without a scarf, 72% oh fuck I’m going to have to show my legs soon.
Here’s what’s on E’s beauty wish list for Spring 2010.
1. Givenchy Printed Lips Lip Stainer £16.50
E: Because it’s a pen you draw on your face with. Usually I am wiping the pen OFF the faces. I want a turn. Also, it looks cute and it’s a stain and not a lipstick, what with my Condition (Pervasive Lip Colour Fear Syndrome). I want to branch out into something a bit fresher and pinkier and I thought I might be able to cope with this.
M: Ooooh! It’s lovely. They should sell them in multi-packs, like felt tip pens.
2. Serge Lutens – L’Eau
E: I think this is an emperor’s new clothes scenario. I like it because it’s Serge Lutens who is like a druid of perfume, and one of those demented genius types and also because there’s a whole concept and years of scent boffin thought gone into it. This, according to Magda in Selfridges, is your ‘day off’ fragrance. ”It’s an anti-perfume” says Mr Lutens, who seems to have been smoking the carpet again “A breath of pure mountain air”. I didn’t meet him in Selfridges, sadly. It’s not supposed to be a fragrance at all, or some such bollocks. It’s supposed to just smell clean. It does smell clean, that’s for sure. Cleaner than anything in my house, any of my clothes, cleaner than me. Cleaner than I have EVER BEEN. It smells of Persil and OCD. But for some reason I want it. Want want want. Maybe I just want to be clean for once? I tried it a couple of weeks ago, walked round thinking ‘eew, that smells like washing powder” all afternoon, then spent the evening and the next day obsessing about how I could get my hands on some more. So whatever he put in there definitely works. Catnip for humans.
Man, trying to find the price for this, I have had to read a shitload of florid bollocks. Fragrance writers and parfumiers are loons. The end.
M: I passed out after the word “perfume”. Zzzzzzzzzzzzz.
3. Serge Lutens – Sa Majesté La Rose
E: I tried this on at a friend’s house and now I want it. It’s not an intimidating, complex, bottom notes of foxes arse, scent. It just smells of roses, innit. Proper fat roses that you want to shove your whole face into.
M: Getting a headache just from reading this. Next.
4. Annick Goutal – Gommage Splendide Corps £45
E: I read about this recently and it sounds like the biz. It smells of roses and it’s a body exfoliant. Two excellent points in its favour if you are me. It’s made of ground up rose thorns, which just sounds ace, if painful.
M: The packaging makes me want to eat macarons. I’m not sure that’s really going to help with body smoothness.
5. Rodial Tummy Tuck ONE HUNDRED OF YOUR BRITISH POUNDS, HOLY FUCK.
E: £100, but there is a VIDEO. About a woman who lost 4 inches on her stomach with this stuff. That’s incendiary for me. I just have to have it. I spent a long time staring at it in Printemps Beauté at New Year, but I was with M and she wouldn’t let me buy it. Bitch.
M: I don’t remember that. But I do love the title of the product page in my browser: “Tummy Tuck, Boob Job, Slimming – Reduce Cellulite”. Classy, Rodial.
7. Rodial Stretch Mark Eraser £78
E: I just want to believe in this. Want, NEED to believe it works. I was the person who bought Stri-Vectin to use for its original, anti-stretchmark application. Nah, didn’t make a blind bit of difference, and I doubt this would either, but I love the Nip/Tuck style inflated claims, semi-hysterical testimonials, packaging and glossy Miami arses on the website.
M: Hmmm. “Clinically proven”. It must be true.
8. Rodial Body Sculpture £95
E: It has “bio-marine active and wheat protein”. Hell yes.
M: OK, put the bottle down, and step away from the Rodial, lady. I said STEP. AWAY.
9. Espa Detoxifying Seaweed bath £24
E: This stuff smells so horrible it must be doing you good. Like this:
but less sci-fi. Combine with a big cup of Epsom salts and you should totally lose half a stone in the course of a single bath. Fact. (not actually fact)
M: I like the whole floating-Ophelia vibe. You’ll be so relaxed you’ll be, err, dead.
10. Adonia Leg Tone $43.50
E: I have wanted this stuff for a good year without ever managing to get it, and now I want it even more. I particularly like how it says on the website “OFFICIALLY CHOSEN TO BE FEATURED AT THE 2010 OSCARS CELEBRITY RED CARPET GIFT EVENT”, a phrase which seems to contain several words too many. Does this mean Jeff Bridges got some in his goodie bag? That pleases me no end. ALT is famous for its claim to make your cellulite disappear in NINE MINUTES. It’s the big daddy of nonsensical cellulite creams, and for that I love it. Also note the reassuring qualification “Not using human stem cells”. Er, good?
M: E would totally steal your stem cells if she could. Watch out.
What’s on your wish list?
Gratuitous spring lamb photo by RATAEDL.
M: Shall we do a giveaway?
E: Yes. I expect people are probably already bored. We should try and incentivise them. What are we giving away?
M: I have a spare lip product to give.
E: Tell me about it.
M: It’s No 7 Protect and Perfect lip care. The neglected child of the no 7 family.
E: I don’t think I’d want to be a member of the No.7 family. That fucking serum is like the pushy, show off genius child of the family and noone gives a shit about anyone else. Everyone has to tiptoe around the diva serum. Boots are really bad parents in that respect. Where did you get this lipcare thing? You didn’t steal it did you?
M: No, no! Why on earth would you suggest that?
E: Erm, no reason. No. None at all. Did you adopt it? From the No. 7 orphanage for unwanted cosmetic children?
M: Yes, from the No. 7 orphanage-stroke-factory in Romania.
E: Did you have to fight Angelina for it? Back off, bitch. Step away from the lip care.
M: What I want to know is what happened to no 5 and no 6. Actually, they are so desperate to get rid of their unwanted child cream they give you these vouchers for £5.
E: Oh yes, I know that of which you speak. They hand them over at the till don’t they, while reciting the Boots Mantra:
M: Yes, everyfuckingtime. Buy a bottle of water? HAVE FIVE POUNDS OFF. Pack of tic tacs? FIVEPOUNDSOFF. You can spend it on one of the cheaper no 7 children. Or on something called “Ruby and Millie”, which is just sticky crap.
E: Ruby and Millie. It’s sounds like a Clapham nursery school, doesn’t it?
M: Stop saying strange British things, I no understand. The £5 voucher just serves to make you realize how cheap this stuff really is.
E: Very VERY cheap.
M: Probably costs 10p to make.
E: They’d give it away at the door if they thought it would bring you back for more 3 for 2 vitamins.
M: Or a meal deal.
E: Have you actually tried this stuff? Cos we can’t give stuff away if we haven’t actually tried it. We have standards.
M: Ahahhahahahhahaha. No we don’t. But I have tried it.
E: And? my lips need care. All of me needs care, but we could start with the lips.
M: Everyone’s lips need care. It comes in a thin juicy tube sort of tube:
E: Like its bullying older sibling, the serum?
M: Well, duh. White. Pearlescent. PLAIN.
E: Ok gotcha. CHEAP.
M: When I first opened it, I though uuuugh, thanks a lot, Boots.
E: Why? Is it thin and dribbly?
M: I was expecting a lip balm, but instead yes, thin and dribbly. Like a lotion or a cream.
E: Like the “magic” serum?
M: No, different texture. More firm somehow. And yet still gloopy.
E: I don’t really like the sound of thin and dribbly. They aren’t words I want near my lips.
M: Well, I persevered, and after 4 days it did really smooth out my super-cracked-cycling-in-the-winter-with-no-balaclava-lip-skin. I didn’t want to like it, but now I spend 10 minutes every night trying to find the fucking thing, so I don’t wake up with lizard lips.
E: Brrrrrr. Lizard lips. I haz em. I have a tube of lipbalm actually IN my bed – one of the ones made by orcs – but it’s shit. I find most lip balms to be shit.
M: On the downside, I don’t really like it in the morning. And it says it’s a good base for lipstick, but I find that to be a LIE. A No. 7 lie. Perpetrated by the No. 7 matrons.
E: No. 7 lies are couched in a thin dermal layer of science.
M: Thin. So thin.
E: Percentages. Graphs. Confidence trickery. BELIEVE US WE ARE BOOTS WE WOULD NOT LIE TO YOU.
M: WE ARE PHARMACISTS. PHARMACISTS ARE BASICALLY LIKE VICARS.
E: Pharmacist is one of those professions we implicitly trust. Priest. Doctor. Undertaker. Pharmacist. Whereas in fact, they are more like dodgy boiler repair men, at least when they start dabbling in skin care.
M: However, and this is a significant plus, the No. 7 Lip Care has LIPO PEPTIDES in it. Which makes me laugh.
E: Lip peptides
M: What the fuck is a peptide, anyway?
E: I think you get them in jam. Don’t you make jam with peptides?
M: Probably. So, basically, No 7 lip care: it’s like tasteless liquid jam for your lips. Made by vicars and orphanage matrons. And we are giving one away for free! A brand new one! that hasn’t even come near our thin dribbly lips!
E: TOTALLY FREE and in TAMPER PROOF PACKAGING. Perhaps.
M: 100% PURE PEPTIDE ACTION
E: To you, all four of you Facegoop readers! No, actually that’s a lie. Only to one of you. I am as bad as a pharmacist with my lying, cheating, worthless promises.
M: So what do they have to do to get this?
E: Tell us a lipbalm story.
M: Leave a comment saying what your favourite or most disastrous lip balm purchase is. We will pick one based on PURE BIAS.
E: Yes, none of your randomised selection here. We choose the one we like best.
M: Warning: we play favourites and we DO love some of you more than others.
E: Is that legal? Who knows. Who cares.
M: We can do whatever we want.
E: It’s our lip jam. RAWR.
E: So. Leave us a comment saying something about lip balm. Before the 21st of March. And you might win one. Fancy.
Boots no 7 Protect & Perfect lip care, available from, errr, Boots.
£8.75 (or £3.75 if you have a magic voucher. Look! maths!)
E: “Keep skin amazing” says the slogan. Yeah, keep it amazing by getting tiny people to dance on it.
M: And by stretching it on cheap ass wooden frames.
E: Gross. Serial killer stuff.
M: The tiny people are wearing silver bodysuits. Who does that???
E: Speed skaters. They must be speed skaters. On your skin.
M: I got this flyer from a super serious salesgirl in Boots. She had a sash. A sheer infusion sash.
E: What did she tell you?
M: She was telling me all about the benefits of Strays 3
E: Ha. Not strays, STRATYS 3. Strays would be, like, lost dogs and stuff.
M: Stray kittens. They squash those into the cream with one of those tiny garlic presses. She was talking about it like it’s some sort of precious, caviar infused potion. Lady, it’s FUCKING VASELINE.
E: Ha. Can I just say how much I am enjoying the highly technical “deep down” layer of skin. So you have: 1. The epidermis 2. The dermis and 3. The “deep down” skin.
M: Why are the tiny silver skin infection people on strings? They are hanging on wires.
E: Ooooh. I’m getting a nasty Cirque du Soleil vibe about that. They are going to perform bad, over-dramatic circus acts.
M: Possibly using the medium of mime. Anyway, I tried the Vaseline with Strays.
M: Well, first she led me to the lower shelf on the “body cream” aisle and made me smell it. Then she squirted some onto my hand with a manic pleading look.
E: What, no sample?
M: NO. NO SAMPLE. I’m pretty sure she tried to write a message on my hand in cream.
E: What, like “the tiny people between the layers of my skin are holding my organs hostage”?
M: Yes. Anyway, it was meh. And strong smelling.
E: Because it’s made from petrol and kitten puree.
M: Look at the website. And by the way NEVER make me google Vaseline Infusion again. No good can come of it .
E: It’s just bollocks really, isn’t it? Stratys 3 “Moisturises all layers of the skin”. That’s impossible. Also “infusion” says herbal tea for grannies to me.
M: Ouch. Yes. But look, at the bottom in tiny, secret writing, it says “stratum corneum (surface skin)”.
M: They are basically using Latin to confuse us. Condescending bastards.
E: Nice try. But we have an education, Vaseline, you assholes.
M: The website says “discover superior moisture suspended like never before”. Is that what we want for our moisture these days?
E: So that must be what the speed skaters are. Moisture.
M: Do you think the saleslady had to go to Cream University? Run by the Petrolatum Academy?
E: Probably. Stratys 3 sounds like a man’s razor doesn’t it?
M: Yes. This is a girl cream MADE BY BOYS. NERD BOYS. Look at the product names!
E: They sound like something from a burns unit to me.
M: This stuff is made by boys who never get any, isn’t it?
E: I think it must be. Go back to world of warcraft, nerdboys. You don’t belong here.
M: Orks need moisture too. Orks? Orcs? DORKS.
E: They shouldn’t let the virgins from the chemistry labs make body creams. I mean, I bet I know how they test it out.
E: “Suitable for ALL areas of the body”. You know it’s true.
M: “Oh yeah, baby, who’s your orc”.
E: I don’ t think we like this do we?
M: No. It’s only, like, 20p a bottle and I’m sure it moisturizes, but I don’t want it to.
E: No sir. None of your suspended moisture thank you.
Vaseline Sheer infusion
£0.20 £3.33 on special introductory offer from Boots