E: So, M. Inspired by your bright lips shenanigans I raided my local pharmacy-type-boots-type-drugstore place for cheap brightness, even though I have no plans to rub my face on dancing beards. Maybe a horse. But they don’t expect you to wear make up.
M: Oh yes? And what did you buy?
E: I cannot pretend I was really “feeling it”, the bright lip thing, but I persevered. They did not have Revlon so I bought a bright pink felt tip by Maybelline. It is called “Colour Sensational”. The sensation in question must be ‘extreme, painful dehydration’, for I have to tell you M, this felt tip pen for lips is AWFUL.
Color Sensational in front of the bin. WHERE IT BELONGS.
M: Uh oh. What does it do?
E: It is exactly the same as drawing on your lips with a felt tip pen when you are six.
M: Yes. But with a better selection of colours.
E: I suppose. And to give it its due, it’s more like the posh felt tip pens some of my mates were allowed that were scented, because it smells strongly of synthetic fruit flavouring. However, it also desiccated my lips to a husk.
M: Dry like the desert. And not “dessert” as I initially wrote.
E: A dry dessert is a sad, sad, thing.
M: True fact. Did you basically end up looking like Ogra from the Dark Crystal?
E: Yes. Yes I did (what the fuck is that?).
M: Does it have a built-in balm? I find that helps.
E: No, that might have helped. I hate it with the heat of a thousand suns. My children can use it to colour in the dog. It is never going near my face again.
M: Oh dear. But did you layer under lipstick? You are supposed to layer under lipstick, idiot!
E: I AM COMING TO THAT. Yes. I layered under a Rimmel Kate Moss lipstick, poetically called “5″. The Kate Moss was like an OASIS TO A DYING CAMEL after that felt tip pen débâcle.
E: Yes. It brought my sad sad lips back to a semblance of life. I was quite impressed with the formulation, which was really quite moisturising. Props, Rimmel.
M: Good. Were you pleased with the results, aesthetically?
E: I have sent you a picture.
M: Oh, very good. Very ‘modern’.
E: What do you think? It is bright. Flattering-ish? More or less suits my cadaverous complexion (though someone on my other blog disagreed and said it was too blue)?
M: Yes. You have a bit of the Bieber post-concert going on. I like it.
E: Yeah, that’s not really the look I was aiming for, but .. thanks?
M: Tell us about your adventures in bright lips, Facegoopists.
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: PINKY brown. And now I am trying to push my lipstick boundaries back, like on one of those programmes about phobias.
“Describe your level of discomfort on a scale from one to ten”
Red would be a TEN. Pink is ooh, a seven, I suppose.
M: I see, like arachnophobia therapy. First you can look at pictures of a spider, then you can look at a spider, then you can wear a spider on your lips.
E: Erm, yes. So red lipstick is my spiderlips. I’m not there yet. I have to confess I am not even fully doing the pink thing.
M: What comfort level of lipstick are you wearing now?
E: Well. I am trying to use this Tom Ford Flamingo, but I am smudging it with some Lanolips Rhubarb. It’s really full on and matte if you put it straight from the tube.
M: Pretty! I do not agree that, in your words, you look like a “geriatric goth forced to wear a tutu”. Smudging is good. I always end up with lipstick on my teeth otherwise. Since you are experimenting with pink, E, let me show you MY pink lipstick.
E: WHOOOAAAA. THAT SHIT IS PINK.
M: YES! SO PINK. Even pinker in real life. Neon pink.
E: You look really hot actually. What is it?
M: Thanks E. It is Estee Lauder Portofino Coral, granny’s signature lipstick.
E: It’s ok, you don’t have the heavily powdered face necessary to do it granny style.
M: It’s very creamy, and super pigmented, but it goes all over the fucking place.
E: All over your granny shopping trolley and your zip up furry booties. No, I am joking, it’s really very pretty. It makes me want to push back my pink boundaries (that sounds like a terrible euphemism).
M: Ha. I love it with actual true love.
E: Pink lips: not just for Christmas. Indeed, not for Christmas at ALL.
M: What are your favourite pinks, Facegoopists? And what lipstick colours set your spider phobia scale tingling?
M: I bought a new lipstick today. It’s called Papaya Wind or something.
E: Sounds corally. A coral wind, blowing across the eastern hemisphere. I need to start taking my tablets again don’t I?
M: Yes. Yes you do. Oh, it’s called “Papaya Milk”. Do papayas have udders?
E: They are pretty weirdly shaped, they might have udders. I’m not big on .. nature.
M: Or fruit. Actually, papayas are teat-shaped.
E: Well. Have you ever tried to milk one? Maybe you should.
M: I’m having a really disturbing mental picture of a lipstick coming out of a papaya. That is some gross shit, dude. The stuff of nightmares.
E:What in the name of holy fuck, M? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? I didn’t think it was possible to make a lipstick blush, but that one’s blushing. I think we’ve finally gone too far. Why are we talking about milking tropical fruit again?
M: LIPSTICK. That’s why. It’s good, this lactose papaya. It’s bright, and creamy, and easy to apply.
E: Who makes this lactose papaya?
E: Nice. Cheap.
M: Yup. Shame the case feels like it’s made of plastic. The cheap kind.
E: What colour would you call it, the lactose papaya?
M: Erm, papaya coloured? That’s not going to cut it with our eagle eyed readers, is it.
E: They’ll just be so astonished we’re posting again, they’ll forgive you.
M: Or did you mean the case? YOU ARE CONFUSING ME. FIRST YOU MAKE ME MILK A PAPAYA, NOW THIS.
E: I am sorry. We are out of practice. The case is muddy red, then and the lipstick is .. papaya coloured?
M: Yes. Sob. Can we take ourselves out of our misery, please?
E: Of course. I will hit you with this unripe papaya until you lose consciousness, would that work?
E: Hey M. You know how we’re really grumpy and cursed with the curse of Facegoop at the moment?
M: Ssssh. Don’t mention the curse of Facegoop.
E: Sorry. The leprous sores are starting to heal slightly now. Anyway, I thought, to cheer ourselves up, we could diversify into sending begging letters for beauty products we really really want. I’ve started by writing one to Tom Ford.
M: Oh dear. Well, I suppose I had better hear it.
E: Ok, well it goes:
“Dear Mr Ford,
We know you make your lipsticks from finely ground unicorn horn, pixies tears and the shroud of Audrey Hepburn, that they cure cancer and reverse the ageing process and that they will make us hotter than Scarlett Johansson and Jessica Biel and other pretty ladies rolled into one.
We want one. We have been very good and went to see your film and all that.
E and M
(ps u r hot)
M: Impressive. You know he’s gay, right?
E: Of course I do. He is still hot. In an eerily perfect sort of way.
M: Do you think he’s an android?
E: Probably. His torso is made of medical grade bronzed silicone.
M: Did you really see his film?
E: I was mainly hypnotised by the mohair jumper. It did not make me cry at all.
M: That’s because you are dead inside.
E: I can confirm that 110%.
M: Lord Alan Sugar of Clapton would be proud. Do you have DNA evidence of this film attendance?
E: What do you want. popcorn grease?
M: It’s not for me, it’s for Mr Ford.
E: Give Mr Ford my DNA?
E: But I know for a fact Mr Ford is in league with the DNA superthieves at Estee Lauder.
E: So NO. You can take my pride but you cannot take my stem cells in return for a fifty quid lipstick, as I believe Martin Luther King did not say.
M: You are principled, E.
E: Oh yes. But I would really like a coral lipstick.
M: Have you tried them?
E: I fucking wish. I have just read about how awesome they are. Have you?
M: No. And would YOU wear coral?
E: I dunno, but it sounds deliciously retro. “Coral”, like 1950s housewife. That whole Revolutionary Road/Mad Men that whole aesthetic. Lives of quiet desperation but with lovely clothes.
M: I would be an excellent 1950s housewife. I would totally have a bloody mary every morning.
M: Being the beauty gurus we are, people ask us for advice all the time.
E: Deluded fools.
M: They want to know – what red lipstick do you recommend, Facegoop? TELL ME, my love life/promotion/sanity depends on it.
E: They are barking up the wrong beauty bloggist if they ask me about red lips. Wearing it for our special moustache photos nearly destroyed me. But you have some qualifications in this field.
M: Yes. I am going to recommend one red lipstick, that is neither red, nor a lipstick. It is the Nars Velvet Matte Lip Pencil in DRAGON GIRL.
E: Again with the Nars. I know Facegoop readers suspect us of being on “Mr” “Nars” payroll. If only that were true. In reality, we just love his work. Awesome name. Awesome crayon.
M: DRAGON GRRRRRRL. It makes me want to do wheelies on my bike, even though I’m not sure what a wheelie is. I only bought it to get a freebie at Nars with 2 purchases. But when the grannies in John Lewis kept on complimenting me on my lips, I knew I was onto something. I love the bright pinky red colour. It’s punchy and pretty and hot stuff.
E: The Velvet Matte Pencil is truly make up for idiots too.
M: Yes, and I am an idiot. I love that I don’t have to mess around with a lip pencil, lipstick, and a lip brush, in the manner of a depressive clown. Just put it on, and forget about it. It doesn’t move.
E: Nope. It’s a crayon. Crayon your lips. The end. Idiot proof. On your recommendation, I bought one in ‘Walkyrie’.
M: How’s it been working out for you? It is a bit drying though, isn’t it?
E: I love it. It feels gorgeous going on. And actually I find it way less drying than some other lipsticks.
M: I usually top it up with balm half way through the day and then it just has a nice stainy quality to it.
M Yes. I had war paint on. And by war paint, I mean I combed my hair.
E: Because just occasionally I like to pretend I am in charge at Facegoop towers.
M: Oy! You are in charge! ish.
E: Of course i am. If by “in charge” you mean “your terrified subordinate”, then yes, I am in charge. Anyway. I sent you on a mission and you have, I believe, returned triumphant.
E: Tell me all.
M: I braved the squawking army of pink cheeked mac girls to retrieve this:
E: Ooooooooh my makeup bag! Come to momma.
M: Although why you would pay £24 for a bit of a print and a zipper, I’m not sure.
E: It has birds on, OK?
M: OK. BIRDS. Whatever. I did paw the scarf too though. It was nice. Thin and soft. Of course I blame you entirely for what happened next.
E: Oh dear. What did happen next?
M: I was drawn to the Chanel counter by invisible threads, like in a creepy puppet film.
E: Ouh la la. C’est pas bon, ça. Were they diffusing the scent of giant macarons to lure you in?
M: They had essence of Vanessa Paradis wafting. Not Joe le taxi Vanessa Paradis. Chanel Vanessa Paradis. Two very different BIRDS.
E: A taxi is a bird? I did not know this. I bet she’s a patchouli girl in real life though. Dirty barefoot hippie, living in the country with that bearded waster.
M: Yes. Do you think he just speaks in pirate speak?
M: Arrrr. That be a fine cupcake, Vanessa.
E: Arrrrrrrrr. First mate Paradis, plait me beard or I’ll make you walk the plank.
M: The end of the story is that I bought the fecking Mademoiselle lipstick, because I was brain washed by how pretty and wearable it is.
E: Oh man. And what colour is Mademoiselle?
M: It’s VANESSA PARADIS COLOURED. It’s the colour of Pretty. It is Joli.
E: Bon. Clearly I will get no sense out of you. You’ll just have to post a photo.
M: What, like this?
M: Not sure Vanessa would approve of my application “skillz”. Speaking of her, you must watch this:
E: Ils sont cons, ces français.
M: They are comparing her to Titi, the irritating yellow cartoon bird.
E: Nice tail. Céline on the Armani counter at Printemps Beauté would be jealous.
M: “On est dans une logique cartésienne”, they say. I am getting flashbacks to first year lectures at the Sorbonne.
E: C’est archi archi français, ça.
M: Oui. 100% français.
E: Hang on, we’ve got distracted again. What were we saying? You bought lipstick.
M: I blame you. The end.
E: I have also been beauty shopping, M. I have Chosen.
M: Chosen What?
E: The Chosen One. Every year, I choose a cellulite cream in which to place my ridiculous faith. I went to the pharmacy this week and It was on the counter.
M: Oh dear. This is not in the spirit of Easter.
E: The “presentoir” in which the boxes were placed was black and shiny, like it really meant business.
M: Cellulite business.
E: It was Vichy, my favourite of all of last year’s stupid snake oil creams. New Improved Vichy Nonsense.
E: Because the world has moved on since Lipo Dissolve, or whatever the last one was. Cellulite technology lies move fast. Now we have ….
E: Yes. It is a made up word they hope sounds scientific and slimming.
M: That’s like one of those bad overstock stores in Etienne Marcel. Kookai stock from 3 years ago. LA GRANDE BRADERIE de la CELLULITE!
E: PRIX HALLUCINANTS SUR LES CAPITONS!!!!! Je suis d’accord. However! Peer closer into the Vichy tube.
M: Must I?
E: Yes. The contents are pale green, the exact colour of Chanel Jade nail polish. And it contains something called a “lypolytic activator” How can it fail? It has a “lypolytic activator”, which is basically Mr Motivator for my fat. It pokes your fat until it wakes up and goes away.
M: Ugh. I am tired just thinking about it.
E: It is, you will be delighted to hear, “tested in vitro on lipocidine”. As opposed to tested on, say, LEGS.
M: Of course. Why wouldn’t it be? Legs are not hygienic, E. Everyone knows that. You think those lab-coated scientists have ever been NEAR a leg? Have they balls.
E: My favourite bit is the German for “diet resistant problem zones”, which is “Hartknäckigen Problemenzonen”
M: Knäcki. That’s a sausage, isn’t it? Well, my thighs DO look like sausages. I am sold. SOLD!
E: Well. It’s been a tremendous weekend for beauty purchasing. We have done well. Hohe funf, M?
E: Goop morning. I like what you did there. Today we have a guest post. Because we are both tired and you appear to live in Baltimore now, and because she offered and WE JUST ARE, OK? And it will be GOOD.
M: A’ight, a’ight. Omar don’t scare. Be cool. Tell me about our guest reviewer.
E: Our guest reviewer, who would like to be known as Slagheap, is the dewy faced and super talented Marie Philips, author and blogger. And she is reviewing Nuxe “Baume Prodigieux”. Always with the big names, Nuxe. In the interests of Facegoop scientific something or other, I got some too.
M: What is it? Is it lip gloss? Or lip balm?
E: It is a “soin multifonction”. The English version says: “Nutri-protecting lip care gloss effect spf 15″
M: Multi-fonctions my ass. It’s not like you can rub the gloss in your hair or on your cuticles.
E: And I have had it 12 hours and it has neither made me a cup of tea, nor done my tax return.
M: Anyway, I just want to say this about Nuxe: PAH.
E: Oh? Pah?
M: Yes, Pah.
E: Why pah? I like Nuxe. The shimmery shiny oil.
M: Because rêve de miel? Worst. Lip. Balm. EVER.
E: I have never used it. But many lip balms are shite. What is so bad about this one?
M: If you want your lips to erupt in a rash, then by all means use it. It’s like being stung by an angry wasp. An angry wasp with sand paper.
E: It can’t be as bad as Burt’s Bees. That’s a stingy Pritt Stick masquerading as a lip balm.
M: Nightmare de miel, it should be called.
E: Cauchemar de miel. It sounds good. I would probably buy something called that.
M: You know all this stuff about how bees are dying out, and we need to save them bladibladi bla?
M: Well. That’s bee propaganda, if you ask me.
E: You are probably right.
M: BEES ARE EVIL.
E: Big, fat, furry, physics-defying fuckers. They wish us ill.
M: Yes. Stripy bastards. Back to the lip balm.
E: This one does NOT contain honey. I have not had any stingy/rashy/gluey action. I’m just struggling with the gloss elementI dunno. I can never get my head around lip gloss. I know loads of people like it. But why am I supposed to like having sticky lips? WHY?
M: The shininess. People like that.
E: I think this is an extension of my Lip Colour Anxiety Disorder. I mean,
I do agree with our guest tester, that it makes your lips look nice. Even my cracked, horrible lips. But I feel funny about it.
M: How about we just see what our tester had to say? Someone without mental issues around lip colour?
Nuxe Baume Prodigieux
A couple of winters ago, when my lips were gaily shedding chunks of skin like burlesque lepers, my incredibly hard-to-please friend told me that the ONLY lip balm to use was made by Nuxe. Accordingly, next time I was passing through Paree, I picked up not one but two – their ‘Baume Prodigieux’, which comes in a tube like a lip gloss with one of those sponge applicators, and their ‘Reve de Miel’ which comes in a little round tub. When I was small, the only lip balm I knew was bright purple, fake grape flavour and dispensed from a small metal tray. I graduated to brightly-coloured pots of goo from the Body Shop that stank of Dewberry (ah, the stench of the 90s). Then when my sisters had babies, I discovered that nipple cream rubbed into your lips works a treat – not joking – but it is a bit embarrassing to use in public. Nuxe was my first properly grown-up (read: expensive) lip balm.
‘Reve de Miel’ turned out to be the exact colour and texture of earwax. I refused to put it anywhere near my mouth, but it does sterling work applied to my chapped knuckles as a hand cream.
However, I immediately fell in love with ‘Baume Prodigieux’. It contains mango butter – who knew mangoes had butter? – and shea butter and sunflower oil and almond oil, and Vitamin E, which, I have been assured by those who know, cannot penetrate the surface of your skin and therefore does NOTHING. It has Factor 15. I slather myself in Factor 15 at all times, which is why I look 32 and not my true age (33). It tastes like Play-Doh, which isn’t a good thing at all. But most importantly it makes your lips look exactly the same colour as they were already BUT as if they must be kissed as a matter of urgency. I adore this. I would adore this even more if I were still a teenager with a school uniform code which allowed me to wear lip balm but not lipstick. Just a suggestion.
My last tube lasted two years in rotation with other, more colourful lip glosses, and this year when I went to replace it – online, sadly, not in Paree – I noticed that it was now available in two new colours: ‘Shimmering Chocolate’ – dear god no, last thing I need is lips a colour that I want to eat; and ‘Legendary Pink’. Legendary, eh? I can’t say I’ve heard the legend of Nuxe’s Pink, it is hardly the Robin Hood de nos jours; but I did like the idea of a Baume Prodigieux in a shade other than the one I am without assistance (now dubbed ‘Natural Crystal’).
‘Pink’, though. I hate ‘pink’. I don’t mind ‘rose’ or ‘blush’ or any other euphamism, but ‘pink’ is terrifyingly suggestive of young girls in tutus dressed as princesses. That’s not what I want to look like: not at all. And yet, for the good of research and Facegoop and YOU, reader, I purchased it, hoping that the legend of the Nuxe pink might be that it really isn’t that pink after all.
It arrived. I put it on. Oh my god. The colour coverage is beyond compare; the dewy glow of it utterly seductive. I don’t have the words to describe the bliss of the texture. I have never worn a lipstick / lip gloss / lip balm like it. My other lip coverings want to hide themselves in shame.
But it is SO PINK.
Fluorescent pink. Glow in the dark pink. Barbara Cartland pink. The kind of pink that could only possibly be purchased online by someone whose screen colours are not set to match reality and who is highly optimistic about what a pink legend might comprise of.
But the legend of the Nuxe Pink, as it turns out, is the legend of the Pink so beautifully applied that you abandon all your feelings about what colour you do not want your mouth to be under any circumstances, and wear it, wear it, wear it.
Today we are discussing Giorgio Armani Sheer Lipstick. Because that’s how we roll. Yes, we do have jobs actually. Shut up.
E: I tell you what’s weird.
E: Mr Armani. I mean, he looks like the exhumed remains of Ramses II, but he absolutely rocks at cosmetics. Not only that, but Mr Ramses Armani has no lips, yet his sheer lipstick is awesomeness in an ergonomic tube. I mean, props to him for his contribution to human happiness, but what the fuck is that about?
M: I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have any skin either. He’s 100% lizard, like in V.
E: The boring kind. My memory was dulled by muesli malnutrition, probably. Mr Ramses Armani is like a brown, brown, lipless space lizard.
M: Yes, but Italian. Can we get back to lipstick?
E: Yeah, so. Armani lipstick is good because it is not actually lipstick.
M: What is it?
E: It’s lipstick for wimps. People who are scared of lipsticks.
M: That’s a condition?
E: Yes. Because I have this Chanel lipstick and it scares me. You put it on, and look at yourself and suddenly it’s all CLOWN MOUTH! OMFG I AM WEARING LIPSTICK.
M: Yes. And you have to blot it and constantly check it isn’t on your teeth.
E: And it leaches all the moisture out of your lips, leaving you with your lips sloughing off like a reptile.
M: Always back to the reptiles. You know what else is nice about it?
M: The click when you close the lid. And the soft, ergonomic shape. It’s like one of those space chairs in lipstick form. It’s SPACE LIPSTICK.
E: Hmm. I think the click could be more clicky. Because when I have mine in my handbag the lid comes off, and the tube fills with sand and biscuit crumbs and spoons and more sand.
M: That doesn’t happen to most people.
M: No. They keep it in a tiny shiny clutch, with maybe a black Amex card and a button to call their bodyguard.
E: No shortbread fingers?
M: Are shortbread fingers Armani? NO.
E: I suppose not. Which colour do you have?
M: I don’t know. It makes your lips all berry and shiny and hydrated. And I can apply it blindfolded without looking like I’ve just snogged a lamp post. What do you have?
E: 5. And sometimes 21. They are browny reddish and discreet and do not frighten horses. I am very fond of horses and would not like to frighten them. The Chanel lipstick would definitely frighten horses. Probably men too, but I never meet any of those.
M: Ha, look at their website!
The colours are spectacularly inaccurate. And I was right. The model is definitely from space.
E: There’s something veerrrry creepy about the way she has a black band across her mouth before you choose her lipstick colour. Also, if you choose 9, it gives her blue lips, like she’s in chronic heart failure.
M: Yeah, it’s terrifying.
E: Yours must be 8 I think, but it seems to suggest you are Malibu Barbie.
M: Malibu Barbie is totally Mr Armani’s mistress.
Actually, it's no. 6
E: What do you think they are made of? Truffle oil?
M: Truffle oil and liquefied oyster for the silkiness.
E: And hmmm. Papal vestments?
E: 20% white truffle oil from Mr Armani’s space orchard, 30% the silky insides of oyster shells, 25% papal robes and 25% magical space particles.
M: Hmmm. I think we have established that Mr Armani is a mummified space lizard, but what I don’t understand is why he has come to earth to offer us his cosmetics. Is there some kind of nefarious plan behind it?
M: Oh yes. Céline has a tail. It keeps the Armani counter floor nice and shiny.
E: Does she keep it in her regulation black nylon slacks?
M: Yup. She tucks it in there when it’s not needed.
E: So, in conclusion, Armani sheer lip colour. It’s basically DNA theft by a space lizard, but we’re ok with that, because it’s nice and sheer, good wearable colours and doesn’t frighten large mammals. Right?
M: Why not.
Mr Armani does not want you to know how much his sheer lip colour costs, but it’s available from Jenners and Selfridges.