Posts Tagged ‘space lizards’
M: Tell me, E. Have you smelled Armani’s jasmine perfume?
E: No. Is it lovely?
M: I thought Armani only did perfume with italian words on it. Like GIO and ACQUA DI TOBLERONE.
E: Acqua di Pannetone. Ezzenzi di Ferrero Rocher.
M: Perfume di Papardelle.
E: Hehehehe. Did this not smell of ragu then?
M: No, not ragu, but it smelled so delicious. My friend sprayed it on her hand and I followed her round Selfridges, wanting to EAT her.
E: Wow. How .. frightening.
M: It just smells of flowers. The sweetest, prettiest, most fragile jasmine flowers. Sob.
E: Why are you sobbing?
M: Because it is £135 or something.
E: Awww. Never mind. This will cheer you up:
M: HA. That bottle looks ridiculous. It’s like a hippie on a monolith.
E: You think? To me it’s a gigantic deformed mouth. Probably eating ragu.
M: Let’s read what the Space Lizard himself has to say about it.
“A fragrance which sings the praises of light and life”.
E: Not at all ambitious, then.
M: “Giorgio Armani likes the Jasmine fragrances of his childhood, a long way from the hypnotic mysteries of the Grasse extracts; he likes its solar energy”
E: “Solar energy”. But that’s like ADMITTING that he’s a space lizard!
M: Do you like perfume’s solar energy, E?
E: No, I fear it. It wishes to do me harm.
M: The rose quartz top drinks in the light, apparently.
E: This is some big time reptile alien conspiracy shit right here.
M: Did I ever tell you about the giant crystal at the National Museum of Scotland?
E: I don’t believe so, M, no.
M: I went there to look at the taxidermied animals. There have a great big purple crystal. My friend told me last time he was there, some old hippy was standing in front of it, with his eyes closed and his head thrown back, arms spread open. DRINKING IN THE CRYSTAL POWER. That’s what Armani does. I’m not sure I want this anymore. Especially if it “takes root in the warm terrace of Indonesian Patchouli.”
E: Uh oh. That’s concentrated essence of hippy right there. There are hand-cured thong sandals abandoned on that terrace. And cheesecloth.
M: Pffff. The copy writer has ruined it for me. I am sulking.
E: Leave it to the solar hippy lizards. Anyway, cheer up M. I mean look! It’s a breakthrough! YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT FRAGRANCE. YOU VOWED YOU WOULD NEVER DO THAT.
M: Shut your face. I am not.
E: I think you’ll find you are.
M: Don’t know what you are talking about. I think you’ll find I know you are but what am I.
E: Tsk, M. There is nothing to be afraid of. Soon you will be wittering about “dry down”.
M: I don’t want to know what that is.
E: And “top notes”. And erm. no. My fragrance vocabulary stops there.
M: Humph. Let’s pretend this never happened. If you are my friend, you will pretend this never happened.
E: It never happened (I have just told the whole internet).
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E: So, M, back in the summer when we was in teh lahndan, you gave me a gift. One that was not made of lamb.
M: It wasn’t so much a gift, as a reject.
E: Ssssh. It was a GIFT.
M: OK, gift. Yes. I gave you a pretty pot of what looks like sexy hotness on you, and grey bruises on me.
E: It is Benefit creaseless cream eyeshadow in “Strut”. Because sadly they don’t do one in “hobble”, or “slouch”, or “crawl”. Strut is a gorgeous smoky grey blue metallic.
M: Nice. I was a bit jealous of your strut. So I went and bought another one yesterday.
E: Oooh, what one did you get?
M: Sippin’ n dipping’. It’s a limited edition. Sounds a bit pervy.
E: Oh god. It does. What colour is it?
M: It looks exactly the same as my eye. It’s eyelid coloured. Look! Invisible!
But sparkly. I thought I’d try to keep the smoky eyeliner in check with it, but it’s not playing ball.
E: Lisa Eldridge needs to come and bang their heads together. So – bright sparkly eyelid? Bit sci-fi.
M: Like a robot. Or maybe an iguana. Do ignuanas have eyelids?
E: I think so. Iguana lid sci-fi robot. That’s a good name, see?
M: For a band, perhaps. Tell me what you do with yours?
E: I just smear it all over my eyelid. Technical, like. It’s quite full on, so definitely an evening thing – ideal, for instance, for vomiting on your kitchen floor. Which is my evening activity of predilection.
M: Shhhhh. We don’t tell anyone about this.
E: Oh yes, sorry. Ideal for dancing in, er, nightclubs. And going to, er, galas. Is that better?
M: Ha! galas. You’ve never gone to a gala in your life.
E: Gala Bingo maybe.
M: Is it any good, for, say, finding your discarded bra in the garden?
E: No, I don’t think it helps you find bras. And I thought we weren’t talking about that. ANYWAY. It’s dark and sparkly. It’s not for office wear. What do you do with yours?
M: I smear it liberally with a finger onto my eyelids until the iguanas ask me to be their leader.
E: I would expect no less of you.
M: So, Benefit creaseless eye shadow. It lives up to its name, and it’s good for strutting your stuff at the gala bingo.
E: Yeah.
M: And for looking like a robotic iguana.
E: Don’t thank us, Benefit. Your gratitude is all the thanks we need.
Benefit Creaseless Cream eyeshadow
, up to £14
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M: E, what the hell has happened? Where have we been?
E: We are drawing a veil over the summer. A veil of CRAPNESS.
M: There has been much huddling in dark corners, wailing.
E: We aren’t talking about that M.
M: About what?
E: EXACTLY.It’s time to move on and move forward.
M: And we’re moving forward… with fake tan? Really?
E: Yes! Yes we are! Because, and I KNOW the UK is the same as Belgium here, there isn’t a hope in hell of a real tan anymore.
M: Oh god, here we go again. Are you going to write “crunge” on your leg with this one, E? I hear that’s what all the kidz are doing these days.
E: Nope. This is happy story free of tagging.
M: Do my ears deceive me?
E: No. La rentrée de Facegoop is all about the wins. Well, partially. Listen, dude. It came recommended by St India of Knight. As you know, the recommendation of SIOK is enough for me.
“Xen Tan!” she said
“It’s genius”
So I went and bought some.
It was arduous and difficult. I had to go on their alarming website, AND I got cornered by the sea salt zombies. But it was worth it.
M: This is like product placement. India is the product. I feel a bit dirty.
E: Get over the dirty, M. This is GOOD SHIT.
M: How. Tell me how. I have forgotten what GOOD is. Is it space fake tan? Because it sounds like scientology fake tan.
E: Hang on, I need to get you the product lies from the tube.
M: Do, do.
E: Well. It does not offer a free personality test. However it does say “never looks like a fake tan and never smells like one!”
Well. Xen Tan. You may not smell like a fake tan. But you smell FAR FAR WORSE. (Yeah, we haven’t got to the good news yet)
“Delicious scent!” it says on the packet. Imagine, if you will, M, the scent of a cheap vanilla yoghurt from a discount supermarket left out in the sun (remember that? the sun?) for about 3 months. THAT is how it smells.
M: Nice. Lactic. And by lactic, I mean RANCID.
E: Yup. But, and here’s the SIOK magic, the colour, is brilliant. I am a total faketan remedial loser.
Mi: We know, E, we know.
E: I can get tidemarks, like, ANYWHERE. Well this? Total win. No tide marks, no fuck ups, great colour. Look at this fuzzy and slightly shit photo:
See? Apparently the secret is the “time release” formula, don’t ask me what the fuck that means.
M: Good. Good good good. You do realize I zoned out of this conversation 15 minutes ago, right?
E: I haz nice brown leg. That’s all you need to know.
M: My interest in fake tan. It is also on time release. Please release me from this Xen Tan Cult Rant.
E: They’re nearly as brown as yours.
M: Ahahahahahahahah. Sure they are. Can we go eat salted caramel now?
E: Ok. It’s not like we’ll need a bikini body any time soon.
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M: (tiny little voice) Errm, E?
E: Yes, M? What is it?
M: You look really pretty today. And I really like your shoes.
E: OH NO. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?
M: And have I ever told you how clever you are?
E: You might as well just tell me. TELL ME.
M: Shhhhhhh [hides under desk].
E: Come out of there. We can still see you. Your JENNERS BAG is poking out.
M: This bag? The dark black one with red tissue paper, the delicately scented one that says GIORGIO ARMANI?
E: Yes. That bag. Now tell me what on earth you have been up to with the lizard king or I’m sending for Laura Mercier and her Jack Bauer style torture techniques. WHAT IS IN THE BAG, M?
M: Before I tell you about what’s in the bag, I must tell you about Jen, the Armani Face Designer. She is Céline’s younger Scottish sister. Her hair is soft and lustrous. Her eyes deep and understanding. Her tail is dainty and hardly noticeable at all.
E: Ha. “Face Designer”. They programme her that way back on the mothership for optimal Customer Service.
M: Yes, then she reprograms your face to comply with the Armani Algorithm.
E: Correct.
M: Sleekness. Smoothness. Impact.
E: It might not be your face anymore, but it’s BETTER.
M: She has a mirror, that she sent me out to Princes St with. To check my face in. It’s that thing the magazines always tell you to do but that never ever happens.
E: Ha! Not at all embarrassing that.
M: The tourists stared and the grannies tutted, but I did not care. Jen had me in her thrall. The thing about Jen is that she sounds so innocent and sincere. Like, when she told me my skin was good. Or when she praised the shape of my eyebrows. Or the fact that my lids were just right for putting shadow on. I lapped it up. Like a brain zombie.
E: And then what happened, M? How did she pounce? What has she done to you?
M: No, she did not pounce. That is the genius of Jen. I just volunteered to spend £65 on roughly 10 grams of coloured powder. The thing is, I didn’t care. Because I wanted to be just like Jen. Including the wonderfully irridescent green shadow on her eyes.
E: Ooooh, nice.
M: I’m pretty sure crack is cheaper than that. Anyway, LOOK A IT. The “Mediterranean Palette”. Isn’t it beautiful?
E: Mediterranean Palette sounds like a delicious mezze plate. But where are the olives? Where is the tzatziki?
M: They have been replaced by this bronzer, which is ace. And then 4 shadows.
E: Ok, it does look pretty awesome. And is it as good as it looks?
M: YES. Look:
Yes. The fact I am willing to show you my face is proof of the power of Armani. The green is green, but it does not make you look crazy, because the colours are sheer and combine into subtle effects. It just gives your eyes brightness and definition. Only one downside. Now, I have to sacrifice a goat to his Highness.
E: King Lizard be praised! You look amazing. The Armani algorithm is working for you. Actually, I think the goat sacrifice can wait until you have worked your earthling fingers to the bone to pay for the palette.
M: I don’t give a shit. Because I am going to wear it ALL THE TIME.
She casually said to me, as she was wrapping it up “It’s a very limited edition, we only got 8 in stock.” BWAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA.
E: BWAHAHAHHAHAA Bon. I forgive you, M. It is hard to resist a facial redesign from space.
M: Thank you for your forgiveness, E. I must resist the genius mascara, or the amazing Fluid Sheer of Wonder. I feel myself drawn back to the Lizard Lair. I must be strong. Pray for me.
Giorgio Armani Mediterannean palette, £65 of your hard earned lizard coins.
What’s in your guilt-lined drawer of shame?
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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.
M: Shhhhhhhh.
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
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M: Shall we do a giveaway?
E: Yes. I expect people are probably already bored. We should try and incentivise them. What are we giving away?
M: I have a spare lip product to give.
E: Tell me about it.
M: It’s No 7 Protect and Perfect lip care. The neglected child of the no 7 family.
E: I don’t think I’d want to be a member of the No.7 family. That fucking serum is like the pushy, show off genius child of the family and noone gives a shit about anyone else. Everyone has to tiptoe around the diva serum. Boots are really bad parents in that respect. Where did you get this lipcare thing? You didn’t steal it did you?
M: No, no! Why on earth would you suggest that?
E: Erm, no reason. No. None at all. Did you adopt it? From the No. 7 orphanage for unwanted cosmetic children?
M: Yes, from the No. 7 orphanage-stroke-factory in Romania.
E: Did you have to fight Angelina for it? Back off, bitch. Step away from the lip care.
M: What I want to know is what happened to no 5 and no 6. Actually, they are so desperate to get rid of their unwanted child cream they give you these vouchers for £5.
E: Oh yes, I know that of which you speak. They hand them over at the till don’t they, while reciting the Boots Mantra:
Doyouhaveabootscardhere’sfivepoundsoffskincare.
M: Yes, everyfuckingtime. Buy a bottle of water? HAVE FIVE POUNDS OFF. Pack of tic tacs? FIVEPOUNDSOFF. You can spend it on one of the cheaper no 7 children. Or on something called “Ruby and Millie”, which is just sticky crap.
E: Ruby and Millie. It’s sounds like a Clapham nursery school, doesn’t it?
M: Stop saying strange British things, I no understand. The £5 voucher just serves to make you realize how cheap this stuff really is.
E: Very VERY cheap.
M: Probably costs 10p to make.
E: They’d give it away at the door if they thought it would bring you back for more 3 for 2 vitamins.
M: Or a meal deal.
E: Have you actually tried this stuff? Cos we can’t give stuff away if we haven’t actually tried it. We have standards.
M: Ahahhahahahhahaha. No we don’t. But I have tried it.
E: And? my lips need care. All of me needs care, but we could start with the lips.
M: Everyone’s lips need care. It comes in a thin juicy tube sort of tube:
E: Like its bullying older sibling, the serum?
M: Well, duh. White. Pearlescent. PLAIN.
E: Ok gotcha. CHEAP.
M: When I first opened it, I though uuuugh, thanks a lot, Boots.
E: Why? Is it thin and dribbly?
M: I was expecting a lip balm, but instead yes, thin and dribbly. Like a lotion or a cream.
E: Like the “magic” serum?
M: No, different texture. More firm somehow. And yet still gloopy.
E: I don’t really like the sound of thin and dribbly. They aren’t words I want near my lips.
M: Well, I persevered, and after 4 days it did really smooth out my super-cracked-cycling-in-the-winter-with-no-balaclava-lip-skin. I didn’t want to like it, but now I spend 10 minutes every night trying to find the fucking thing, so I don’t wake up with lizard lips.
E: Brrrrrr. Lizard lips. I haz em. I have a tube of lipbalm actually IN my bed – one of the ones made by orcs – but it’s shit. I find most lip balms to be shit.
M: On the downside, I don’t really like it in the morning. And it says it’s a good base for lipstick, but I find that to be a LIE. A No. 7 lie. Perpetrated by the No. 7 matrons.
E: No. 7 lies are couched in a thin dermal layer of science.
M: Thin. So thin.
E: Percentages. Graphs. Confidence trickery. BELIEVE US WE ARE BOOTS WE WOULD NOT LIE TO YOU.
M: WE ARE PHARMACISTS. PHARMACISTS ARE BASICALLY LIKE VICARS.
E: Pharmacist is one of those professions we implicitly trust. Priest. Doctor. Undertaker. Pharmacist. Whereas in fact, they are more like dodgy boiler repair men, at least when they start dabbling in skin care.
M: However, and this is a significant plus, the No. 7 Lip Care has LIPO PEPTIDES in it. Which makes me laugh.
E: Lip peptides
Lipeptides
Liptides
M: What the fuck is a peptide, anyway?
E: I think you get them in jam. Don’t you make jam with peptides?
M: Probably. So, basically, No 7 lip care: it’s like tasteless liquid jam for your lips. Made by vicars and orphanage matrons. And we are giving one away for free! A brand new one! that hasn’t even come near our thin dribbly lips!
E: TOTALLY FREE and in TAMPER PROOF PACKAGING. Perhaps.
M: 100% PURE PEPTIDE ACTION
E: To you, all four of you Facegoop readers! No, actually that’s a lie. Only to one of you. I am as bad as a pharmacist with my lying, cheating, worthless promises.
M: So what do they have to do to get this?
E: Tell us a lipbalm story.
M: Leave a comment saying what your favourite or most disastrous lip balm purchase is. We will pick one based on PURE BIAS.
E: Yes, none of your randomised selection here. We choose the one we like best.
M: Warning: we play favourites and we DO love some of you more than others.
E: Is that legal? Who knows. Who cares.
M: We can do whatever we want.
E: It’s our lip jam. RAWR.
M: RAWR.
E: So. Leave us a comment saying something about lip balm. Before the 21st of March. And you might win one. Fancy.
Boots no 7 Protect & Perfect lip care, available from, errr, Boots.
£8.75 (or £3.75 if you have a magic voucher. Look! maths!)
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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.
M: What?
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: What is V? Should I know?
M: You know, the TV program. Lizards from space. They eat mice.
E: I have never heard of it.
M: What kind of 80s did you grow up in?
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?
E: What?
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.
E: No?
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?
M: Definitely.
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?
E: I expect it’s a way to get our DNA isn’t it?
M: That’s all they ever want. Our fucking DNA.
E: Oh god. He’s in league with Estée Lauder isn’t he? DNA superthieves.
M: Yes. Like Stargate.
E: I have never seen Stargate.
M: They are all Egyptian gods. But IN SPACE. And they have worms coming out of their stomachs.
E: Eeew. I am surprised Mr Armani would stand for stomach worms. That isn’t aesthetic at all. Wouldn’t they spoil the line of his regulation navy blue t-shirt?
M: Look, like this:
E: That reminds me of Céline from the Armani counter at Printemps Beauté in Paris.
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.
M wears no. 6
E wears nos 5 and 21
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