M: The Guerlain Midnight Secret is not so good with its hips though.
E: I suppose the secret is that you dance at the ambassador’s ball until the wee small hours, then you are up bright and early looking radiant the next morning for a gala breakfast with er, the ambassador’s wife . HOW????
M: Wait wait wait. Hold on. What is this, a Ferrero Rocher ad??
E: Yes. This is my view of Guerlain, see? It is basically a highly aspirational 1950s film condensed into small, expensive pots.
M: Except, in our version, you’ve been up to no good, snogging the ambassador’s son.
E: On current form, I would be more likely to have been snogging the ambassador’s dog.
M: You’ll need some Midnight Secret for that too. Continue.
E: So. In the Guerlain version of events, you kick off your dancing slippers (mirrored Louboutins, presumably) and sink into your goosedown quilt, pausing only to grab your Midnight Secret.
In E’s version, you reel home from a seedy transvestite cabaret by a method you do not remember the next morning. You wave a towelette in the direction of your face if you are feeling fancy. Then, despite the fact that you are too drunk to undress, the blue jar of promise winks at you so you slather some on optimistically. You wake up in the morning with eye make up and drool all over your pillow, and a head like a badger’s arse.
But! Your complexion is not as shit as it deserves to be.
M: Hmmm. Your method may differ from that of the polished socialite, but the result is the same, isn’t it? And that result is glowy, and dewy, and impossibly even skin.
E: The level of dewiness depends on the G & T count. But it is definitely pretty good. Also, it smells totally delicious.
M: What does it smell of?
E: It smells like a rose garden trampled at dawn by the dainty toes of M. Guerlain, possibly dancing like M. Louboutin in this video.
M: I think more M. Guerlain’s angelic, blonde haired little grand daughter. She is all dimples and smiles as she CRUSHES the flower into the heavy blue sarcophagus of a jar.
E: Now you’re making it sound like Gigi. With Maurice Chevalier as M. Guerlain.
“sank ‘eavens, for Midnight Secret!”
M: “fo’ you face she get more CRAGGY evereee daaaaaay”
Of course, there’s another ill guarded secret related to Midnight Secret. It’s fucking expensive.
E: Horribly so. But the ambassador is paying.
M: And what price your dignity?
E: My dignity is priceless.
M: Oh? Maybe you should wipe that dog slobber off your face then.
E: Sssssh. So: Midnight Secret. Magical. Expensive. Made by cinematic giants and set to music by Maurice Chevalier.
M: I mean Nars? François Nars? That’s a fake name.
M: Ha! FAKE. That’s totally photoshopped.
E: Nars. Not a real name, and a face cobbled together from back issues of National Enquirer.
M: It’s Tom Cruise’s hair, with Justin Timberlake’s beard.
E: And the rest of him is some Spanish dude. Joaquim Cortez maybe.
M: In any case, the giant, faceless corporation behind “Mr Nars” is a GENIUS. A TOTAL GENIUS.
E: Yes, who cares that he’s made up. “Mr” “Nars” is BRILLIANT.
M: “Mr” “Nars”, we love you. Proper love.
E: Proper, no mockery, even though you are made up, love. Your black eagle is Amazing. Not remotely sharp or pointy.
M: I mean, eyeliner, in a giant, soft pencil, with smouldering, golden shimmer.
E: Retard proof too.
M: Yes. You can rub it all over your face with no ill effect.
E: Maybe not on your upper lip? It might not look so good there.
M: Sssssh. It would, if you were trying to look like “Mr” “Nars”. We should also mention that Aigle Noir is of course the title of a famous French song.
E: In this version, Maurice Béjart dances a homage to fat eyeliner crayon.
M: He understands the importance of eyeliner.
E: He does. So much so, that I find myself wondering if that isn’t actually François Nars dancing.
M: What is the woman? Is she the eye? Lesser eyeliner? £2.95 “Collection 2000″ eyeliner?
E: Yes. She should stop pretending she has wings.
M: And why are those people carrying giant triangles? WHAT DOES IT MEAN? Do they symbolize the Q tip coming to clean up the smudges?
E: You don’t really get that problem with aigle noir though, do you? I am a bit disturbed by the tiny wing claps at 3’10. Awful.
M: Awfully GOOD.
E: It’s like he’s seen a vole he wants to eat.
M: THAT’S what she is. She’s a vole! And the triangles are the beak.
E: Aigle Noir makes us elegant and regal for one brief moment. That is why it is awesome.
M: Yes. A brief fleeting moment, it’s gone, like an eagle soaring in the heavens above. Why is “Mr” “Nars” making me write bad emo poetry?
E: All part of his evil plan, probably.
M: No. He isn’t evil. He doesn’t have an evil bone in his made up body.
E: Ok, it’s all part of his benign plan.
M: He just wants us to be beautiful. Even though we’re rubbish at being girls.
E: He’s the Gok Wan of make up.
M: Yes! With less gropage.
E: Facial grope would be weird, anyway.
M: He makes magic pants. For faces.
E: How do you wear yours, M? That’s a Cadbury’s Creme Egg reference, of course.
M: I usually start out trying to wear it as eyeliner. But then I fuck it up, so I smudge it all over my lower lid. Sometimes I put it on the outer corners of my lashline and smudge it outwards. That’s it.
E: The eagle is very forgiving. I put my proper eyeliner on first. Then I give it a bit of eagle just above the lash line. Then I blend a bit. Then sometimes I get carried away and put it all over the lid. I love how easy it is. Easy and greasy and sexy.
M: It’s a bit too thick to control, isn’t it? But that’s the genius of it.
E: Yes. That’s what makes for the general smudgy, sparkly gorgeousness.
M: So. Aigle Noir. Made by a faceless corporation hiding behind a photoshopped image and a made up name, but completely brilliant.
E: Yup. “Mr” “Nars”. You made us feel like laydeez. Thank you.