E: Oh, excellent. A product based solution: always the best.
M: That shit. Does not chip. And it turns your mails into fingerclaws. In a good way.
E: COOL. I long for claws.
Step 1: eat healthily
M: Step 2: switch to a gentle nail polish remover and the toughness of diamonds
E: Meh, ok, I suppose.
M: Step 3: feed them oil. Rosehip maybe? I clearly don’t know what I’m talking about.
E: Yeah, there must be some other unguent I can use. We should ask the Goopists. They might know. Please Goopists, is there anything you can save me from healthy eating and – sign of the cross – WATER? Help! I promise to try out and report back on whatever you recommend.
E: Now that we’re back, M, I think we should start as we mean to go on: by complaining. Because I really need to complain about this Paul & Joe kitten shaped lipstick business.
M: Look at that smug little bastard.. What the fuck is that all about? I tried some on. It was chalky.
E: Chalky is the least of its problems. What, exactly, the fuck, Paul & Joe? Imagine, if you will, the brainstorming session.
“What do women want?” “This research suggests they want wage parity, innovative solutions to work life balance, less objectification of the female form in public discourse, and .. kittens”.
“Kittens! Yes, that’s it! I’m getting an idea!”
M: I do not want to rub a cat all over my lips. Cats would totally scratch your lips. And now there’s a blusher too?!?
E: No right-thinking person wants to rub a cat over their lips. Maybe mad people who buy their cats organic chicken Marks & Spencer mini-fillets. I had a neighbour who did that. She also claimed that her cat, Bambi, “could tell the difference between Tesco and Harrods milk”. I mean, at least make PONY lipstick. Or dugong lipstick.
M: Dugong shaped might be a little, how shall I put it, phallic.
E: God, this lipstick talk reminds me that I heard a discussion on Belgian radio last week about those irritant lip plumpers and I SWEAR to you I did not dream this but the man suggested you could use loft insulation as a cheap alternative.
M: OH MY GOD The fibre glass shit?
E: Yup. I think Belgium has been drinking heavily.
M: Welcome to Belgium, where we nurture a blatant disregard for health and safety. This reminds me how I was assaulted by the Paul & Joe assistant. God, she was pushy. I asked her for something bright and she gave me this thing that was pastel orange. I’m pretty sure I had to back away from her slowly.
E: Where was this? Was this during the extended dream sequence that was your life last year?
M: She had dead eyes. Like a SHARK.
E: See, I really like some of their stuff.
M: Oh? But it’s so flimsy and plasticky!
E: Mainly the makeup bags. I have a great P&J one.
M: I don’t understand your fascination with makeup bags. It’s a bag. You put makeup in it. It gets dirty. The end.
E: But it’s not dirty on the outside. And it might have a pretty pattern!
E: Ok fine, forget I said anything. But mine had swallows or some such shit on. It was GOOD.
M: I am googling Paul and Joe makeup bag. AHEM
E: NO NO NO NO. I am going to have to take a pic of it, aren’t I? To PROVE to you that it was not a kitten-topia.
M: I’m going to send you some hello kitty cosmetics, because you’re obviously in denial.
E: It is yellow. with blue birds. They do not have cute faces. They are not in a basket.
M: By birds, do you mean “pussy cats”?
E: No. Big, macho birds with CLAWS. (ok, maybe not claws)
E: So, M. You know I am always on the look out for any kind of bathing product that comes close to the majesty of Elemis Supersoak?
M: Ahahahhahah fat chance.
E: That ideally also trims 2 inches off my thighs?
M: Right. You are looking for a fairy godmother? In bubble bath form?
E: Yes, basically. I like a challenge. So I was in Heathrow and I saw this stuff.
“Thalgo Micronised Marine Algae”
M: Is it dead sea salts? It’s always Dead Sea salts. The Dead Sea must be a sodium free zone by now.
E: NO. This is different. It looked …. medical and magical and it had the word “minceur” on the packet, so I got it.
M: Right. Did the ingredients list “Powdered unicorn?”
E: I think it’s actually “powdered corpse of rotting cormorant”, because holy mother of pokemon this stuff STINKS. It’s like bathing in seagull sick. it’s like bathing in guano. Bathing in the decomposing corpses of seabirds.
M: Ha. I’m pretty sure “rotting cormorant” is a Pokemon. Mmm, appealing.
E: It doesn’t smell pleasantly marine, M. Also, you will see from the photos how beautiful it looks when added to water. Is it not lovely?
M: Is that a giant shit covered aniseed in the bath?
E: I believe that is a globule of micronised algae.
M: Oh, no, it’s a dragon. This is the worst bath product I have ever experienced. It’s making me hallucinate.
E: Yes. And I don’t mind a bit of bath masochism and I love a bit of hardcore thalasso freakery. But seriously? When you’re lying in two inches of watery shit, you do question your life choices.
M: It looks like something that escaped from the Lush Laboratories, the nefarious place where they do all their R&D. And when it goes wrong, what do they do? Sell it in Heathrow.
E: Yes. That is definitely what happened. WHERE DID I GO WRONG???
M: Well, you were unfaithful to the Elemis, for starters.
E: I am never going to do that again.
M: Bubble bath hath no fury like an Elemis scorned.
E: I am sorry, Elemis. Don’t make me swim in seal poo again.
M: Secondly, it’s a well known fact that the only thing one should buy in an airport is Duty Free Chanel. Anything else is a mistake you will bitterly regret.
E: Do you agree Facegoopers? What are your favorite airport buys and have you ever ended up swimming in seal poo?
E: Oh jesus THERE you are! Where the hell have you been?
M: I’m in Singapore.
E: Hmph. I am not happy about this. Come back this instant, it’s not funny.
M: No. But! An intercontinental move is an excellent excuse not to have written anything on facegoop, isn’t it?
E: Oh yeah. That’s true. Ok, fair enough. You can stay, but I want all the giant shrimp I can eat.
M: I have better than giant shrimp, E. Way, way better.
E: Oh? What could possibly be better than giant shrimp??
M: I think we both knew, when I said I’d be moving here, that there would be some amazing gooping opportunities. I mean, the Asians, right? They love themselves some crazy ass shit.
E: Hell yes. So have you been investigating?
M: Well, I’ve only been here 2 days, and i’ve already had the top of my head in an alien contraption
E: AHAHHAHHAHA. What in the name of holy fuck? You look like an old lady getting a blue rinse. Look at your pouty little face. You don’t look impressed.
M: No, I was not. One minute I was asking for a fringe trim, the next I was coughing up £50 for what? Having my hair steamed, like a particularly unappealing dim sum.
E: Ha. Hair dumpling. Was it, um, effective?
M: There was definite loss in translation. I look a bit like a badger. Speaking of animals, can I introduce you to my friends, the seal and crocodile of concealers?
I don’t know about you, E, but sometimes I wake up in the morning and think “Man. I really look like a walrus today. A grumpy walrus.”
E: Yes I often think that. More a naked mole rat in my case, but whatevs. So, are you more of a pissed off crocodile or a happy seal?
M: This is just the product for us. I’m not sure what it does, but it makes seal faces less sore. That’s got to be a good thing.
E: That seal looks smug.
M: Seals always look smug. Shiny smooth bastards.
E: Maybe the crocodile one is to make you less scaly?
M: Maybe, maybe. the thing is, E, we will never know. The packaging is mysteriously cryptic. Below the zoo of concealers, there was a very nice array of pore cleansers. A whole stack of them.
E: Are those .. BABIES??? Thousands and thousands of babies????
M: Ssssh. You can’t see the products properly, so, let me annotate:
Top left hand corner “Black head off stick”. Straight, to the point.
E: Yup. No messing around there.
M: Moving clockwise: Pore Peeling Tsururi. What the hell is a tsururi?
E: It sounds painful. I don’t like the sound of it.
M: To the right of that, the PORE VACUUMER, complete with Charlie’s Angels, with vacuums.
E: WHOA I am actually quite scared. I will commit tsururi.
M: Please don’t commit tsururi. It would make such a mess. A pore mess.
E: But Charlie’s Angels can clear it up with the vacuumer!
M: Do we need to talk about the babies?
E: YES, M. YES WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT THE BABIES.
M: I’m not sure we do, but OK. How do you think it works? Do the babies lick the dirty pores off your face?
E: EEEEW. Give me the vacuuming tsusuri anyday.
M: They’re selling us baby smooth skin, I believe. Probably made from the skin of actual babies.
E: Gross. What’s next???
M: Bird’s nest and rice bran. Sounds a bit like muesli, doesn’t it.
E: Yeah. I bet it’s like the nightingale poo facial thing but cheaper. Nightingale nest (contains trace elements of poo)!
M: It’s whitening. Is bird poo whitening?
E: Almost certainly. I bet it’s great for constipation too with all those twigs and bran.
M: Look, it comes with a creepy face mask too. There’s a creepy face mask icon in the top right hand corner.
E: OH GOD that’s really really frightening. Please can you wear one for us????
M: Maybe. I’m not sure I want birds anywhere near my face. Because, and I am not making this up, but today I saw two birds fighting, two small blackbirds. And one of them PECKED THE OTHER ONE TO DEATH.
E: M, I did NOT need to do that.
M: Gruesome. I’ll tell you what, though. Singapore ladies have some proper things to worry about. Look!
Do we worry about our vajayjays being too big? NO. Do we have to endure intercontinental travel to get a husband? NO. Do we worry about how much money we give our parents every month? HELLZ NO.
E: Hmm. Maybe they could steam your vajajay smaller? With that head contraption?
M: Maybe, E, maybe. Let’s find out.(and my vajayjay is plenty small, thankyouverymuch)
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.
- 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.
E: That dude eats placentas I am not going near him.
M: Mmmm, the placenta diet for soft hair. Must try that one. CARRY ON.
E: I’m trying, believe me. I have not been to River Cottage or eaten placenta. I have – several months after the whole beauty world – had the famous fish pedicure. As so often, we are late to the party on this one.
M: What were your feet like, pre-fish?
E: Gross. Revolting. In fact, maybe my feet were River Cottage HQ for fish?
M: Stop stretching metaphors. Tell me about your calluses.
E: Surely you remember you told me they looked like .. what was it?
M: Oh god, yes.
E: Something gross.
M: Something out of a medieval trial.
E: Yes. I had the feet of a medieval peasant who had been tried for heresy.
M: Formless. Rotten. Black.
E: You got it. So. I show up at Fish Pedi Central with a paper bag over my head, obviously, in sackcloth and ashes, weeping apologies.
“So so sorry”
M: But the fish are hungry. They don’t care. They eat those little pellets of dried food. Your feet are delicacies to the fish.
E: I suppose. So, a woman takes you aside and washes your feet. What a shit job that is. She’s, like, the fish fluffer.
M: Oh god. There’s something biblical about all of this.
E: I tried to apologise “Sorry, I have been nervously removing my epidermis recently”. She just smiled. The shop looks like this:
Which is fucking hilarious. Look at the little tanks of hungry piranhas!
M: Nice THRONE!
E: I do like a throne
M: Wow. You didn’t tell me you were the queen of the pedifish spa.
E: I totally was. My rotting black formless feet won me that title
M: Where’s your crown?
E: The fish ate it
M: So, cut the crap. How was it?
E: Well, you put your feet in the tank and the bastards just go for it. Your feet are instantly covered in hungry fish, and those fuckers TICKLE.
M: Oh god. The trout’s revenge. It’s a fishocalypse.
E: Yes. Hugh Placenta should never go, he’d leave with no feet.
M: No, he’d bring some buttered bread and grab a couple for his lunch
E: So. For the first few minutes you’re all “HOLY FUCK FISH ARE EATING MY FEEET”, whilst outside the window, normal people who are not beauty bloggists are pissing themselves laughing at you, staring, and pointing, explaining to their children:
“The lady is having her rotting feet eaten by fish”.
M: “See kids? This is what happens if you don’t MOISTURIZE”
E: “No darling, it’s very silly”
So. After the first few minutes you get over the weirdness and you’re just “yeah, fish. Eating my feet. What of it?”
But then a big persistent fucker began trying to bite the raw bit of my left foot, so I had to try and kick him away without the fish handler seeing. I think he needed to go to the Punishment Tank.
I wonder what this one did? Did it take off someone’s toe?
M: What would happen if you put your face in the bath, I wonder. So. Tell me. Were your feet soft as a baby’s?
E: No. They were like feet. My own medieval peasant feet. Maybe a tiny bit softer. Maybe. I am not convinced. But I tell you what, it’s totally fucking hilarious. I absolutely recommend it.
M: I think you’re supposed to go regularly, or something.
E: Yes, you are. The fish can only eat so much rotting foot skin at once.
M: I am jealous. VERY JEALOUS. Where’s my fucking fish throne, eh?
E: I dunno, M.
M: I might walk down to Portobello beach and see if a 3 eyed cod will have a go.
E: M. Do you have a House of Fraser in Edinburgh? I bet you do, full of tartan and shortbread and stuff.
M: Yeah, I never go in there. It’s depressing. It’s like 5 levels of Oasis and a decrepit Dior counter.
E: Well here’s another reason not to go in. The DEAD SEA SALT SCRUB ZOMBIES.
M: Who are these zombies and what do they want?
E: They hang around department stores and try to lure you into their special “makeover” corner. If you happen to be loitering anywhere in the beauty hall, they see you and pounce:
“Hello madam, can I ask you a question?”
“Do you moisturise your skin?”
I AM IN A BEAUTY HALL; WHAT DO YOU THINK????
M: Also, don’t call me Madam. I am not 65.
E: They are all Eastern European. I think they ship them in from Bratislava specially for their salt selling mad skillz. Maybe everyone gets called Madam in Bratislava.
“Can I offer you a miniature spa treatment?” they say.
M: Is that like a treatment in a tiny spa? Or do they just file your one little toe?
E: Neither. It means they drag you to a dark corner of the beauty hall where they have 1. A jug of water. 2. A bowl. 3. Some salt scrub
M: Are they planning on roasting you? To make some E skin crackling?
E: Well. That is quite possible. No-one knows for sure what their end game is. But they are commission hungry, so SO hungry.”Just put this tiny dollop of special dead sea salt on your hand” they say.
M: Is there a suspicious jar of rosemary and olive oil underneath the counter?
E: Cloves of garlic. BBQ sauce. Tongs.
M: So, did you let them touch you? Because you are probably a zombie too now. FACT.
E: I did. I thought it would be useful in the name of research. Basically, you massage the salt scrub into your hand. Svetlana pours water over your hand. Your hand is smooth. You fall over in amazement. Then you are supposed to pay 25 quid for a jar of salt.
M: Right. Can’t you just, you know, get some nice Maldon or something?
E: This is special.
“Is Dead Sea Salt. You know Dead Sea madam?”
“Yes. That is where dead people hang out. Zombies and the like”.
“One jar lasts 8 months, madam”
M: Ha, lasts 5 gazillion years, more like. The jar of salt will still be there when our civilization is exctinct.
E: Yes. The jar of salt is our gift to the future. Anyway. I am ashamed to say, M, that I bought some. Poor Svetlana looked so HUNGRY. And I had gone in to buy my trusty Origins scrub anyway.
M: God, you are such a pussy. But I bet your legs will be delicious with a bit of salsa verde on the side.
E: Yeah. I’m now a zombie pussy but I do have a jar of salt that will outlive you. So there.
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.
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?
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: 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.