Posts Tagged ‘Laura Mercier’
M: E, you know I favour bright lipsticks. Even more so now that I go swing dancing 15 times a week. The bright lip. It is essential.
E: So I hear. As essential as the full Brooklyn beard on the gentlemen.
M: However if you are not careful, you end up looking like a vampire who has been gorging on blood. Lipstick all over the face. Horrible ring of nastiness where it’s disappeared.
E: Dude, are you sure you’re doing this dancing thing right? Why do you need to smear your face on people?
M: It is all perfectly legit. But the lipstick needs to be long lasting.
E: You are licking those beards, aren’t you.
M: NO. Shall I tell you about my current favourites?
E: Do, please.
M: First: Laura Mercier lip stain. Mine is called “Mulberry” and it is a sort of dark berry colour. And when I say “mine”, I mean “I stole it from my flatmate”
E: Ha! I wondered where you were getting your sweaty fists on Laura Mercier cash.
M: It’s a very long lasting stain and the beauty of it is that it’s freakishly moisturizing. HOW DOES THAT WORK?
E: That’s FBI classified information, madam. Code black, need to know basis.
M: Laura Mercier would have to kill us if we knew
(she would do it herself)
(with a sniper rifle)
E: Don’t think she wouldn’t do it, she totally would. Let’s move onto less mortally dangerous lip colours please, M.
M: My second option is a double pronged affair. I start by colouring in my lips with a Revlon marker pen.
It smells of fruit.
E: “Just Bitten” Ow. See, that is not a selling point to me.
M: Yeah. See what I mean about the vampires. To compound the weirdness, mine is called “Passion”, I think. A sort of bright pink.
E: BEARD PASSION.
M: Shhh. So I colour my lips in, being careful to not go over the lines lest the teacher scold me.Then I apply a layer of Rimmel Kate Moss lipstick. I do not know its name.
E: “Lasting Finish”, I believe, M.
M: I meant the colour name. It is “22″: a matte bright pink-red. And the magic of this two stage thingy is that when the lipstick wears off, you are still left with bright colour on your lips! WOOP. I am pretty proud of my trick. EVERYBODY SHOULD BE DOING IT.
E: Everybody .. except me. You know what a lipcoward I am. I want to try this, but I don’t dare.
M: You are pathetic. I’m wondering whether maybe I shouldn’t even tell you about the third lipstick.
E: It’s ok, I can take it.
M: It might scare you away.
E: I am doing my yoga breathing. I can do this. Come on, flood me with lip colour.
M: Ok, it is Shiseido and was brought back from duty free by the flatmate(best. flatmate. EVER). Perfect Rouge, it is called, in shade “RD 514″, which has the added bonus of making it sound like an experiment. It is a proper red, deep and rich. It is very good quality. Moisturising, long lasting, unique, light reflecting colour. I am convinced, Shiseido.
E: Nice. I am glad you are out there doing colour. I can live vicariously through you, like a lipstick Miss Havisham.
M: You need to try it. It will brighten your life.
E: My sad, lonely, life. M, you have convinced me. I am going to try, but you are not to laugh when I look like a sad bowl of porridge with some jam in.
M: Be brave. You suit bright colours. WIth your pale complexion. OH GOD WE ARE BACK AT VAMPIRES AGAIN.
E: M, the elves have been busy again
M: Yes! They have sent us another package.
E: Instead of mending shoes over night, they have been sending us packages of stuff
E: The man in the post office stares at me like a halfwit when I collect them. He’s got a THING for me and my elven packages.
M: What kind of thing? Like, a creepy he’s rubbing his trousers beneath the counter thing?
E: A starey thing. He doesn’t speak, he just stares at my face. Really closely. It’s probably all the elven makeup. Or maybe he’s thinking “that girl could do with a decent concealer” See what I did there???
M: Yes, E, very good. Maybe, MAYBE he’s thinking – WOW. What a flawless complexion. Where can I get myself some of this shitz?
E: That seems unlikely in suburban Belgium, but maybe he is.
M: I need to come clean. I wrote a letter to Santa and asked him to send us some of this concealer.
M: Because Lisa Eldridge, the patron saint of cosmetic zombies, used it in one of her videos. And she said it was quite good.
E: Saint Lisa is never wrong. So what do you think of the Elven concealer?
M: Well, it’s tiny, innit. Made for elves, by elves.
E: Yeah. You don’t need much though.
M: I use tan. It’s a perfect match for me.
E: I use “corpse”.
M: That’s what I said to the elves. “Send E whatever the palest shade is”. I find it a bit hard to put on though.
E: Yes. So did I. I used my Laura mercier brush, which was very pissed off to be used with someone else’s product. I think it’s sulking.
M: Was it like you’d set it up on a blind date with a girl from the ghetto?
E: Yes. One with a full beard.
M: I’ve been using my No7 eyeliner brush, which is small but not entirely adequate. It needs to be warmed up a bit on the hand first I find.
E: Yes, I agree. but the colour and coverage are good. And it’s, what, 3 pence?
M: The problem is, of course, that I wanted to compare it to Laura Mercier’s nuclear-grade secret camouflage so I went out and bought some. Because I had to compare, you see? I just had to.
E: You “had” to.
M: And I do like that one better, though it costs 25 gazillion times more. It’s more stiff and dry. But somehow more creamy on the skin.
E: I do love me a bit of SC. I’m on the Mercier Special Ops team. SC is better.
M: I think we need to do some sort of chart. I like charts.
E; Ok, M.
M: what goes on the chart?
E: Cost. Ease of application. Cuteness. Fear of a swift, deadly professional assassination.
ELF sent us the concealer for review.
ELF studio concealer, £3.50
Laura Mercier Secret Camouflage, £25 and a bullet in the neck.
M: E, do you ever feel like you just want to hide from the world?
E: Almost always M. You and I have often discussed our desire for a snail shell to retreat into. Inside a cave. And the cave inside a hermetically sealed dark box. And the box in a flotation tank. In Panama.
M: But sometimes it’s not just possible. Sometimes, you have to make do with hiding your ugly mug from the world. And I believe you have something that does just the job.
E: Yes. You are quite correct. It does not (yet!) cover despair or agoraphobia, but it is excellent on blemishes, thread veins and other facial crappinesses. It is Laura Mercier’s Secret Camouflage.
The name makes it sound like Laura is conducting a stake out from a bush, with twigs and netting on her head. She isn’t (as far as I know).
M: Hmph. I like to think of her as wearing camouflage jumpsuits and killing deer.
E: No, M, she has been wearing a lab coat, and making genius make up, including this excellent concealer. Until I met Secret Camouflage, I thought concealer had to be a bit crap. Like, either it emphasised the spot you were trying to cover, or it just covered you in goopy crap that was worse than the spot.
M: Well, one review I read of this (because I have not yet bought into the LM cult, oh no siree) said that it was its “gummy texture” that was magic. Now, gummy texture does not fill me with much enthusiasm.
E: Gummy??? I think that person is lacking vocabulary. But it is certainly a lot harder and creamier than any other concealer I have used. You need to really bully it with the clever Laura Mercier Special brush to get it going.
M: Oh of course. Let me guess, the special brush is made from the tail of baby sugar gliders and cost 5 gazillion squids each.
E: I don’t remember how much the baby sugar glider brush cost. But I do know it is very good. So good, that when I lost it, I immediately bought another one. Of course, then I found the old one.
M: Of course. Are you trying to tell me, that the secret camouflage was HIDING? Oh the irony.
E: Yes. It was hiding. Very good, M.
M: Tsss. So, what about the two colours? Are they useful? I mean, I can barely cope with one colour. Two colours seems a lot like hard work.
E: Confession: I have only used one colour so far. You will recall that I have the deathly pallor of the long dead. The sun has not hit Belgium for seven hundred years. I hope that the other colour will be useful if I ever have more pigment in my skin than an albino mole rat.
M: Hmph. And is it really any good?
E: Well. Not only did I have to replace the brush INSTANTLY when I lost it, so addicted was I to its furry caress, but on the very rare occasions I find myself without my Secret Camouflage, I properly PANIC .
E: Hyperventilation. Sweaty palms. Whimpering. Breathing into – and possibly wearing – a paper bag time. Along with Bobbi Brown gel eyeliner, it is the total essential I can’t live without. Basically: the colour is excellent for me (I have SC-2). It stays on brilliantly all day, and the coverage is perfect and really invisible. I love it. Oh, and also, I went on a photo shoot last month and the professional make up artist type person was using it. So there.
M: Any of that dried up cack around spots? Crusty bits?
E: Ew! No. It is a heavy creamy texture. No crusting or cack. And the brush also enables you to be super accurate. So I can cover the tiny burst vein on my left cheek without ending up with crap all over my face. We should say, it’s for blemishes, and not an under eye concealer. I don’t think the texture would work at all as an under-eye concealer.
M: I’m (almost) sold. How much will this military-grade camouflage goop set me back, E?
E: How the fuck should I know? Look it up. But I’m telling you, Laura Mercier can come and shoot deer in my yard any time she likes.
M: Secret Camouflage: It’s the sniper of concealers. Deadly. Precise. Merciless.
E: It’s deadly like Jack Bauer.
M: Ha, Jack Bauer is not deadly. He’s a bumbling idiot. Crashing into things and contracting deadly virii all over the place.
E: He could kill you with a tube of Eight Hour Cream in 5 seconds. FACT.
Laura Mercier Secret Camouflage, £25
Laura Mercier Secret Camouflage brush, £22
M: I had a makeover at Bare Minerals.
E: Ah! A makeover! Women at a department store counter telling you you suit autumnal tones and forcing product upon you? Free gift with two purchases one must be skincare, have this pleather pochette with tiny versions of shit you’ll never use? That kind of makeover?
M: No, not at all. In this makeover, I sat on a high zebra print chair, watching a video of happy flawless American women swirling brushes over their faces. Two powdery women stared at mine, dabbing streaks of powder on me, trying to choose a colour. They looked perplexed. And I really needed to pee.
E: Of course, because of ALWAYS NEEDING TO PEE. I think there were only 4 minutes of today when I didn’t need to pee.
M: It’s weird, the mineral powderiness. It just sits there, and then it warms up and starts to go creamy.
E: Creamy is good though?
E: But it sort of covers up the badness, no? When I saw I had advanced leprosy this afternoon, the first thing I did was try and exorcise it with Laura Mercier Mineral Powder.
M: You would have made a terrible Jesus. In fact, it’s a bit like a cult. There is a leaflet, which says “Your skin will love you for this”. My skin, the perennial atheist, disagrees. With the powder on, I realized how dry it truly was. Like one of those National Geographic overhead shots of the DESERT.
E: Oh. Yes. The first time I put the Laura Mercier on it looked like that. But then I got used to it, and someone at a party told me I had NO PORES when I was wearing it, so I haven’t parted with it since. Apparently it’s all in the application and the teeny tiny quantity. Mme India Knight is going to do us a masterclass on mineral powder application soon. She has promised. Possibly in the style of an Avatar make up tutorial.
M: Lines. lines everywhere!
E: That would be all the water. Thanks for that, water, you dick, for making us look like aged crones.
M: Yeah, thanks a lot, asshole. Anyway, my face is itching now. It feels like tiny people are sticking tiny needles into my large tiny nostrils.
E: You’re not really selling this. Not that you are supposed to be. I’m just desperate for something positive in my watery misery.
M: Positive, eh? My sister said I was “glowing”.
E: That IS good. She only usually likes kittens.
M: The other sister. The one who ran around Superdrug for half an hour painting rainbow colours onto her nails. She is used to seeing me bare faced and haggard, so anything’s an improvement, I suppose.
E: Even so, let’s be positive. You got ‘glowing’. I got ‘no pores’. There’s something in this mineral stuff. I wonder if it’s one of those things that looks better on someone else? Like, you can’t see the magic when you’re wearing it yourself.
M: I look grey in the living room mirror which is normally very forgiving. Is that what you mean by magic? Grey. It’s not the best shade.
E: It’s nice for jumpers. Less so for faces.
M: Hmmmm. The counter lady gave me a sample with another colour and a tiny brush. She was weird, like some sort of Bare Minerals drone. SWIRL TAP BUFF. SWIRL TAP BUFF. DOES NOT COMPUTE. Like her brain had been scooped out and replaced with finely milled powder in a dizzying array of shades.
E: It probably has. But tiny brush! Tiny things are good. I am so positive tonight, I must be having a psychotic episode.
M: God, my face itches, I’m going to have to take this off. And her brush shed ALL OVER my coat! Tiny little hairs everywhere.
E: Oh dear oh dear. Like a nervous dog but without the unconditional love and the bed warming.
M: So. Bare Minerals: creepy evangelical desert dust that makes your face both glowy and itchy. I’ll try again with the sample but I’m not convinced.
BareMinerals SP15 foundation £19.99
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