Deep Down: DHC Pore Cleansing Oil

By Laurin

Here is a list of instances in which I will notice a pore on someone else’s face:

1. When they point them out to me.
2. Oh, actually, not even then.

I bring this up because the product I’m reviewing this week, DHC Pore Cleansing Oil, claims to make pores less visible. I’m going to ignore this claim because other than squinting really hard at my face in the mirror and telling you what I see, I have no way of measuring this. Also, I don’t much care. If you do happen to care about the size of your pores, take comfort in knowing that you’re probably the only one. And if they still bother you, invest in a good primer. That’s my advice on visible pores. And with that out of the way, let’s talk about cleansing oils. AGAIN.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m devoted to the original DHC Deep Cleansing Oil (hereafter referred to as DCO). When I first heard about Pore Cleansing Oil, I was sceptical. What could possibly be so different about the two products? Upon reflection, I don’t know why I thought this. I unquestioningly accept that different skin types exist and that they therefore need different moisturisers, foundations or powders. As much as I love DCO, even I must concede that it might not be a Holy Grail product for everyone.

If you’re familiar at all with the original DCO, you know that it is based on olive oil and wouldn’t look or smell out of place on your lunchtime salad. It feels like my skin partially absorbs it when I apply it for my evening cleanse, and I often leave it for a few minutes to impart its olivey goodness onto my face before removing it with a hot flannel.

The Pore Cleansing Oil, on the other hand, is much thicker and completely colourless. Rather than being based on one oil, it is a blend of nine different ones (coconut, argan, evening primrose, olive, grape seed, jojoba, avocado, sesame and rice bran, since you asked). The texture is akin to that of a fine serum (think Advanced Night Repair) and it smells of grapefruit sweets. To this American who lived through the 80’s, grapefruit positively screams clean living and rude good health. Strangely for a product that promises to deep cleanse, Pore Cleansing Oil feels like it sits on the surface of my skin, never quite getting down to business in the same way that DCO does. Wandering off to check Facebook before removing it isn’t an option because you can never quite forget it’s there.

So how Pore Cleansing Oil managed to leave my skin feeling cleaner than it has since my last facial, I have no idea. Sorcery, no doubt. I did notice some slight tightness that I don’t get with DCO, but my skin still felt soft and completely make-up free. For this reason, I would recommend this first to those with oilier complexions. It’s also completely brilliant if you suffer from congestion in the chest/décolletage area. I do, through a combination of sweaty commutes and marinating in my sports bra for far too long after my workouts. Pore Cleansing Oil cleared that area up within a week.

At this point, what I’d normally do is spin some clever analogy or pen a pithy turn of phrase to end this post. But actually, I don’t want to. What I really want you to know is that this is a really good product at a really good price, and that if you have oily or congested skin, DHC Pore Cleansing Oil might just be the cleanser you need. Can’t say fairer than that.

DHC Pore Cleansing Oil is £25 and available at www.dhcuk.co.uk. 

The fine print: PR sample.

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Tauer Perfumes: Sotta La Luna Gardenia Review

By Laurin

Spending one’s Saturday afternoons poking around perfume blogs and websites brings one to a small and perhaps completely obvious conclusion. Many perfumers and perfume lovers alike are also gardeners. This makes sense when I think of it, that a love of fragrance might be born out of a love of nature and the bounty of odours within. Or perhaps having a living reference to hand is useful when attempting to evoke through scent a childhood memory of long summer nights and fragrant breezes. OR, maybe we’re all just natural hedonists for whom the feel of one’s hands in wet soil or the sun on bare skin is just as irresistible as any foray into gluttony or lust.

All of the above?

I have neither a green thumb, nor a garden in which to put it to work. My personal smellscape is limited to the urban, the gourmet and the grotesque. To my knowledge, I have never smelled a gardenia. So, when I sat down to write this piece, I found myself at the mercy of the Royal Horticultural Society via Google. On the subject of gardenia, they have this to say: “(Gardenias are) grown for their attractive foliage and highly scented showy flowers. (They are) often considered to be difficult.”

Attractive, highly scented and possibly difficult could easily apply to Andy Tauer’s latest release, Gardenia Sotto La Luna. To be fair, you could apply the same to most of his fragrances and you wouldn’t be lying. They are not fragrances for the faint of heart, nor do they make small talk. They should only be sprayed when you’re in the mood to listen.

Gardenia gets straight to the point as it takes the stage. This is a heady, intense floral with no aldehydes or bergamot to soften its seductive message. The flower is laid over a creamy base of tonka and vanilla, which peek through its spicy facets of gingerbread and clove from start to finish. But lest you thought you were getting a freshly baked confection, warm from the over, you should also know that this gardenia always keeps its feet planted firmly in the more earthly scents of overripe banana and tiny mushrooms pushing through the forest floor.

There is a telling scene in Ernest Hemingway’s novel The Sun Also Rises in which Montoya, the bullfighting aficionado and hotel proprietor, walks into a bar in search of the young bullfighter Pedro Romero and finds him: 

“with a big glass of cognac in his hand, sitting between (Jake) and a woman with bare shoulders, at a table full of drunks. He did not even nod.”

Sotto La Luna Gardenia is that bare-shouldered woman, Lady Brett Ashley. Nominally an upstanding fragrance that you could introduce to your grandmother, but ready (and more importantly, willing) to fulfil your most carnal urges behind closed doors. Or, as that noted 21^st century philosopher Usher noted in his 2004 treatise entitled Yeah!, “a lady in the street but a freak in the bed!”  

The Fine Print: Sample sourced from Les Senteurs

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Storage Week! Perfumes with Laurin ...

Storage week continues, and today we're highlighting Laurin's perfume collection.  Probably best you don't show this one to your maiden aunty, now we come to think of it ....

My beauty storage is what you might term "organised chaos". I know exactly where everything is, in my mind at least. In my current flat, I'm lucky enough to have my own bathroom (albeit in two halves) and I recently moved all my cosmetics from the bedroom to bathroom as I felt the lighting was better (on second thought, it isn't, but I'm moving again soon and I really can't be bothered to drag it all back). Storage is an unsophisticated combination of an over-the-door shoe organiser and a gift with purchase make-up bag. I felt pretty fancy when I picked up some brush canisters from Muji recently. There is also a wicker basket for palette storage. Like I said, FANCY.

 

At last count, I had about eighty bottles of perfume, which technically means I never need buy another bottle as long as I live. In reality, it means I never need buy another bottle this month. Probably. Unless I have some points on my Debenhams Beauty Club Card and there's a sale. I like seeing it all in one place, so I'm afraid I store it out of its boxes (but never in the bathroom, and never in direct sunlight). Currently it resides on the top of my wardrobe, and I am forever rearranging to make room for more. 

It's roughly organised by house, although I couldn't resist giving my two penis-shaped perfumes their own little corner. What do you mean, you don't own any penis perfumes?

Click to enlarge, but not if you're easily scared/shocked/aroused

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We Want the Funk: Ripe and Ready Perfumes for a Heatwave

By Laurin

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed that the predicted highs in my hometown of Mobile, Alabama and London were exactly the same – 29 degrees Celsius. The local press in Mobile referred to this turn of events as “an unseasonable autumn-like chill”. Meanwhile, in London, the headlines read “OMG HEATWAVE APOCALYPSE PREPARE A VIRGIN SACRIFICE TO APPEASE THE SUN GODS!”

In Mobile, we deal with the heat by hopping from air-conditioned house to air-conditioned car, and if we’re lucky, into backyard swimming pools. In London, our primary extreme-weather coping strategies are outrageous hyperbole and whinging. It’s one of the many ways in which I’m proud to be British.

Unfortunately, Tube travel and lack of air-conditioned buildings can take its toll on the most stringent of personal hygiene regimes. I experienced this last week as I was leaving work on an especially humid day and suddenly realised I had experienced a regrettable deodorant malfunction. Fortunately, I had a bottle of Francis Kurkdjian’s Absolue Pour Le Soir tucked away on my desk, so I was able to style out the funk with lashings of sweet honey and dirty knickers. That smell? Yeah, that’s me. What of it?

This, then is my plea to you: when the heat is on, be a lover not a fighter. Save the sunny citruses for your gin and tonic. They’ll evaporate within hours during hot weather anyway. Instead, reach for one of these out and proud animalic fragrances:

 Serge Lutens Mucs Koublai Khan, £79 for 50ml at Fenwicks of Bond Street. I can’t find it online, so you’ll just have to come to London.

This is what Frederic Malle’s Musc Ravageur would have been if it had been raised by hyenas in the jungle (note to self: find out if hyenas live in jungles; do hyenas prefer orientals to chypres?). Instead of the come-hither bedroom eyes, we have the flasher on the street corner in the stained trenchcoat. But if you’d just get past that, you’d see he’s a really nice person, okay? And as it turns out, he is. Though the unwashed combination of civet, musk and caraway is a bit seedy at first, the composition is beautifully softened out with amber, rose, patchouli and vanilla. Highly wearable, though still not suitable for a blind buy.

Le Labo Oud 27, from £45 for 15ml at http://lelabofragrances.com/uk_en/

There is no way to pretty this up: this is the filthiest porno-perfume that ever was. Although the official notes are oud, civet, cedar, patchouli, ambergris and rose (so, noble rot, cat bum, whale vomit and FLOWERS), whatever, this fragrance ain’t never seen the inside of Jane Packer in its life. Oud 27 will never turn up on your doorstep bearing a bouquet, but if you ask it nicely, it just might let you see what’s in the black bag at the bottom of the closet. Wear with a fur coat and crotchless knickers.

Robert Piguet Fracas, £95 for 50ml at www.lessenteurs.com

A big stinking heatwave calls for a big stinking flower. Creator Germaine Cellier was something of an enfant terrible of the 1940’s perfume world. In Barbara Herman’s book “Scent and Subversion”, we are told that Cellier’s first fragrance for Robert Piguet, Bandit, was inspired by the scent of models changing their underwear during fashion shows. Had I read that about her other masterpiece Fracas, I’d believe that as well. This is the Vagina Dentata of tuberoses: all soft, inviting flash with a deadly bite. Fracas is tuberose shorn of its angular, camphorous top note and instead given bombastic T&A with jasmine, rose, carnation, ripe peach and even riper musk. Wear this for taking a lover back to your web for the first (and maybe last) time.

Frederic Malle Le Parfum de Therese, from £80 for 30ml at www.lessenteurs.com

Michel Roudnitska, son of Le Parfum de Therese’s creator Edmond called this “the masterpiece of my father”. Considering that he was speaking of the man who created Rochas Femme, Diorella and Eau Savage, this is high praise indeed. Exclusively worn by Roudnitska’s wife Therese for nearly fifty years, it was only released after his death in 2000, when Frederic Malle persuaded Therese to allow him to publish it as part of his Editions de Parfums line. I hesitate to describe this as “animalic”, for it is actually a placid, watery fruit accord that preceded the fresh aquatic fragrances of the 90’s by over forty years. But laid over the plum, melon, mandarin and vetiver that forms the heart of this quietly confident work is a note of leather that transforms it from the coldly beautiful to something altogether more warm and intimate. I have no idea what the Roudnitska’s marriage was like, but when I smell the perfume he made for her, I can only imagine that this was a man who deeply loved and understood his wife. It manages to be dark and light and human and ethereal all at the same time, and I would wear it any day over the hundreds of candyfloss concoctions proclaiming themselves the essence of the eternal feminine. Wear this when you have nothing to prove to anyone.

Better You Magnesium Oil, £9.29 for 100ml at www.amazon.co.uk

Not a perfume, but a neat trick if you’d rather funk by choice than out of necessity. A quick slick of this after a shower and before deodorant somehow seems to neutralise body odour on hot days. I have tested this extensively on the Victoria Line in July and it never once failed me. You're welcome.

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Golden Touch Intimate Waxing - Soho

By Laurin

When I got back in the saddle after my divorce, I noticed a curious statement on about half the profiles of any given online dating service: “I love London, but equally love escaping the hustle and bustle for a relaxing weekend in the country.” Not me. I spend 95% of my time happily cocooned within Zones 1 and 2, believing absolutely in Peter Ackroyd’s pronouncement that “London is so large and so wild that it contains no less than everything.” Soho, especially, is the balm of my soul and since I no longer spend a sizeable portion of my time and income drinking there, I have resolved of late to concentrate all my grooming services within its streets. If I clock up enough hours here, I reason, I will simply be absorbed into the pavement of Brewer Street, and we shall never be parted again.

The only problem with this, as far as I can see, is the matter of cash. Central London beauty services are indisputably more expensive than their local counterparts, and it adds up quickly if you happen to need a haircut, waxing, and nails done all in the same month. It’s not unheard of to pay £50 or more for a bit of below-the-belt grooming in some branded salons, because who wants to put their ladyparts on the line just to save a few quid? At least, not unless a tube of Canesten is your idea of a “holiday kitbag essential”.

But lo, West End Workers! I bring you glad tidings in the glittering form of Golden Touch Waxing, which is now operating out of the Bodhi Clinic in Ingestre Place (just off Broadwick Street). It’s owned by Hannah Salisbury, a cheery New Zealander who is just striking out on her own after years working as a trainer for other waxing emporiums. She doesn’t do facials, massages or pedicures. It’s all waxing, all the time for Hannah, and she’s bloody good at it too. I’m not going to get too graphic about what I had done because this isn’t Vice and I promised Madame Editor I wouldn’t. Let’s just say it involved a large country in South America and it was, by Hannah’s own definition, an “intimate wax”. That means everything off, from belly button to coccyx. Moving swiftly on then, here’s what you need to know:

• Nobody in the hair removal business seems to bother with the pretence of modesty any longer. It’s all “knickers on the chair” and not a paper thong in sight.
• But thankfully, they do all provide wet wipes for you to “freshen up” before the treatment, which incredibly kind when it’s late July and you’ve just spent half an hour hurtling between underground locations in a sweltering metal box deemed unfit for livestock (known locally as “the Tube”).
• You get special wedge pillows pushed under your hips on each side to prevent lower back strain when you’re asked to open your knees. I’ve said it before, but small concessions to a client’s comfort during a treatment is what impresses me more than any technique. This is one of those small but utterly luxurious gestures.
• If the phrase “open your knees” already has your cheeks burning, fear not. Hannah puts you completely at ease during the treatment. We chatted about restaurants, the correct and incorrect way of holding your friend’s newborn baby and her plans for World Waxing Domination. It felt more like having a coffee with a friend than completely exposing myself to a person I’d met only ten minutes earlier.
• Hannah uses hot wax, which adheres to the hair as opposed to the skin. It doesn’t require the use of strips to remove the product, and it is about 98% less painful than traditional waxing. Which is to say that I barely noticed anything was happening at all.
• When the treatment is finished, it all goes a bit ‘Our Bodies, Our Selves’. You get a hand mirror, and Hannah steps out of the room while you inspect her handiwork. If you spot a stray that her eagle eye has missed, you can call her back in to deal with it. This was appreciated, but unnecessary in my case. I could not spy a hair out of place, so to speak.
• A full Hollywood or Brazilian costs £35. In my experience, this is a bargain for Central London.

I never thought I’d be able to say I’d had a pleasant bikini wax, but so I did. If waxing is your bag, I can wholeheartedly recommend The Golden Touch. And, to make it even better, Hannah is offering our readers £5 off any service over £30, or a free eyebrow or upper lip wax. All you have to do is quote Get Lippie when you book.

The Golden Touch (www.thegoldentouch.co.uk) is in the Bodhi Clinic at 14 Ingestre Place, W1F 0JQ. To book, call 020 7734 4184.

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ARK Skincare Derriere Facial

By Laurin

When I first agreed to contribute to Get Lippie at the beginning of this year, I imagined filing some light-hearted musings on perfume each week, maybe with a few words on moisturiser here and there. I did not expect to spend my mornings rollerballing napalm onto my bottom, or my evenings applying thigh creams that caused my flesh to stick together like sweaty plastic cheese slices. And so it was last week, when I found myself en route to the ARK Salon in Putney to test their brand new “Derriere Facial”, that I realised that I had unwittingly become Get Lippie’s Official @rse Correspondent. I’m updating my CV even as we speak.

Obligatory Disclaimer: Quick fix creams and treatments work for those who are either blessed with good genes, or those who already put in the work at the gym and need a bit of extra help. For anything greater, you need a plastic surgeon or a sorcerer, and I got kicked out of Hogwarts for lewd behaviour during Charms lessons. Sorry.

The Ark Salon sits on a busy stretch of Putney Bridge Road, flanked by a gourmet burger bar and a Brazilian barbeque joint. High quality skincare and delicious meat snacks pretty much covers all my basic needs, and I immediately begin making mental plans to relocate to SW15.

Inside, the spa is an oasis of calm and cool. I am greeted by Judy the spa manager, and spend the obligatory five minutes filling out forms of the medical variety. On the dot of 2:45pm, my therapist Georgina ascends the stairs to collect me for my treatment. Before she begins, she asks me what I’d like to achieve that day. The treatment can be adapted somewhat, depending on whether your main concern is cellulite, sagging or skin tone in general. I explain that I’d be happy to leave with smoother, more even-toned skin, and she leaves me to get undressed.

On my own in the room, the first thing I notice is the small shelf beneath the head of the massage table. It is, I am later informed, for resting your arms during the treatment. Hallelujah and praise be. At this exact moment, I know this is going to be great. I am convinced that it is these tiny concessions to a client’s comfort, these small, well thought-out gestures that ultimately make a treatment worthwhile. I always find massage tables slightly too narrow to accommodate my arms, so they usually end up tucked awkwardly beneath my body, where they start to fall asleep halfway through the treatment.

I remove my skirt and put on the Tarzan-chic paper knickers provided to spare the client’s blushes. It’s less the thong I anticipated, but more of a hospital style banana hammock. The treatment itself follows the general format of a facial, but on your bum. It begins with gentle body brushing on the full length of the leg, after which Ark’s own cleanser is applied to the area and buffed away with a body scrub. The treatment then moves on to steaming and a gentle massage with a personalised blend of serums. At this point, I start to nod off. This almost never happens when I have a massage or facial – the circus of my mind is open for business twenty-four hours a day. Again, I am impressed. A masque is applied, and Georgina massages my feet while it does its business. The treatment ends with the application of a light body lotion and you’re left to get dressed in peace.

Telling your friends that you’re off to let a stranger rub ointments into your bum sounds like a confession best left to the wee hours of the morning and the bottom of a bottle of Bombay Sapphire. I was a bit apprehensive that the Derriere Facial would be awkward and maybe a bit embarrassing, but it turned out to be one of the nicest beauty treatments I’ve ever had. The entire experience felt tailor-made with the client’s comfort in mind, from the aforementioned arm-shelf to the serene yet unobtrusive music that played in the treatment room. My only complaint was that it was over after 45 minutes. I would have been happy to lay there in a state of quiet repose until dinner, when I would at least have a legitimate excuse to pop next door for a burger.

I felt so relaxed when I left the spa that I would have been pleased to think of it as a happy hour spent on a sunny afternoon. A week later though, I looked in my mirror and realised that actually, my bum was looking Mighty Fine, thank you for asking. I felt others ought to experience the benefits of this, but sadly I was alone in my house.  If you’re off on holiday soon, or you’re just really vain (hi!), or you just like beauty treatments in quiet rooms that smell gorgeous, Ark is a hidden gem in South West London that is absolutely worth a visit. Go now. Your bum and anyone who has the pleasure of walking behind it will thank you.

The ARK Derriere Facial is £49 for 45 minutes. Details on how to book can be found at http://www.arkskincare.com/find-a-skincare-centre/ 

The Fine Print: Laurin was a guest of Ark Spa. Pictures courtesy of Victoria Waite at Ark.  

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DHC Premium Lipstick: Petal Pink and First Blush

By Laurin

Until recently, I was something of a tart when it came to skincare. Like a Viking-sized magpie, I was all about the latest shiny thing promising to give me the skin of a teenaged nymph. The one constant in my routine for the last 10 years has been DHC Deep Cleansing Oil. I discovered it through India Knight back in 2008 and have been positively evangelical about its benefits since. It deep cleans without stripping the skin, shifts the most tenacious of eyeliners, smells reassuringly wholesome and a £21 bottle lasts for months on end. 

So when I heard DHC were launching a range of proper lipsticks, I was mustard-keen to try them. I chose the two palest colours, Petal Pink and First Blush to try first. Though I like to think I’ve come a long was in my appreciation of a bold lip, the truth is that I am running fifteen minutes late for work on any given day, and pale colours are more forgiving when applied in haste. The gold and silver tubes with flower etching are as pleasing pretty as the two colours themselves turn out to be. Above, you see Petal Pink on the right and First Blush on the left. At first glance, there seems very little difference between them.

The formula is specifically for those with ageing as a primary concern, so contains light-reflecting pigments to give the appearance of fuller lips. Applied on skin, both shades have a soft, candlelit glow that I find much more flattering than the opalescent, borderline-glitter favoured by some brands.

Above: Petal Pink applied with a lipbrush and Studio 10 Age Reverse Perfecting Lipliner

They’re also incredibly moisturising, containing a blend of macadamia, olive and rice bran oils. As such, they apply easily straight from the tube and are a pleasure to wear, but are somewhat lacking in the longevity department. To be fair, I tested them over a couple of days in London that included a heatwave, several journeys on the top deck of the 133 and an eight-hour shift in a shop that had decided to explore an alternate career path as an oven. I got about two hours wear from both shades.

Above: First Blush applied with a lipbrush and Studio 10 Age Reverse Perfecting Lipliner

Petal Pink and First Blush are both pretty everyday lipsticks that would be great to have in your handbag for quick touch ups on your “My Lips But Better” days. Far from being only suitable for more mature skins, I also think they would be a lovely “Lipstick 101” gift for an adolescent girl if you’re not ready to send her out in full Ruby Woo. Check them out. And if I happen to convert you to Deep Cleansing Oil as well, my work here will be well and truly done.

DHC Premium Lipstick GE is £13 and available at www.dhcuk.co.uk

The Fine Print: PR Samples

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Makeup Revolution: Blushers in Now and All I Think About Is You

By Laurin

In 2007, against her better judgement, Her Gracious Majesty Queen Elizabeth II extended to me an offer of citizenship which I duly accepted. There was a ceremony at Lambeth Town Hall, and I came away with a souvenir photo of me looking like I’d accidentally joined the Hogwart’s branch of the BNP.

To receive this honour, I had to sit the “Life in the UK” exam, thus satisfying the British government that I did indeed know the date that women gained the right to divorce their husbands and what percentage of the population identify themselves as Muslims. There was a study guide! I made flashcards! But to get to the really useful stuff, you just have to learn by trial and error and the occasional raised eyebrow at the pub. Here’s a few of the things I wish someone had told me when I arrived at Gatwick fourteen years ago:

1. When your friend cancels your plans at the last minute, he hasn’t blown you off, he’s blown you OUT. The former means something completely different and is best not discussed in front of your mother-in-law.
2. Do not be tricked into ordering Pimms and lemonade simply because the sun is out. It is essentially a non-alcoholic beverage with added hedge trimmings, and you will need to build up your alcohol tolerance if you ever hope to truly fit in.
3. People will make assumptions about your social class based on the word you use to refer to your evening meal.
4. People will make assumptions about your social class based on the daily newspaper you read.
5. People will make assumptions about your social class based on the supermarket you most frequent.
6. Superdrug is the best chemist on the high street.

The last point eluded me until about six months ago. It only dawned just how much love there is for Superdrug when I realised that people were genuinely excited for their 50^th anniversary product editions. It seemed that every woman who spent her formative teenage years in this country had a happy memory of spending Saturday morning with a coven of girlfriends, happily wallowing in the cheap and cheerful nail varnishes and lipsticks at her local branch. I, on the other hand, had pretty much ignored them for the past 14 years, having been impressed by the fact that I could buy a lemon-flavoured yogurt from their main competitor on my first visit to these shores. So exotic! I now see the error of my ways.

Superdrug’s new cosmetics range Makeup Revolution definitely falls into the “cheap and cheerful” category, but that’s no reason for letting the teenaged girls have all the fun. I have, of late, been extremely impressed with the colour and longevity of both their powder blusher ranges.

I tested All I Think About Is You from the Vivid Baked Blusher range (£2.50, above right) and Now from the Powder Blusher range (£1, above left), and found that they performed as well as blushers at twenty times the price. The packaging is nothing to write home about, but for the price of a Diet Coke, I’m not complaining.

Now is a soft, rosy pink with an almost undetectable shimmer, while All I Think About Is You is a brighter candy pink with swirls of tawny gold. They both give a pretty, sheer wash of colour that looks beautiful on my ghostly skin, but without making me look so flushed that fellow Victoria Line commuters ask me if I’m okay. Despite the shimmer, Now actually goes on quite matte, giving it a low-key yet polished look that’s perfect for work or general daytime wear. All I Think About Is You is now my go-to blusher for a fast casual look. It makes my cheeks pop without looking too “done”, and the golden highlights mean I can skip the highlighter altogether. I get a good nine hours wear from both formulations.

I’ve not seen the range in store yet, but it’s available to order online. Get stuck in – cheap make-up is a great way of trying out a new look or colour without worrying about wasting your hard earned cash. Any other questions, give me a shout: I’ll be the girl on the houmous aisle at Waitrose with a copy of the Guardian tucked under my arm.

Makeup Revolution is available at www.superdrug.com.

The Fine Print: Purchases.

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Soap & Glory Sit Tight Super Intense 4-D

By Luke & Laurin

Luke says: 

Soap & Glory always approach beauty with an excellent sense of humour, and frankly I’m sucked in by it. I know that there are people who don’t like their packaging talking to them, but I rather enjoy it if it’s done well. So, when you have a cream that is essentially about spending a little bit of time rubbing something onto your bottom twice a day, you can imagine that S&G had a few funnies up their sleeve. Enter the new Sit Tight Super Intense 4-D. Revisited, and slightly re-formulated for 2014 this is the new Firming and Smoothing treatment gel.

Right off the mark here, I am very careful to not use the words ‘anti cellulite’ as nowhere does this claim to be that type of product. And let’s face it, none of us are really sucked into that hype now are we? The product is merely claiming a feeling of firmness after 14 days use, recommended application of twice a day. With lofty sounding ingredients like Pinkpepperslim-Lip-FB^TM derived from pink pepper berries (as if that wasn’t clear) and the Pressocapsular Firmplus^TM and Firmigen^TM Caffeine thrown in for good measure along with Sweet Orange Peel (the irony) Glycerin and Olive Oil. The Super Intense also claims, as did the previous version, to work when you’re actually sitting down as well by bursting the little nano sized capsules of all the goodness mentioned above.

In theory this is an excellent idea: that even by being sat on ones posterior the product will be working to firm up sagging or droopage. So, fast forward to me in the mornings post shower using the massager (handily included on the end of the tube) rubbing this vigorously into my backside, and love handles. All this in front of a full length mirror, although why I am not sure. It’s not like I am in any doubt as to where my butt is!

The sensation: How can I describe this? The box claims you can feel it working almost instantly, and this is no lie. The previous incarnation of this product was quite intense, so the now one being SUPER intense does to some extent live up to its name. How to describe it? Well, imagine if you will, squatting in a hot bath, standing up and then having a fan of cold air blowing rather forcefully on your slightly red skin. It’s not quite a menthol sort of coolness that occurs, but more a peppery sensation where you are unable to quite pin point whether it’s burning or just plain cold. Uncomfortable? No. Unnerving? Slightly. Fun? Most definitely. It never failed to bring a smile to my face. Also, having to go and mingle with housemates (once dressed) and grinning to yourself about the party that was going on on your rear end, for some reason pleased me. I can, however, understand that I find pleasure in other places where people might not, and for some this may be a little much. That said though, the next morning was less of a sensational overlaod. I think perhaps I had gotten used to it, or perhaps toughened up somewhat. Still some tingling, but not nearly as loud as the very first application. Perhaps this was for the best.

As for firmness, well. Let me be clear. There is nothing firm about the lower half of my body. I am blessed/cursed (depending on your cultural preference) with a very large rump, and frankly, have more than my fair share of wobbly bits around the middle. Yes ladies, my name is Luke Stephens and I too have cellulite. I like my Wine Gums and Curly Wurly’s too much. Did this make a difference to that? Well who knows? I’m not likely to get up in a pair of speedos anytime soon, much less a bikini so it really isn’t important to me so much that I get rid of it.

It did however feel rather nice, and the skin on my tummy and sides had a bit more snap to it. My backside, however, is beyond help. And If I was flexible enough to reach round to see it in the mirror, I probably wouldn’t need this cream in the first place.

And frankly, with that amount of overstimulation on that part of my body in the mornings, who cares?

My advice? Enjoy it!  RRP £18 From Boots.

Laurin says:

At the point on the Venn diagram where feminism and the beauty industry collide, you often hear women utter the phrase “I’m doing this for myself” when attempting to justify a cosmetic enhancement, whether it’s a fondness for £34 lipsticks or an actual boob job. I believe them when they say it, and I’ve been known to utter the words myself. You wouldn’t be reading this blog right now if at least a few of us didn’t take immense pleasure in painting strategic splotches of colour on our faces, even if the only errand on the agenda is a quick nip to Whole Foods for some coconut yogurt.

But listen: I haven’t spent the last fortnight rolling heated serum into my thighs for the pleasure of it. I’m single, I live in freezing London and I do not make my living in the adult film industry, so I’m the only one who regularly sees my thighs. In this case, I’ve been napalming my ass every morning because I’m vain and...actually, that’s it. Vanity is the only rational explanation for why I might be swayed by the promise of another anti-cellulite potion when I know good and well they aren’t permanent fixes.

I love Soap and Glory products. I truly do. The packaging is fun, they’re well-priced, and their “Make Yourself Youthful SPF 50” singlehandedly converted me to the cause of daily sunscreen. And to be fair to them, the packaging of their “Sit Tight Super Intense 4D” serum never once mentions the word cellulite on the packaging. Instead, it promises to “stimulate circulation” and “promote body smoothing”. Except that the only reason my thighs aren’t smooth in the first place is because of ALL THE LUMPY CELLULITE UNDERNEATH.

Since it’s unlikely that you’ll ever see my thighs, and the pictures I do have of them are in a password protected file on my laptop, you’ll just have to take my word that they do look and feel fractionally “smoother”. Maybe. I think. But I won’t be purchasing another tube when mine runs out, for three reasons:

1. THE BURNING, OH GOD, THE BURNING. About three minutes after you apply the quick-drying serum with the nifty rollerball applicator, it starts to heat. This is how you know it is working. It’s supposed to properly activate when you sit down, but it was so uncomfortable the first time I tried it that I spent ten minutes cooling my bum in front of an electric fan before I dared make it any worse. “I’d tell you why I’m late for work, but the resulting mental image has the potential to ruin our professional relationship” is not a sentence I ever care to utter on a Monday morning. Again. I gather that some people quite like the heating sensation, but I am not one of them. And now, my good friend Leo joins us from his caravan in Mantua Outfields to report on what happens when the applicator slips and goes a bit too far up. Leo, over to you:

Thanks, Leo. Don’t forget to swing by the pharmacy on your way back into town.

2. You’re supposed to apply this twice a day. I can just about remember to do it once. Also, see Reason 1.
3. The pseudo-scientific language on the box makes me wonder if an angry Aldous Huxley is actually alive and working in marketing. Pressocapsular Firm-Plus? Puffdrain 82?

If you already exercise, eat well, drink lots of water and still have a few stubborn spots, you might see a bit of difference using this product. Or you might not. I cannot responsibly suggest that you run out and spend £18 on it. But if you are still tempted, I won’t judge you. Just watch where you’re pointing that rollerball.

Soap & Glory™ Sit Tight™ Super-Intense 4-D is £18 and available at Boots

The Fine Print: PR Samples.

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Anubis by Papillon Artisan Perfumes

By Laurin

Generally speaking, I’m quite happy to live in 2014. I do have the occasional fit of Mad Men-inspired melancholy, but although I’d be quite happy to have regular access to 60’s style hair and music, I’m decidedly less keen on 60’s style access to contraception and career opportunities. So despite its aesthetic deficiencies and frankly appalling lack of whiskey decanters in offices, I remain gladly in the 21st century.

What I’m not so keen on is much of modern perfumery. I rarely write about new releases, and that’s because they so rarely move me to any words beyond, “Eh…” To my mind, the word “modern” when applied to perfumery translates to “clean and bland”, or if we’re being polite, “minimalist and commercial”. Exceptions abound, of course: the Italian house Nu_Be pulls off the neat trick of crafting perfumes that are both interesting and easy to wear. No one would ever accuse Frederic Malle of playing it safe. And if all else fails, there’s always Mugler. But for the most part, I ain’t buying it.

That’s why I’m genuinely excited about the launch of three new scents from the nascent English brand Papillon ArtisanPerfumes.  Papillon is the baby of Elizabeth Moores, and its three debut fragrances are truly stunning creations. I’m obsessed with both Tobacco Rose and Anubis, and I struggled mightily to decide which to review first. Early bets are on Tobacco Rose being the best-seller, but the audacity of Anubis is too compelling to resist.

According to Egyptian mythology, Anubis was the jackal-headed god of the afterlife and was strongly associated with funeral rites and mummification. Liz tells me that she named the perfume after the ancient deity partially because it went through so many reincarnations before it was exactly right, but it is also worth noting that many of the materials in the composition would have been available in some form or another to the ancient Egyptians.

Smelling Anubis for the first time is akin to burying your face in a vintage suede handbag lined with silk. It envelops you in rich, dusty warmth that sings with anticipation. At first sniff, the bitterest orange peel note hangs in the air for a fleeting moment before seamlessly melting into a rich heart of rose,smoky Egyptian jasmine and pungent pink lotus. This is also where spicy immortelle and a medicinal, meditative frankincense Rivae show up and never quite fade, even as the fragrance dries down into saffron, buttery suede and an overdose of sandalwood. Anubis is striking in its originality, but easy to wear and never veers into the “rough-riding cowboy” territory of some of my favourite leathers such as Montale’s Aoud Cuir d’Arabie or my beloved Lonestar Memories. But what an act of bravery it is as part of a first collection! Commercially, I imagine it would have been a much easier sell to launch a sparkling citrus, or yet another fresh take on a white floral. And yet, here we have a dusty, erotic leather rendered in smoke and flesh. This is not a perfume for the masses. It’s a perfume for perfume lovers.

When I was eighteen years old, I saw the English Patient for the first time. Since 1997, I’ve probably clocked up another fifty viewings minimum. It’s still my model for what a healthy romantic relationship ought to be: passionate, furtive and in all likelihood, ending with fevered whispers in a remote cave. Anubis, for me, is the personification of Count Almásy’s weathered copy of Herodotus. After the plane crash, when the history is already between the pages and needs only silence and a willing pause to reveal itself. “Listen,” it says 

Papillon Artisan Perfumes launches its first collection of fragrances Anubis, Tobacco Rose and Angelique from June 24th at http://www.papillonperfumery.co.uk/. They will be available in Les Senteurs from early July, but you can get a sniff in the Seymour Place branch now. They’re worth the trip.

Fruity Florals Worth Your Time and Skin

 

By Laurin

I’ll come clean – I think most fruity florals smell like shampoo*. In the minds of many a perfume lover, “fruity floral” is a byword for bland, safe and indistinct. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with them exactly, it’s just that to me, they’re the fragrant equivalent of settling for a semi-detached house in Bromley when you had your heart set on a studio above a gay underwear emporium in Soho. They mostly smell of resignation and barely supressed rage.

Having said all that, I’ve recently found myself occasionally longing for fragrances that have no hidden agenda or awkward pronouncements to make over Sunday dinner. Listen up: despite what breathy marketing materials may have you believe, no fruity floral is going to make you smell sexy, seductive or even especially sophisticated. That’s a job better suited to an oriental or a chypre. A good fruity floral should simply make you happy to be alive. And on some days, that’s enough. Here are four stand-outs to evoke a sense of rosy-cheeked well-being.

Salvatore Ferragamo Signorina Eleganza, £60 for 50ml at www.houseoffraser.co.uk

I confess I was having a bad day when this arrived in the post, but it brought a smile to my face at first sniff. It opens unusually with a burst of juicy pear, sweet almond and a refreshing twist of bitter grapefruit that fizzes joyfully up from the skin. The fragrance sails along on a breath of osmanthus before finally drying down into soft, pillowy white musks which have the soupy warmth of an afternoon nap after an al fresco lunch on an unexpectedly sunny day. Wear with white linen and an air of rude good health.

Amouage Interlude Woman, £175 for 50ml at www.lessenteurs.com

Each time I smell this I want to break into a rousing chorus of “Oh! You Pretty Things!” I am certain that this is how mermaids smell. Nothing with a top note of kiwi fruit has any right to be so enchanting, but a dose of spicy immortelle, dark rose, a dusting of incense and the merest hint of oud all beckon you to break the surface of Karine Spehner’s shimmering composition. Wear this, and know that the best days are yet to come.

Guerlain La Petite Robe Noire, £63 for 50ml at www.debenhams.com

I was pretty awful about LPRN when it first came out, and I’m still not sorry. Stupid name, stupid bottle. Apparently the name is a reference to the “dark” ingredients (black cherry, black tea, black rose and patchouli), but the cynical side of me (both sides) reckons it’s an attempt to draw in a younger customer who probably associates Guerlain with her grandmother. Fortunately, the juice itself is not just good enough to bear the name of its house, it’s an absolute delight to wear. It bursts out of the bottle with all the joy of a child running into a sweet shop: there are cherry lollipops, liquorice allsorts, candied almonds and Turkish delight all in there, waiting to rush straight to your head. I picture this on Lydia Bennet – all bouncing boobs, curls and giggles. Wear for dancing the night away with thoroughly unsuitable men.

By Kilian In The City of Sin, £75 for 50ml at www.lessenteurs.com

A few weeks back, Sali Hughes wrote that in order for fruity scents to be suitable for grown-up women, they must have a hint of tartness to elevate them above the usual sugary tweenage offerings. I tend to agree, but I’d also make a concession for herbs or warm spices. Here we have ripe plum and apricot stewed with bitter cardamom and finished off with crushed rose petals and pink peppercorns. It’s incredibly moreish on the skin without quite tipping into gourmand territory, so no one will mistake you for a crumble. Save this one for late summer, and buy the 50ml refill spray, unless you’re desperate for a gold snake-embossed clutch (and maybe you are, I don't know you your life).

Still not convinced? Would you sooner punch an Innocent Smoothie in the back of its stupid knitted hat than rise at dawn for sun salutations? Fine, I’ve got something for you as well. Get your clenched fists on a bottle of Etat Libre d’Orange Rien, and join me on a trip down memory lane to That Time The Neighbour’s Cat Weed on The Leather Seats of My Uncle’s 1979 Pontiac Bonneville on a Sweltering July Day. Let’s wear black and recite Sylvia Plath and refuse to go outside. Best. Summer. Ever.

* Did you see what I did there? [self five]

The Fine Print: Mixture of PR samples, and perfumes from my own collection

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Giving Good Face: Illamasqua Blush-Up Brush

By Laurin

Let me get something out of the way: I had a not-insignificant identity crisis while preparing this piece. Throughout the months I’ve been contributing to this blog, I’ve mostly been able to use single-feature pictures (lips, lashes, arms, etc.) or better yet, pictures of David Bowie in one of his many incarnations. I’ve not yet written many pieces that require a full shot of my face. But this week, I wanted to write about the Illamasqua Blush Up Brush, and it seemed like cheating to just show the brush, or my cheek with blush applied. After all, the point of blusher is to either add colour to the face, or enhance its structure. I decided to show my full face.

From a young age, I was always told I was pretty, and it stuck. I’m generally okay with what I see in the mirror when I’ve made a bit of effort, but believe me when I tell you that what I’m seeing on the screen of my iPad is NOT what I’m seeing in the mirror. I can’t explain it. My greatest hope is that technology is indeed evolving at light speeds faster than the human eye, and my camera is simply picking up lumps and bumps that my naked eye cannot. In which case, I shall simply hire a sympathetic portrait painter for all my future selfies, tip well and think no more of it. But my worst fear is that the ageing process has accelerated since reaching my mid-thirties, leaving me with sagging cheeks and major dehydration lines under my eyes. Deciding how best to deal with this is a decidedly trickier process, so while I crack on with googling “jowl sorcery”, get a load of this:

The Blush Up Brush is from Illamasqua, my new favourite make-up brand. I spotted this in Nicci Jackson’s personal brush roll when I was at Muse last week. My faith in the transformative power of good make-up tools is childlike, and judging by the way my entire class dutifully scribbled the names of the brushes used during morning demonstrations, I am not the only one. 

The brush came out last year as part of the I’mperfection Collection, but as far as I can tell, it was somewhat overshadowed by the buzz around the duck egg speckled nail varnishes released at the same time. It’s understandable, but also a damned shame because properly applied blusher will do far more for your overall look than spangly nails ever will (although you should obviously have both).

The idea behind the Blush Up Brush is that the short, densely-packed elliptical bristles place the blusher directly under the cheekbone, which you then brush upwards in short, sharp strokes to diffuse the colour onto the cheeks. This has the effect of contouring at the same time, as the colour you’ve placed directly beneath the bone will naturally be darker than the wash of colour above.

Above is a picture of me, minus blusher. To use the brush, load up the brush with your chosen colour and gently tap away the excess. Next, suck in your cheeks and place the brush directly in the hollow beneath the bone. Flick upwards and repeat, working from the centre of your face, all the way to the ear. Soften the strokes wherever you want a gentler diffusion of colour. There is an excellent video on the Illamasqua website that demonstrates the technique.

http://www.illamasqua.com/explore/tutorials/blush-up-brush/

Above, I’ve used the brush with NARS Orgasm blusher and a touch of NARS Copacabana Highlighter at the top of my cheekbones. The brush produces a very defined look, and as such, I think it works better with a stronger colour. I’ve tried it out with NARS Deep Throat (a soft peach) as well, and found it much harder to see the colour wash on my cheek, making it look like I’d tried to apply bronzer with a bad case of the DTs. The other thing I noticed is that because I am right-handed, I found it more difficult to get the left-hand side of my face to look right. I eventually realised that for some reason, I wasn’t placing the brush high enough on my face. I found it helped to do my dominant side first, then try to match it on the other side.

 The Blush Up Brush is an excellent investment if you’re just getting into contouring, as it not only allows you to try it with a single product, but it also helps you to learn the bone structure of your own face and proper placement of shade and colour for when you do want to go advanced.

Get your hands on one and have a play. The possibilities are endless. In the meantime, I’ll be starting a formal campaign to bring hats with veils back into fashion, as per my new role model, Anna Karenina. What could go wrong?

The Illamasqua Blush-Up Brush is £28.50 at www.debenhams.com

The Fine Print: Bought it myself, innit.

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