E: I dunno, M. The year two thousand and SHAME, maybe. There has been a catastrophic fracture in the goop/time continuum. What are we doing here? What are we talking about? Hang on, who are you, and why have you got durian peel in your hair?
M: Wait, it’s all coming back to me now… One minute, I was at the hairdresser getting my head steamed, then the next..
E: Ok. Enough of the AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAhs. This isn’t getting any beauty dissected, and, full disclosure: I don’t think I have used moisturiser for about 6 months. WHAT HAPPENED TO US?
M: I DON’T KNOW. IT’S ALL SO FOGGY
E: Oh dear, oh dear. Did Mr Armani abduct you? Or have you been sniffing dugongs again?
M: Probably, because I appear to be living in Cambodia now.
E: Oh, M.
M: Which is really fucking helpful, on the beauty front, let me tell you. When I’m not busy mopping up my facial sweat, I’m picking spiders from my hair.
E: A thousand ways with banana leaves. Elephant massage. Actually, that sounds great.
M: S’OK. I have accumulated many expensive fripperies during my time in my padded cell*. (*Singapore)
E: Phew. I am still in Belgium, living in an attic and talking to myself. I got some fripperies free in June and am still eking them out. I don’t think I’ve worn makeup since August. My nails are sort of friable, chewed claws.
M: Dude. I have NGO worker legs. Not that I’m an NGO worker, mind. Just hairy like one.
E: Hahahahahahaha. ‘NGO worker legs’ Is this a defined term? “Get the NGO look!”
M: We are officially the worst beauty bloggists ever.
E: Yes. We are. We are not fit to clean beauty’s toilets. But we can change. It is January, the month of possibility. And I’ve got stuff to goop about.
M: What do you want to goop about?
E: Well, M, I am glad you asked me that. I want to Goop about some Dermologica scrub (free). And about how I don’t understand Khiel’s. And tell you about some body cream I wish to marry, from “”"Frédéric Malle”"”" who is not a person, but a sinister front for some French cult.
M: Like Jean-Louis David, which is just 3 random names pulled out of a hat.
E: Yes! It could just as easily be Marc Olivier François. Maybe I should start a hairdresser called that? And also, there is some weird ass shit you sent me from Singapore, including what appear to be several ‘mould your own death mask’ kits. And I need to talk about My Summer Of Scent Samples, which sounds like an extra boring indie coming of age movie. How about you?
M: I have: crazy neon pink lipstick of amazingness. Secret lotion that smells of vinegar mushrooms. A multitude of shitty mascaras. The best hair serum EVER. And the solution to angry monkey face.
E: COR. That’s a whole load of (slightly troubling) goop. The solution? You have CURED angry monkey face?
M: It does not, surprisingly, involve monkeys. I have been getting my kicks where I can, E.
E: Fair enough, elephant fondler.
M: Oh god. So much to do. I’m exhausted already. Can I go lie down now?
E: I suppose so, you lazy arse.
M: First I will do my ritualistic Sweeping of The Room for Giant Spiders. You?
E: I think I will adjust my Bra of Acute Rib Compression. Oh, M, I forgot to tell you.
E: Last night, I had a hole in my tights so gigantic I took a picture of it for you. But then I realised that was mental.
M: I think you’re mistaking this for a fashion blog.
E: It was a really, really big hole. It encompassed a whole buttock. So: ritualistic spider sweeping and minimiser bra adjustments? This is our brave new 2012 new leaf and other things with ‘new’ in them?
M: In your FACE, 2012. We are back. And we will goop you.
E: Goop ON.
M: Is that like: walk on? said to a horse? (pony botherer)
E: I was aiming for “game on”, but now you’ve said that, it just sounds pitiful. Start as we mean to go on!
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.