Posts Tagged ‘cleanser’
M: HURRY UP, E. WE ARE LATE.
E: What’s the hurry? We haven’t posted since dinosaurs roamed Space NK, remember. Actually who are you?
M: WE ARE LATE FOR HERBOLOGY CLASS.
E: You’ve lost me.
M: Professor Sprout will kick our arses.
E: …..?
M: For god’s sake, Ron. I am doing a whole Harry Potter-Herbology thing. Keep up.
E: Oh. I have never read Harry Potter. I fail Herbology.
M: Which is ironic, as Herbology has not failed us.
E: You speak truth.
M: We have definitely failed it though. They sent us a huge package of stuff weeks and weeks ago and we still haven’t reviewed it.
E: Oh god. It’s true.
M: BAD BEAUTY BLOGGISTS. BAD.
E: Probably the worst beauty bloggists in the history of beauty bloggism.
M: It’s ok, we’ll say we were intensively testing it.
E: Which has the added advantage of being TRUE. And god knows, the poor Herbologists had their work cut out.
M: Our craggy, craggy, traumatised winter faces have tested Herbology like it has never been tested before.
E: Winter has been cruel, like something out of Game of Thrones (which I have also not read) and I have reverted to my natural state: half Medieval peasant, half badger.
M: Winter has Come. Harsh. Bitter. Windswept. And Elemental Herbology was here to keep the… bad stuff at bay. I think we’re just going to have to say it, E. WE LOVE ELEMENTAL HERBOLOGY.
E: I thought I would never love again. Yet here we are. Giddy. De-badgered.
M: I fell in love almost immediately. There was the giddy hyperventilation of opening up a care package of heavy glass jars. The sweet sweet smell of herbal whatever goes into it. The comfort of the duvet like textures. Shall we go through the products before our readers lose the will to read?
E: There aren’t any readers, M. We last updated our blog in 1896. But sure, let’s talk about cleanser into the howling void. The “Purify and Soothe” cleanser is excellent. Eve Lom-esque, but lighter. Nice camomile scent.
M: It was actually the product I liked the least. Mostly because I drunkenly managed to make the tube burst.
E: Eh? How the fuck did you do that?
M: I DO NOT KNOW. I WAS DRUNK. The balm was cold and I squeezed really hard.
M: Also, I find it a bit hard to remove.
E: You were probably drunkenly trying to wash your face with Windolene, or E45 cream. I like the texture because I am not a drunk.
M: It’s lovely. A very fine oily balm. What about the “Cell Active Rejuvenation” day moisturizer?
E: Easily absorbed. Soft and moisturising but not greasy. Nice bronzey cylinder like something you’d get at an awards ceremony.
M: Rose gold, I would call it.
E: Sure, whatever, tubesplitter.
M: This is the one with the hilarious french translation. “Creme du jour defroissante et raffermissante”. How would you translate defroissante?
E: Ha. “Uncreasing?”
M: Yes. Uncreasing and firming cream of the day.
E: Google Translate abuse: NEVER NOT FUNNY.
M: I like it. I was getting this weird rash on my limbs from the abhorrent cold a few weeks ago. Horrible itchy bumps all over my hands and arms and legs, but my face was fine, protected by the magic of Elemental Herbology.
E: Good. Moving on to the serum.
M: The serum is… good. Serumy.
E: And we wonder why we haven’t hit the big time yet. “Serumy”. Fucking hell. I haven’t really used the serum yet because I am finishing an expensive REN one a persuasive man made me buy.
M: It does nothing bad. I’m not sure if it does anything good. It is supposed to help congestion, but the traffic around Hackney Central was terrible this morning. BADOOM TISH.
*tumbleweed*
E: I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear that, M. The night moisturiser? “Facial Souffle” (great name)?
M: I think this is my favourite thing. It’s like pressing a delicious tiramisu onto your face. LOVE LOVE LOVE.
E: I agree. It left me smooth and unscaly, whilst unlike tiramisu, it did not give me a double chin.
M: I do not feel ready for bed until I put it on.
E: It’s your creamy comfort blanket.
M: It is. And it does not bring out the facial pox, though it is wonderfully hydrating. Full marks, Herbologists. The other thing that is awesome is the facial peel. Put it on, leave it for four minutes, towel off, go to bed. Wake up with baby soft skin. It’s replaced Liquid Gold in my exfoliating affections.
E: It’s a winner. Light, non-irritant, very effective. After using it I wake up … not looking like a badger’s arse for once.
M: So we’ve covered the good, E. It is good. Very very good. All of it. Mad props, Elemental Herbology. Shall we mention the bad?
E: We are fearless in the pursuit of truth. Or is that cheese? It might be cheese.
M: HOLY MOTHER OF SWEET BALONEY ARE YOU KIDDING ME WITH THOSE PRICES?!?!??!
E: £44 for the night cream of joy. It would be cheaper to employ someone to caress my face with asses milk all night.
M: To be fair, it will last an eternity. I have used it every night for the past 2 months, and barely used a third.
E: I hope you’re not about to start spouting some “cost per wear” bullshit.
M: Hell no. But .. you know.
E: I do, but my inner Calvinist disapproves. Can I mention the hilarious patent stuff on the tubes?
M: Oh do. I have not noticed it. I was too busy being IN LOVE WITH THE PRODUCTS.
E: The packaging is CRAMMED with details of the many patents and patents pending in proprietary Herbology formulas. Frankly, it terrifies me. If my legal training serves me…
M: Uh oh. They’ve unleashed the IP lawyer in you.
E: … I suspect we are not even allowed to say the word “herb” any more, any of us. As we speak, the herbologists’ lawyers are running round Tescos slapping injunctions on the basil.
Yes. I need to issue one of our famous Facegoop Legal Warnings. Facegoop Legal Warning: Do not even try and say the word “herb” or “element” anymore. Step away from that bouquet garni. Science teachers: cease and desist.
M: E, I am not listening to you. I am too busy looking at their website. There are other products, E. OTHER ELEMENTAL HERBOLOGY PRODUCTS. Millions of them. Stuff for the body. Stuff for the face. OH GOD I WANT IT ALL.
E: Oh man. Bath oils. Circulation serums. Gngngngnngngn. The Herbologists know our weak spots.
M: They are not just terrifying legal minds, E. They are CRACK DEALERS. The first hit’s free.
E: That’s how they get you.
M: WE ARE DOOMED.
E: I’ll see you in the dumpster, M. I’ll be panhandling for a hit of Herbology. I might have sold all my teeth.
M: Yes. But least you’ll have soft skin.
The goodies that were sent to us for review:
Purify and Soothe facial cleanser – £28
Cell Active moisturiser – £55
Cell Food facial serum – £42
Facial Glow radiance peel – £39
Facial Soufflé overnight cream – £44
Continue Reading...
Next post
Previous post
M: Yo, E.
E: What is it M?
M: I need to tell you about my miracle cleansing balm.
E: Must you? We did my vegan jelly cleanser last time.
M: I know, but this is pure goodness. I read about it on Beauty Mouth. Do you know this blog?
E: Nope. In my spare time, I read Proust*.
(*Grazia)
M: It is run by Caroline Hirons, who is a facialist. This means she is a face expert.
E: Thanks for clearing that up.
M: She has a thing called the Thursday clinic where people can go and ask questions. It makes for addictive reading, like looking through someone’s dirty underwear drawer, or picking at a scab. Disgusting behaviour, basically. (who keeps their dirty underwear in a drawer?)
E: I am not judging. I wore a length of used dental floss on my glasses for an hour this morning without even noticing.
M: Anyway, she recommends this Emma Hardie Moringa Balm as the best cleanser ever ever ever.
E: “Moringa”, eh?
M: It sounds like a greeting.
E: Yes!Hawaiian perhaps.
M: “Moringa, Mma. Have you slept well?”. Let’s get back to the balm.
E: If you insist.
M: I’ve never been very lucky with balms. Liz Earle Cleanse and Polish? EYE STINGING FACE STRIPPING RUBBISH. Karin Herzog professional cleansing whatever it was called? EXTREMELY EXPENSIVE SWEET SMELLING VASELINE.
E: The lawyer in me feels a disclaimer coming on here, but I will ignore the impulse. How about Eve Lom? What litigious complaints do you have about her?
M: Never tried. Isn’t it full of mineral oils or something?
E: Sigh. I quite like it. ANYWAY. Your balm block has been broken, presumably ?
M: Yes. This one smells amazing. Like a spring of blooming orange trees. And it comes in a heavy glass jar, which is always pleasing. AND it feels lovely when you spread it on to your face. Like… goose fat. Sweet smelling goose fat.
E: Soft, delicious, full of French paradoxes.
M: I wonder if you could roast potatoes in this. It is a multitasker.
E: You want orange blossom scented potatoes? You are depraved.
M: You can use it as a mask or intensive moisturiser when things get dryyyy. Dry like the Arizona desert.
E: And what does it actually do to your face, M?
M: Smooth. Clear. Not angry, not monkey. Anything that will make my face look like this, has my undying loyalty, E.
E: I see. I bet it’s really dear, isn’t it?
M: Yes, kind of. £34 in the shops. I got mine for £26 off Ebay.
E: Hmmmm. “Spendy”, as the people would have us say.
M: Well. I think one pot would last for a couple of months. I only use it in the evening, after a quick wipe of La Roche Posay lotion.
E: Who is this Emma Hardie, anyway? She sounds like one of the Avengers. The sixties ones. Not Thor & co.
M: She might as well be. An Avenger. FOR THE FACE. Here.
She has something called “facefact workshop”. That sounds amazing. I want to be educated to do my own facial sculpting at home.
E: It seems to involve having your face flayed in the manner of the creepy German guy.
M: What?
E: You know, the German guy with the hat who flays people.
M: HA. Dr German von Gunther from Small Hat-am-Rhein
E: Jah, jah, genau! Hang on, we are getting distracted. Back to balm.
M: Ah yes. So: Emma Hardie Amazing Face Natural lift and sculpt Moringa cleansing balm. A facialist approved, orange blossom scented, goose fat, skin miracle.
E: Legal notice: face flaying should be part of a calorie controlled diet and can go up as well as down.
Continue Reading...
Next post
Previous post
E: What’s that tinkling noise I hear M? Is it your leper bell?
M: Yes, yes it is. My skin is.. leprous?
E: Small children recoiling from you on the street? GOOD. You’re going to want to know what I’m about to tell you then, because that’s exactly how I was before The Gloop.
M: “The Gloop”?
E: It is a possibly miraculous cleanser I have been using.
M: TELL ME ABOUT THE MIRACLE CLEANSER. I want facts, E. FACTS. What texture is it? What does it smell of?
E: Hang on, hold up, you’re going way too fast. First I have to tell you about the BEFORE, in the manner of a lengthy daytime infomercial.
M: Fine, fine. But HURRY.
E: So. About 2 months ago my skin took against me in the most violent way. It tried to escape from my head. It simultaneously broke out and peeled and I had worse spots than I had EVER had. If I put anything on it, it screamed like a bansheee. Well, it visually screamed. You know what I mean.
M: It was the facial skin equivalent of “The Scream”.
E: yes!
M: (note to self: do not google “bubons”)
E: (EWWWWWWW) In this state, I had to go to a beauty presentation. Embarrassing. I considered not going. I considered a facial exorcism. But in the end I just powdered up my entire visage with Laura Mercier Secret Squirrel Mineral Powder (that is not its name) to create an inch thick geisha mask.
M: THIS IS ALL VERY WELL BUT TELL ME ABOUT THE CLEANSER.
E: OK FINE, CRANKYPANTS. The presentation was about a French brand called Iroisie. It is made out of sea and Brittany mountains and seagull guano for all I know, but the lady from Iroisie had beautiful skin.
M: Sounds healthy. And briny.
E: Yes. She said that it was very carefully devised not to fuck with the balance of your skin, and organic and free of nasties. Which was music to my scaly ears.
M: What did she give you?
E: Well. She was actually giving me a BB cream, but I was so totally seduced by her briny spiel, that I bought some gel cleanser.
M: “Gelee douceur demaquillante.” Makeup removing softness jelly. Interesting.
E: Oui. And you know what? That is some good (seagull) shit. Though the gelée has the feeble, wibbly texture of vegan jelly.
M: The website shows pictures of papaya, limes, and the green green sea. This does not sound like “douceur” to me. I like that it says the papaya “unwrinkles” your skin though.
E: All hail the mighty papaya. It is “doux” though. No tightness, no irritation. Soft skin. AND! Most importantly the monkey face receded quite dramatically.
M: How fast? HOW FAST?
E: Maybe 4 days? I mean, it could be a complete coincidence that my monkey face cleared up the, but what are the chances?
M: No. I am a firm believer in the power of Cleansing.
E: I’m not, but this was some good sea-based jelly. Highly recommended. The BB cream was very good too, actually. Faintly medicated. Caused no irritation. Covered some of the hideousness while Miracle Cleanser did its work.
M: I see. And how much did this all set you back?
E: The BB cream is £29.90. Dear, I think, for quite a small tube, but pretty good. The cleanser cost 17 of my continental Euros, but it appears to cost an eye-watering 22 of your British pounds here.
That is expensive for a cleanser, but what price getting rid of monkey face?
M: Not scaring small children on the street: priceless.
E: Indeed. I am going back to get some more today even though I have less money than … Greece. That is all the conclusion you need.
M: Iroisie: worth a few drachmas of anyone’s money.
Continue Reading...
Next post
Previous post
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
Continue Reading...
Next post
Previous post
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
Continue Reading...
Next post
Previous post
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?
E: Ha.
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.
E: Oh?
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.
M: Ok.
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.
E: Wowsers.
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
Continue Reading...
Next post
Previous post
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.
M: Much.
Bioderma Créaline H2O wipes, €6.70. You can buy them online.
UPDATE
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.
Continue Reading...
Next post
Previous post
