Posts Tagged ‘foundation’
M: E, I AM EXCITED.
E: Goodness, that’s unusual.
M: It is spring!!! SPRIIIIING!
E: Hmm. You say that and yet it is still 5 degrees and the news is all dead lambs.
M: No, E. Usually I am all doom and gloom and “oh my skin is like kapok bark” and whine whine whine first world problems.
E: Yup, that’s why we are friends. A shared belief in the therapeutic properties of whining.
M: But not today. Today I am excited about something other than meat and elephant webcams. IT IS THIS NEW FOUNDATION. It may very well be my most favourite beauty purchase ever. EVER EVER EVER.
E: New foundation, you say? How on earth can you afford it? Have you been robbing pensioners on the mean streets of Hackney? Fleecing hipsters? Patting down buggy toting organic mummies?
M: No. I literally spent my last £10.99 on it. YES. You have read that right. My new foundation is a cheapo. And it is amazing.
E: But! But but but. Beauty orthodoxy says “cheap foundation is always shit”. Could it be that this is actually … A LIE?
M: Before you get excited about it, every other blogger has already covered it so it is nothing new and special, unless you are idiots like us.
E: I’m living in a low lit bubble with a vomiting child and an aggressive hoover this week, it’s new and special for ME. What is this wonder fluid?
M: Well. Imagine if Becca Luminous whatever the hell it’s called was cheap. And available in every Boots across the nation.
E: Impossible. It’s made from Australian sunshine and baby koala breath.
M: Imagine if it came in a good range of shades, even one that worked for my yellow toned troubled skin prone to redness.
M: IMAGINE, if you will, that it had SERUM in it. And actually made your skin better. More hydrated. MORE CALM. I am hyperventilating at the thought of it.
E: This is the product of your fevered imagination, antibiotics and vitamin D deficiency. It’s a mirage, M. Here, take a pill before you get rickets.
M: NO. IT IS REAL. REAL REAL REALNESS. It is from Bourjois. It is their new reworked Healthy Mix serun foundation:
E: “Healthy mix”. What kind of a name is that? It sounds like a Boots meal deal.
M: Yes. It comes with a free fruit salad printed on the bottle. WHICH MAKES IT WONDERFUL.
E: M, you are blinded by LOVE. Foundation love. I need evidence. Is there a picture of your peachy skin to convince me please?
M: I was incapable of taking a picture where my hair was combed or half my face wasn’t contorted in a rictus of pain, but look:
E: That is actually very impressive. You look dewy and natural and radiant.
M: Yup. And it stays on all day. It evens out everything. I can’t feel it on my skin. It does not make me break out. It is, in a word, PERFECT.
E: Good lord. Is this … the cheap foundation HOLY GRAIL? Hiding, all this time, in plain sight in a chemists?
M: It is. Dear Bourjois: I take back every bad thing I have ever said about you
E: Ok. I’m convinced. I’m beating a path to the nearest stupidly named pharmacy in these isles to GET ME SOME.
M: YOU MUST.
E: EMPHATIC CAPITALS.
M: TOTALLY EMPHATIC.
E: HERE WE ARE, HANGING OUT ON OUR WEBLOG, SHOUTING ABOUT FOUNDATION LIKE MAD OLD LADIES ON STREET CORNERS.
M: IT WAS BOUND TO COME TO THIS ONE DAY.
Bourjois Healthy Mix Serum Foundation, £10.99
M wears shade 55
M: E, I’ve always wanted to be one of those effortlessly beautiful girls. You know the ones.
E: Yes. They don’t look like mole rats in the morning, damn them.
M: Tall, long limbs and what not. The tousled honey colored hair. The smattering of insouciant freckles
E: The radiance. Always with the radiance.
M: YES. That healthy surfer girl glow.
M: LITHE. That’s what they are, E. Radiantly LITHE.
E: We do NOT have long limbs, do we?
M: erm, no.
E: We actually couldn’t muster a long limb if we put all 8 of ours together
M:We have 8 limbs between the two of us? OH MY GOD. You know what that means, dont you E. DON’T YOU?? WE ARE AN OCTOPUS? Slurp slurp slurp. That’s the noise the tentacles make when they hold on to your face to drag you under.
E: I worry about you, M. Whatcha got in your octolimbs today for us?
M: We may not have long limbs, but I have something that might get us a bit of that healthy antipodean glow. BECCA.
E: Ah, Becca. It’s like Bondi Beach in a prettily frosted pump dispenser. Flat whites, er, wallabies, beer.. Er.. ok, I’m losing it. Help me out. It’s like a pump action baby marsupial, right?
M: Right. Soft. Fluffy. Glowy. Oh so glowy. Maybe not quite as furry.
E: What Becca do you have, M?
M: I have the luminous skin colour. Which is the acest tinted moisturiser there ever was. Remember how I described it as a fluffy marshmallow cloud?
Then you went and bought some.
E: I did. And I love it. But keep your voice down, because Laura Mercier is going to KILL US.
M: Oh yes, sssssh. What do you think of it?
E: It’s brilliant. It just makes me look .. better. Better than I have any right to look on my diet of vodka and hula hoops and staring at a screen for 19 hours a day. You got me so enthused I went back and got some shimmering skin perfector too because I want to glow like the gorgeously freshfaced girls on the becca counter.
M: I got the primer. We’re becoming Becca junkies.
E: Any good?
M: Yeah, it’s good shit. Like light polyfilla for your face, all the craggy bits just get smoothed away. Smoooooooooothed.
E: The skin perfector is a light, shimmering highlighter. I have “Opal”. It gives a soft glow. Small children and bunnies no longer recoil in horror when I walk past. It’s pretty damn glowy though. Only a tiny amount needed or you shine like a 1970s alien.
M: I am jealous. Jealous of the highlighting alien goodness. Does it diffuse? Like a gri gri?
E: Yes, it diffuses exactly like a voodoo accessory, yes M.
M: So. Becca. It wards off evil spirits, looks awesome, covers sallowness of skin and pockmarks, and the pump’s good.
E: What’s not to like?
M: The fact it makes you perma-shiny in a hot climate? And the price, E, the price.
E: Pfff, price, schmice. You get to look like Elle Macpherson’s hotter, erm, very much younger sister? Daughter perhaps. I DON’T KNW ANY HOT YOUNG AUSTRALIANS. RUSSELL CROWE?
M: Shhhh. Go lie down on a marshmallow cloud.
Becca Luminous Skin Colour, £35
E brandishes the sword of flawless coverage
E: As a follow up to your adventures in foundation, I wanted to mention Face Fabric. Face Fabric, the brainchild, or possibly facechild, of supernatural reptile cosmetics god, Mr Armani. Now, I should preface this by saying that I am basically in thrall to Laura Mercier tinted moisturiser for the summer. I am her slave.
M: Oh, interesting. I thought you couldn’t be bothered with it during the week?
E: No, that’s right, but recently, it has started to make all manner of sense. I wasn’t expecting it, but it’s grown on me. Like a dewy, moisturising fungus. Eeew I have revolted myself.
M: Again. Tell me more about Face Fabric.
E: Well, I’m not foundation phobic. I quite like foundation. I have both Face Fabric and Luminous Silk, by the Lizard King. Mr Armani isn’t stupid when it comes to foundation. He knows his beigey coveragey stuff.
M: And indeed, brain control.
E: Ssssh he can hear you.
M: I have a sample of Luminous Silk. I like it.
E: Yes, it’s good for facial leprosy. It has more coverage than Face Fabric.
M: But it doesn’t give you that breathy feel.
E: Nope. Whereas Face Fabric is like magical disappearing foundation. A bit like your Diorskin.
M: What’s it like? I have poked it at the counter. Is it a bit moussy?
E: Yes, it feels quite thick in the tube and when you put it on. But once it’s on, it just fucks off into your skin and concentrates on making you even and dewy. I use my fingers because I am fucking lazy and it still looks good.
M: It’s clever, that Face Fabric.
E: Yup. It’s Fabric. For your Face. I just repeat buy without ever getting tempted to buy anything else (except Laura Mercier).
M: Is it matte? Dry as the desert sand?
E: No! It’s more sheer. And the colour match is great for me (#1 cadaver)
M: Does it actually cover anything?
E: Erm. I think so. I could show you? With a pic with one half Face Fabricked and the other nothing?
M: Yes, do. My craggy volcanic slopes of a face demand it.
E: Uh oh. don’t say volcano.
E: Ssssssssh. Ok, here you go:
M: I take it the Face Fabric is applied on the left hand side of your face (in the photos)?
E: I’m glad you can tell. This could have been embarrassing.
M: No, it is visible but also very natural.
E: That’s space technology for you.
M: Space Technology Holy Grail Foundation. I’m still looking for mine. What’s your favourite foundation, facegoopists?
Armani Face Fabric foundation, £29
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?
M: Both Lisa Eldridge and Newby Hands have recommended this, so being the brain zombie that I am, I had to try it. DIORSKIN NUDE.
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
E: Laura Mercier Tinted Moisturiser
M: The Legendary Laura Mercier Tinted Moisturiser. Revered by beauty editors and makeup artists.
E: Sung of in heroic ballads by wandering minstrels.
M: Tell me what it does.
E: Well. Mainly it disappears. You put some on your hand, what looks like a decent blob. Then you put it on your face and instantly the texture changes and sort of dries, magically and there is nothing there. Nothing. Your face looks better, though. Undeniably. But I am weirded out by the disappearing.
M: It does have a lovely texture. Like, jelly meets marmalade, but non-sticky. It’s kind of, plump?
E: Plump but dry. I think I like it.
M: I think it’s responsible for the current explosion of what the FUCK all over my face.
E: Oh no.
M: On me, it becomes evil spot creating venom of DEATH. It makes my face 50% sweaty, 50% angry teenager. I mean, I wanted to like it. I really did. I wanted to love it. It’s either the Laura Mercier or the Belgian water.
E: Pff, Belgian water is TOTALLY safe. That chemical spillage was a one off. It’s the Sauce Américaine for frites you have to worry about.
M: I’m just glad I got a sample before spending 15 gazillion pounds on this tube of snake venom.
E: Ha. I spent the 15 gazillion, of course. And now I can’t even remember when, or why, or where. I go into a fugue state when I enter beauty halls, and come to an hour later with a metallic leatherette quilted washbag filled with blue eyeshadows and fifteen irate voicemails from HSBC.
M: The sales assistant squirted it into a tiny pot for me. Look, cute!
E: Ooooh. Teeny tiny Polly Pocket make up.
M: Gaaah. I can’t open the fucking thing. Ah! And now I’ve got it all over my keyboard! my Laura Mercier is cursed. CURSED I TELL YOU.
E: She’s put the evil eye on you. You need to borrow my shamanic charm.
M: Whiiiiiiiine. I want to be able to use it. Maybe I should try the non oil-free version.
E: Ok, I have put some on, and I am going to look at myself in the cold light of belgo-day.
E: Hmm. Christ, I look miserable. AND I hate my nostrils. There’s nothing you can do about weird shaped nostrils. Cosmetics are helpless in the face of them.
M: Good thing I photoshopped them out, then.
E: But yeah, it’s actually pretty good. Even. A bit glowy. Laura Mercier is stealthily making inroads into my makeup bag and with results like this, I can see why.
M: She’s crafty like that.
E: Despite the fact I don’t like the packaging at all. Brown and beige? Bleurgh.
M: I quite like it. It’s medicinal.
E: That’s your French side coming out. It’s dull.
M: Says the woman who wears nothing but shapeless black sack dresses. What’s wrong with beige?
E: Meh. It’s just crap. Those fleshy colours all are.
M: Because you are pale ghostly white.
E: Yes. It shows me up for the walking cadaver I am. Do you think Laura Mercier is making me pull those gloomy, Checkovian faces? Or is that my natural expression?
M: No comment. Do you wear it regularly?
E: Well. I do like it. But it lives in my bathroom and not my make up bag, which is a sign I don’t totally love and depend on it. It’s not what I use on weekdays, but at weekends, when I’m brushing my teeth, I might put a bit on if I’m feeling fancy. I have to be feeling pretty fancy to get around to brushing my teeth.
M: In conclusion then. Laura Mercier – lots of hype. Disappearing act on the skin. Glowy on some, snake venom on others. The jury is still out.
E: I actually think I should wear it more often. Who needs to look cheerful when you can look glowy?
M: Oh shut up, Anton.
Laura Mercier Tinted Moisturizer
£15 gazillion £32 from Space.NK amongst others