M: Remember the Angry Monkey Face syndromes, E?
E: Oh yes. Who could forget it?
M: Indeed. Not my face, that’s who.
E: Is it back?
M: The epidemic is pretty much over (turned out it was FOLLICULITIS and required a course of antibiotics. EW)
E: EW. That sounds like a proper disease and everything! Curse of Facegoop!
M: It has left some unsightly blemishes, marks, bumps and scars all over my face the likes of which I hadn’t seen since my Roaccutane teenage years.
E: Curse. Of. Facegoop. Why did we have the arrogance to start a beauty blog, M? We were so wrong! So so wrong!
M: So I need to wear foundation. And I hate foundation.
E: Oh, but foundation is our friend. I love my foundation. But then I am older and more haggard than you.
M: NO. Foundation is NOT our friend. Foundation is a gloopy, strangely coloured, runner of a bastard.
E: Noooooo! Foundation saves drowning puppies! It does a lot of charity work and doesn’t talk about it! It can make its own bread!
M: Don’t give me that. I have never had much luck with foundation. My colouring is unhelpful. My face is dry and oily. I can’t be bothered to reapply and/or powder. But needs must, or whatever the expression is.
E: Needs must when the folliculitis drives is the full expression, I believe. How are your adventures in foundation going?
E: Oh yes. Well, Lisa and Newby can’t possibly be wrong (see how I pretend to be on first name terms with them?).
M: Ha!I think of them more as Your Majesties. Anyway. The lovely Dior boy in Jenners put it on my face.
M: And gave me a week’s supply of it to try at home. In this teeny tiny pot! Yay!
E: Oooh, that’s nice. that’s generous. And??? How is it?
M: At first I was disappointed, because it went everywhere. On my mobile screen, on my laptop sleeve, on my CORPORATE ACCOUNTS.
E: Oh god. That is not good. Accountants don’t like foundation stains. What did you do with it, smear it all over your monkey paws and play finger painting?
M: I distracted the accountant with the blackboard paint on my forearm. But I was like, what the fuck, Dior? You are not supposed to smear all over my papers. You are supposed to stay on my face, and give me a tiny waspish waist, and slender ankles.
E: Too fucking right. And a big pouffy pink dress and a bike.
M: Anyway, I think it was just due to whatever cream he used to clean my face first, because I have had none of this transfer nonsense in subsequent uses. Just light as a feather covering, and I love it.
E: God, I love it when something is actually good.
M: You can’t feel it at all, which for a liquid foundation is amazing. And it’s hydrating and has SPF 10 as well. So pretty much perfect. Except…
E: Let me guess. Colour match issues?
M: Yup. I can’t get a fucking colour match. They only have 9 shades, I’m between 030 and 040. One is too light, the other too dark.
E: I knew it. Bastards.
M: Dior, get your fucking act together. I went back and got another vial of 7 day Dior skin. I still need to try it, but it seems very dark. So I’m afraid I might have to drop £60 for two shades and mix. Sigh.
E: Le big fat sigh. You must persist. It’s what her Majesty of Eldridge would want. And Countess Hands.
M: Oh, and the other thing is, your face needs to be perfectly dry when you apply it, otherwise it goes wonky. And you need to use a brush.
E: Jesus, that’s high maintenance. You must really love it to put up with that.
M: Dude, you can’t feel it on your face. And it survived a two hour sweaty bike ride in the sun.
E: Diorskin Nude. Tougher than a two hour sweaty bike ride.
M: Lighter than a feather. More colour blind than a Kandinsky.
Diorskin Nude, £29