E: Are you having a laugh? How the fuck would I know. I went to Le Touquet for my summer holidays
M: Le Touquet. That sounds tropical. Like a toucan.
E: When in fact, it’s a drizzly northern beach resort made of wind-beaten concrete and despair. It literally rained every second we were there. I thought my children would dissolve. I quite wished they would, actually. I was told French Children Don’t Throw Food, but actually, that’s only because they are busy throwing each other down concrete stairs.
M: Mmmmmmm. That sounds actually properly lovely. Not the children, the rain. I could do with a bit of drizzly miserable weather goodness.
E: Yeah, all that sun and sand and hammocks and so on must be awful. Whatever floats your boat, punk. ANYWAY.
M: Yes, ANYWAY. Sunscreen. It’s either like mime makeup, or exceedingly expensive. And I need it, because it is fucking hot here. And sunny. And sweaty. Which as you can imagine, does wonders for your skin. I’m uncomfortably aware of the necessity to protect my face lest it burn right off.
E: Angry monkey face has nothing on ‘Cambodian Sunburn Face’. And what are you using to protect your angry monkey, sorry, soft, delicate skin?
M: Muji UV Protect Milk. It doesn’t know grammar, but it’s good.
E: It has no time for grammar, it’s too busy protecting milk
M: It seems to also be called “UV Milk lotion sensitiv skin”. Apparently, it’s not very good at spelling either.
E: Hmmm. I hope it’s good at sun protection, because it sucks at most other stuff. I mean, can it make a decent cup of tea?
M: Difficult to tell, E. I would love to tell you all about its mysterious, highly scientific Japanese properties, but unfortunately the packaging is in Japanese so I don’t know what it really says. Probably something like “yesterday we meadow picnic oh how happy the sun shine!”
E: And what SPFs does this magic kawaii sun cream have, M?
M: It says SPF 27 PA++, which I think is Japanese for “Provides excellent protection against UVA and UVB rays, a main cause of skin ageing”
E: You speak fluent Muji, M. I am impressed. Does it say “sits on your skin like mime make up”? or “greasy as KFC?”
M: Honestly, it’s more like a moisturiser. It sinks in nicely, no mime mask, and my skin feels hydrated but not french fry greasy. It’s a total win.
E: And being Muji, presumably it’s as cheap as rice?
M: E, We have another problem for the Ask Facegoop Agony Clinic. Reader T.Twisted (which is an awesome name), has asked us a question.
Hello Facegoop, I prostrate myself at the feet of your glorious wisdom. Please, please, please help me find a light moisturiser, preferably oil-free, that has an SPF in it. I don’t wear foundation and my current moisturiser (Liz Earle Skin Repair Light) does not have sun protection. I will be eternally grateful for any suggestions!
Glorious wisdom. We need to live up to this, E.
E: Oil free? what does that mean?
M: It means it must have no oil in it. Some beauty experts we are. Oil. You know. The stuff you get out of fruits and what not when you squeeze them. Like, avocado oil. Sesame oil. Mineral oil. SEAL OIL.
E: Squeezed out of .. what? Seal is not a fruit.
M: Chilean miners. LET US MOVE ON. FORGET ABOUT THE OIL.
E: Sorry.
M: STOP FIXATING ABOUT THE OIL.
E: OK.
M: There’s nothing wrong with a bit of oil, anyway.
E: I thought we weren’t talking about it any more.
E: Is that a moisturiser, then? It doesn’t SOUND like moisturiser.
M: It is a very very very lightweight foundation that feels like a cloud. No, a marshmallow. NO! a cloudy marshmallow.
E: A cloudy marshmallow. Right. So, the lady wants moisturiser and you’re offering her cloudy marshmallows??
M: It’s super hydrating, makes your face glow in a non sweaty way, and you can’t feel it on. AND it has SPF25.
E: Oooh. Fancy.
M: And it’s Australian, innit. They know about sunscreen. And koalas.
E: That is true. Also beer.
M: It’s very moisturising. It has all sorts of vitamins in it, like a smoothie.
E: Well then. It sounds lovely. Are you sure it’s oil free?
M: You’re just cranky because you’ve run out of seal blubber. No, it’s not oil free. But I’ve been using it all week and it’s not broken me out. And everything, but everything breaks me out. Looking at my own face breaks me out. Anyway, what do you suggest, cranky pants? Won’t you just tell the nice lady what you’re using to shield yourself from the big yellow orb in the sky?
E: I like Daywear. It’s nice and green. It smells like something good for you. It has SPFS And it’s not made of marshmallows or miners. But what do I know? Now I want your Australian miracle cream made from wombat poo.
M: Daywear, huh?
E: Yes, Estee Lauder the demon grandmother’s Daywear. She’s your mean gran, the one you didn’t ever want to visit. She’ll tell you you’ve put on weight and that green doesn’t suit you. But she really doesn’t want you to get wrinkles.
M: She’s all about the caring, granny. Is it like, a housecoat in a tube?
E: That’s exactly what it is. Well done M. It’s a housecoat in a tube.
M: The cosmetic equivalent of a housecoat and a set of curlers. In a tube.
E: So, T Twisted. The choice is yours. Wombat approved marshmallow clouds?Or a housecoat in a tube? NO, NO NEED TO THANK US.
E: I LOVE a doctor. I’m like those old ladies that make up illnesses just to get to see the doctor. Mmmmm. Doctors are LOVELY. Even ones who don’t have testicle necklaces like our friend Dr Mystery.
M: Well, check this guy out.
He has it all.
Greying hair? Check
Lab coat? Check
Diagrams? Check
Freakishly smooth skin? CHECK.
E: Wow. Who is this awesome doctor, M? I totally want a piece of him.
M: Well, I want some of his freakishly effective science. The Cellular Water science. He is… DR MURAD.
E: Dr Murad! He sounds smooth. And sciencey.
M: Indeed. Take a look at this: ”the Science of Cellular Water looks at the ability of cell membranes to hold water within a cell as the fundamental marker of youthful good health.”
E: Cellular water eh? What is that? Water made out of, er, cells?
M: Or is it cells made out of water? The mind boggles. The diagrams aren’t helping.
E: But hang on a cotton picking minute, M. My cells are not SQUARE. That picture looks like a Battenburg cake! Not skin.
M: No, that’s just a cross section. But yes, think of it as, erm, a portion of cake. Anyway, Dr. Murad makes lots of products that I believe are generally well thought of in the Industry.
E: Where has Dr Murad come from? What kind of a name is Murad?
M: Who knows. But all of his execs are also called Murad.
E: It’s a family affair like.. THE MAFIA. Or, um, the Baldwins.
M: No, it’s like that Being John Malkovich film. Where John Malkovich walks into his own head and everyone there is JOHN MALKOVICH. Except here everyone is WEARING A LAB COAT. And saying “MURAD MURAD MURAD” while offering you cellular water.
E: Ahahahahaha. YES. “Being Dr Murad”. If Facegoop ever moves into film production, our first feature will be Being Dr Murad.
M: Nightmarish. But you’ll be pleased to know that the Dr’s products are not a nightmare.
E: Oh, and what have you tried from Dr Murad’s Cellular Water Lab?
M: I have bought his Oil-Free Sunblock Sheer Tint SPF 15, and it is ACE. Its only active ingredient is Titanium Dioxide, which doesn’t seem to irritate my skin and make it blotchy. I can’t feel it on.
None of this crappy sticky white sand texture on your face à la Liz Earle, and great under makeup too. It’s only SPF 15, but it protects you from sun and free radical damage, which I think is what you get when you hang out with commies.
E: Hmmm. Singeing with a copy of Das Kapital. That kind of thing?
M: Yup. I have not wanted to sing the Internationale once since using this. Also my skin is moist, evened out, and glowing. WIN.
E: I feel a little weak at this cosmetic success.
M: Go and lie down, E. I’ll get the doctor to bring you a poultice.
E: Hang on. Before you go, is he very expensive?
M: Not too bad. £20.59, though it’s a bit hard to find around here in greying Scotchland. But here’s a handy link to our amazon watchamacallit:
E: M, it may have escaped your notice in the frozen steppes of Scotchland, but summer is upon us.
M: Oh? I have not left my anti-histamine tower of despair for a few days. What is this summer of which you speak?
E: Yes. There is a fiery ball in the sky and I do not believe it heralds the apocalypse (actually, I do, but for the purposes of this post, let us assume it is just summer).
M: Hold on, I remember. You were telling us that one had to EXFOLIATE to prepare for this.
E: Yes!
M: AHA!
E: So now it is time for PHASE TWO.
M: I can barely contain my excitement (that is a lie).
E: The Phase Where It All Goes Horribly Wrong
M: Oh good. Just what we need. More things going wrong.
E: As you know, M, my complexion is part Edward Cullen, part supermarket chicken thigh.
M: You’re a sparkly chicken thigh?
E: More the deathly pallor of the undead. Thus, if I wish to expose my flesh I must colour it beautiful.
Mi: Ha. HA, I say. I laugh with the amused disdain of one who is pre-coloured.
E: We all know where this is going. It is going down the horrible road of stale biscuit scented DOOM that is FAKE TAN.
M: Can you explain fake tan to me? It is like dating. I iz foreign. I no understand.
E: No. And I do not have any particularly good news for the pastier Facegoopers. But I can tell you what not to do.
E’s guide to bronzing
1. Do not apply fake tan drunk
2. Do not apply fake tan and go straight to bed
3. Do not apply fake tan if you are a spatially challenged moron
4. Do not apply fake tan to open wounds.
Because I have done all these things many times
M: 5. Do not apply fake tan if the bottle has a stupid pun on it?
E: YES. ESPECIALLY THAT. Let us talk about that particular offender.
M: Soap & Glory, J’ACCUSE.
E: It is called “Glow Getter”. Ha, ha Soap & Glory! I am glad I put my corset on today! Though this is not actually fake tan, I should say. It is “paint in a bottle that you put on yourself and then wash off at the end of the day”
M: You are starting to make my head hurt. Does this, or does this not, turn your legs patchy orange?
E: No. It is WORSE than that
M: I am intrigued, against my will and common sense.
E: This is like spray paint for legs. Firstly, I have a conceptual problem with it.
M: Why? because it is SPRAY PAINT FOR LEGS? Nutjob.
E: In a nutshell, Yes. why would I put something brown and smeary on myself when I only have to wash it off again and start again the same day????
M: Yes indeed E. WHY???
E: Oh, we can add 4. to the list: Do not go to bed without washing off “Glow Getter”. You will regret it. So. Glow Getter. It is like something an inept graffiti artist would use so I felt terribly “street” putting it on. Unfortunately, it is only good for tagging. Look:
This is my “rubbish product” tag
M: Ha. HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA. You are like a bad tag on the RER C. Soon your leg will be giving coppers the finger and stuff.
E: My leg is a badass. Soon it will be getting one of those curfew tags. And you know what? The end result was NO BETTER. It does not spread. it does not become even. It repels moisturiser. It took me 15 minutes to get my legs looking like legs and not RER C tags. And even then they were the most improbable shade: sort of orangey browny nuclear CRAP.
M: How did you manage that? a scourer?
E: With my salty tears, M, with my salty tears.
M: I am unimpressed on so many levels I don’t know where to start.
E: Bitter experience tells me the only fake tan I can use with ANY degree of success (and I define that very widely) is the ‘gradual tanning’ kind. Like St Tropez EveryDay Light – Medium. Even with that, I would say only one in ten applications isn’t completely fucked up.
M: Right. That’s it. I’m staging an intervention. THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH YOUR LEG COLOUR. Go sit in the sun for an afternoon. STEP AWAY FROM THE TANNERS. The end.
E: But M. My legs have no melanin in them. I can sit in the sun until my face ressembles a blistering tomato, and my legs stay blue. But one thing is sure: the answer is emphatically not Glow Getter
M: You just need to accept that these are the legs that the Lizard King has given you.
E: No! I want magical cosmetic solutions! I refuse to spend my whole life blue!
Facegoopers: is there any fake tan miracle out there that can transform E from a supermarket chicken thigh into a gorgeously bronzed human?
M: Yes. Well, I like sunscreen, in spite of living in Scotchland. I am terrified of sun damage and what not.
E: Ha, strange girl. You should be worrying about trench foot.
M: Nevertheless, I really wanted to try your beloved Clarins anti-sun thingy what not, but I can’t afford the £28 or whatever it costs. (Shut up about the expensive microdermabrasion I may or may not have recently indulged in)
E: (sssssssh I didn’t say anything)
M: So I picked this up in Superdrug. L’Oreal Solar expertise Active anti-wrinkle and brown spot matte fluid protection.
M: Catchy name. I half expect it to burst into French rap, any minute. Caroline, Caroline.
E: Qui sème le vent récolte le sunscreen.
M: Je suis l’as de crème qui pique ta protection solaire.
E: So, MC Sunscreen? How is he?
M: He’s pretty good actually. Fluid, thin. Bit hard to spread. Mattifying? Hmm, maybe, in a sheeny sort of way.
E: Not bad, not bad. Do you feel like it’s SPFing?
M: Yes. It has 50 of your finest SPFs. The end.
E: Well that’s pretty good. Allez, let’s have some more French rap now.
M: (I don’t know any other MC Solaar songs)
E: Hmmm. Bouge de là?
M: Oui, bouge de là. Bouge bouge bouge bouge de là, sun damage. French Rap cosmetic reviews suck. Word.
E: I am worried, M. Facegoop is full of joy and happiness and product love at the moment. This is not representative of us.
M: Do not worry, E. I am going to rant about Liz Earle sunscreen now. For I am ANGRY.
E: Oh good.
M: I’m going to keep this short. I got a sample of this Liz Earle suncream squidged into a pot at John Lewis. It has all the good stuff: SPF 20, physical sunblock, no dodgy ingredients, lactic acid, pleasant orange flower smell. So far, so good, if you make allowances for its guano-like appearance:
E: Indeed. I wonder where this is going?
M: Well, this morning I put it on my face.
E: That is the suggested usage.
M: It was like coating your face in melted resin. It just sat there. Like a coating of STICKY DUSTY CRAP.
E: Gross. Liz Earle???? What were you thinking?
M: Making my face grey. And STICKY. Did I mention the sticky??
E: I think you did. So it made your face like an old lollipop abandoned down the sofa.
M: Exactly. But GREY. I waited a good 15 minutes, and then, rather idiotically, decided to try and put on mineral foundation. Not my finest moment.
E: No?
M: I looked like I’d just rolled my face in some finely milled porridge oats.
E: Making you into a healthy, if perhaps slightly high GI snack.
M: SO. I went to wash the whole dirty mess off. EXCEPT THE FUCKER WOULDN’T COME OFF. IT JUST SAT THERE.
E: This is like a cosmetic nightmare.
M: YES! LIKE A NIGHTMARISH MILKY SNAKE. COILING ITSELF AROUND MY FACE. TIGHTER AND TIGHTER. Or, as my boyfriend has just suggested, like that thing in Aliens, jumping out of the pot and affixing itself onto my breathing hole. I had to oil cleanse TWICE to get the wretched stuff off.
E: I am giving myself wrinkles just thinking about this.
M: And you know what the crazy thing is?
E: No?
M: This is supposed to be the new and improved version. I mean, WTF.
E: Christ, what must the original be like? Rubbing floor polish on your face?
M: WHATEVER. Liz Earle, I am done with you. I did not like your Hot Cloth Cleanser, and I do not like this, this… this CREAM OF THE DEVIL.
E: Ooze of Satan.
M: SATANIC PUS.
E: I feel much better now. Thanks, M.
We are not linking to this. If you want to buy this crap, google it yourself.
