Posts Tagged ‘cult’
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
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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
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M: E, I need to show you something before I pass out.
E: Will I like it? Is it an eagle? Or a pony?
M: Unlikely. And no, it is neither an eagle nor a pony.
E: Uh oh. Go on.
M: Do you like belly button fluff?
E: NO! I don’t like where this is going.
M: Right. Well, check this out:
E: Eeeeeeeeeew! What in the name of holy hell is THAT?
M: Yeah. That shit came off my FACE.
E: OH GOD.You’ve been back to the diamond hoover, haven’t you?
M: Yup. That, my friend, is the shit that’s been hoovered off my face. Dead skin cells. Makeup residue. Crud. The nice lady gave it to me in a little plastic zip bag to take home, when I asked if I could take a picture of it.
E: Oh GOD. You took your dead skin cells home with you. That’s gross
M: Yeah.
E: Though, I suppose I am carrying mine around with me too. ON MY FACE.
M: It’s my new pet. I talk to it at night.
“Hey you. How are you doing? Aren’t you much happier in this little plastic bag?”
E: You’ve managed to gross me out. I thought I could withstand any amount of gross. I live with two small boys and a dog. Eh ben, bravo.
M: “My face is so much smoother and cleaner without you”.
E: If I’d known this would happen, I would never have started this stupid blog.
M: “My pores are smaller. My angry monkey face has gone. I don’t really mind going out with no makeup”
E: You’re talking. TO DEAD SKIN CELLS.
M: You saw me recently though. Isn’t my skin much better? ISN’T IT?
E: Yeah. Your skin looks great. Glowy. Fresh. Really really good. It’s your brain I’m worried about.
M: It’s a small price to pay, E, it’s a small price to pay.
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M: I fear I’ve been suckered into a cult, E. The cult of… what? Vanity? Old age? Smooth face? Unnecessary cosmetic procedures?
E: Oh no. NO. Next time I see you you will be a frozen faced Nicole Kidman-alikey. Do I need to send the deprogrammer in?
M: Yes. I will in fact be wearing Nicole’s face, like a balaclava. Do not worry. I am not a scientologist.
E: Hmmm. Tell me more.
M: Due to temporary insanity, I have booked myself in for a course of six microdermabrasion sessions. They have a magical name: DIAMOND TOME.
E: DIAMOND TOME. WOW. I can see how you got sucked in. That sounds… SHINY. Are you shiny?
M: Their motto? “Beauty is only skin deep”.
E: Do you sparkle like a 4ct very very clear baguette cut? Or something?
M: I’m not sure what that even means, but yes, I am shiny. So shiny and smooth my boyfriend has remarked on the clarity of my complexion. WITHOUT PROMPTING.
E: Whoa! You need to tell me how they did that. It sounds amazing.
M: Well, imagine if someone had a tiny Dyson, made of diamonds, and used the precision attachment on your FACE. That’s what it feels like. A sort of hoovering scrubbing action.
E: That sounds scratchy. Was it scratchy?
M: No, not scratchy and certainly not painful.
E: Didn’t your face go all angry monkey?
M: No. Afterwards it felt a bit raw, but not red. It was also unbelievably plump and smoothed out.
E: Wow. How long did it take?
M: 30 minutes. After that I had a lamb kebab. I’m all about the class. The thing is, I LOVE it. It’s been days now and my face is so much better. Makeup goes on smoothly. There’s been one angry spot but no other ill effects.
E: Wow. I am in serious danger of joining your cult. As you may have noticed by now, Facegoopers, M is not easily impressed.
M: Also, the perky snake-tongued facialist talked me into buying some product.
E: What product? Diamond paste?
M: Dude, this is hardcore medical grade thermo-nuclear skin care business. Actually, I’ve never heard of it before. It’s Priori bioengineered skincare. It’s made by people in lab coats.
E: Those hazmat suits, probably. “Bioengineered”. What does that MEAN exactly? Engineered by humans? And not by space lizards made of unobtainium?
M: I have the face wash, and the barrier repair complex cream. Both have LCA COMPLEX in them. You know how I love me some lactic acid. And Advanced AHAs. These are AHAs who have postgraduate degrees.
E: AHA PhD.
M: Their website is funny.
E: “Idebenome superceuticals”. Even for a cosmetics bollocks term, that is pretty special. And look! “The triathlon of skin fitness”! Wow. my skin can’t even run the 100 metres. It gets a stitch halfway.
M: It is bollocks, isn’t it.
E: Sssssssssssshhh. We believe in superceuticals, M, like demented single ladies of a certain age who wear a lot of chiffon believe in fairies. We’re doing noone any harm. Except HSBC and they can fuck off. So to summarise: you have joined a cult, but you are HAPPY, SO HAPPY.
M: Yes. I am happy. I will take photos after every session, and report back at the end. I’m hoping I will look like a nubile teenager.
E: Well, I am properly excited by this. I suspect HSBC aren’t.
M: HSBC can go fuck themselves.
E: Amen.
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