Review: Cleansing Cream by Dr Hauschka

Moving on, so we come onto the riddle that's the Cleansing Cream by Dr. Hauschka. What can I say? For beauties accustomed to soap, gels, wipes, cream, and the like, you know, the usual cleansing fare - and even for those adventurous beauty flies using the handheld Neutrogena Wave thingymagig - the CC is stranger than fiction, stranger than those football "off-side rules" (come again?).....

Maybe it's their bio-dynamic, rhythmic skincare philosophy, maybe it's their advised "roll and press" motion, or erm, maybe it's me and my monthly cycle? But as an AM to PM cleanser, it's a downright bother for non-mommies - it requires all your womanly gentleness, patience, attention, and then some more....

It's a fine thing my mini tube (15 ml, £2.98) came included in the Daily Face Care Kit (£14.98, for normal skin), otherwise I'd be weeping in my chai teacup stuck with an entire tube of this stuff (50ml, £13.98). (Despite this the kit is terribly cute and brilliant value in a shiny tin, including Cleansing Milk, Facial Toner, and Moisturizing, Quince, and Rose Day creams.)

Though it's weird, I'm in love with the idea of it....

What charming relatives call "my bloomers" (or reddened cheeks to you and me), they are nonetheless delighted with his luschious Rose Cream Light, so why does the CC leave me cold? How can you fault his dedicated botanical garden in some German wilderness harvesting the purest of ingredients? How can you not hum in agreement with the logic of his bio-rhythmic skincare in sync with Nature? How can you not be tickled by his little green apothecary filled with busy bees labouring to distill the mysterious properties of plants? So, like how I want to do that hot water 'n' lemon detox thing every morning (ho hum, it's not happening), I want to love his CC. But alas, I can't.

Playing around with cleansers has become my bete noire - eh, I wouldn't recommend it. Maybe I've too much lady leisure time, but I can't commit because, erm, I fancy them all. (Like being faced with a display of iced frou-frou cupcakes at the Hummingbird Bakery, what does one do in such dilemmas eh? Choose one? Hello? I want them all!) I've been on this Holy Grail mission for an organic cleanser since the nineties (Okay I've no bio-rhythms clearly, but for far too long...), and I've now compromised by picking 'n' mixing to my daily fancy (typically Liz Earle's or Spiezia's), but this has to be the queerest of the lot, like, totally enlightening (heh no, I didn't find the Dalai Lama in a tube!) Eh, not for me, maybe you'll strike gold...

If you've a secret history of Budweiser-sipping (hey one jests, I realise you're far too body-ethical for that with your bottled Fuji water), you'll adore its fermented smell - beery, yeasty, full of hops and character. (Undiluted, I nearly fainted. Think alcoholic's breath.) Beware, it's not likened to your pleasant stroll through the fresh bakery aisles at Wholefoods cupping the wholesome aroma of fresh bloomers, oh no, it more intoxicating than that. A concentrated formula, it does deserves thumbs up for economy.

At night, begin by mixing a small blob with a smattering of water, then "roll and press" the diluted paste into your skin. Roll, press, roll, press, roll, press, etc. Then, continue this rolling and pressing motion for another hour (Okay, 5 mins or so. Do some mental gymnastics or something to pass time....). Continue this for deep, deep cleansing. Finally, satisfied with your rolling and pressing finger-workout (give the poor baby a rest), remove with generous splashes of water and a cold muslin compress (bought separately, but any old muslin will suffice). Yes, at long last, you're done, hooray, believe it! (And - Gee, is that the rising sun? Where's the time gone? You wonder... )

Therein lies my niggle with this cleanser. Oh my, I don't have the motherly patience. Time is of essence, and I'm no longer a gap-year student with hungry eyes and undiscovered worlds at her flip flops. Otherwise, I'd invest. Leaving the skin wickedly soft and comfortable, its beery cheerfulness has stolen my affection.

Quality ingredients do maketh a cleanser, and this peanut-butter-looking formula doesn't disappoint. Filled with almond meal and peanut particles (suitable for nut-allergy sufferers, they say), they're quick to insist it's not an exfoliator. They speak the truth. Even my weekly cleaner (alright, in one's dreams) would struggle to polish my age-old Tweezermans shiny and new once again with this. With no dedicated exfoliator in the range - their philosophy and methodology are too skin-humane for that - the overriding premise is to preserve the skin's fragile acid-mantle (PH) with the skin-friendliest of nature's plants. With soothing herbal extracts (kidney vetch, calendula, chamomile, St. John's Wort), what eco-snob could complain? One of the two cleansers in the range, it suits all save the ultra-sensitive, in which case they urge you to seek the Cleansing Milk.

But raised with a careless hand (mine), I just can't feel the love enough to adopt such a genteel, time-luxurious daily routine, making CC and me no happy Mister and Mrs. If you like your cleansing mean and vigorous, the CC's not for you. Our affair may've been breathlessly brief (we lasted a jolly 10 days together), but I've learnt that some products shine, and some need a little tinkling with....

One desire, but one can't love them all.....

Review: Barefoot Botanicals' SOS Rescue Me Face & Body Cream

Whoosh!... there disappears my draft, thanks blogger.com - not. Boy, am I peeved.

Don't despair though, I know you're just desperate to read this review, so I'll simply have to trouble my busy self to rewrite it. Ho hum, you chaps are demanding..... I jest, it's no trouble, this botanical cream is happily worth a highbrow critique (well, I do try chaps), so merrily I'll comply.

You know how it is with free samples for some unfamiliar brand. You may try it (if you're a reasonably curious type), or you mayn't bother and dump it (if you're happy with your regime). So you give it fair trial, you know how it happens, the results are okayish - quite forgettable, nothing to scream about.

But should it happen the sample proves miraculous - abracadabra! - you'll no doubt make countless thanks to the Green gods, or if not so pious, spend the rest of the day touching your skin with a mouth fixed in the shape of a "wow".

The beauty of all this? You were never looking. Like those lightening-strikes love moments in the movies (oh what tosh), it just - happens. Cool, isn't it? Just when you thought life was unfair enough with that recent speeding ticket, fortune remembers your name. Anyway, at this point you'll probably grab the phone and tell all your girlfriends, or jump online and Google the entire range (if you're fanatical like me), or run out on an errand simply to tell the next poor bugger that crosses your path the great news. Because as it is with discoveries, the best are those that simply fall into your lap - ta da! - renewing your buried faith in small, independent brands that don't demand you compromise the workday lunch at Pret-a-Manger or savvy ISA account.

So, such was the case with me and Barefoot Botanicals' SOS Face & Body Cream. On one fine day in May popping into my local natural health shop for nothing in particular, this was the lush little find that was awaiting me (I'm sure it was in my horoscope....). Catching my eye with its wholesome look, Who's this? I thought. Expecting nothing, I was dead impressed with the tester, but just. What? I double-blinked, seeing the price (£9.74 for 50ml) But it's teeny-tiny, I wailed inside. Humphh, you could say this green meanie wasn't floored with the price, so I did what any smart beauty does - procured some samples (being super-sweet helps). After all would you impose strangers onto your beauty shelf without a formal introduction? How offensive! Well, that's how contained the dangerous buy-on-the-spot-impulse....so very close, I was on the edge momentarily.

Honestly, like I need another body cream, and like you need another? Still, I fought that battle at home having dried up of samples. A dilemma, it topped my agenda. But alas, despite my iron will, like a horse to water, my skin took to it. And whatever my skin loves, I follow suit. Wherever could it, and the sweet grass-roots brand have been lurking all this time? (Are my green-watching beady-eyes failing me?...). No importance, we've found each other now, I mollified. So, moving onto my second tube but bigger (100ml, £17.57), with repurchase the true test of a winner, what's the big deal, you wonder?

Well, it sounds boring. Unisex, it's designed for ultra, supra-sensitive skin and even eczema - sounds exciting, huh? Oh wait, but it is. You'd be right to expect some no-frills, unscented, acqueous cream-like formula in bland, white pharmaceutical packaging, but nope, it's too cool for that. Medium-rich (that's the shea, borage and evening primrose oils), it's sweetly herbal with soothing botanical extracts of mahonia, burdock, comfrey and chickweed. And wait, there's more. For aromatherapy buffs, it's all cooked up with lavender, neroli and chamomile. Oh Barefoot Botanicals, you're so clever! How can us 'nose-y' beauties ever find fault?

With such ingredients, it'll do nothing more than soften, moisturise, calm, and strengthen your skin, although there's no added sun protection factor. Neatly re-packaged, it's not particularly feminine like their pink Rosa Fina range (oh my, that deserves an entirely new post) so metropolitan big boys to hunter-gatherer types wouldn't complain. Indeed, the SOS range is most congenial for men.

The best bit? We croc-skinned beauties can benefit from its goodness. Flakiness be gone! It doesn't promise much more than that - but hey, that's grand! We hate empty promises, right? (How unethical, ick). So 'womanly' concerns of ageing, or sun protection is better sought elsewhere. This adores all with 'seriously parched' and 'shy' skins (as they so neatly put in), so sensuously soft, touchable skin is on offer, dare you seek it. Young 'n' old, men 'n' women, white 'n' black, paupers 'n' princesses, the green and not-so-green beauty, erm, you get the idea, can benefit.

Multi-purpose, what beauty doesn't desire to save space, time and money with all-in-one's though her bulging cabinet belies the truth? Even the multi-purposing beauty snob who, though she likes the idea of all-in-one's a la the Nars' Multiple, trendy jumpsuits, etc. but invariably owns the separates, oughtn't not find this too demeaning. (I sense your outrage, but hush, this need not divorce your fave face 'n' body separates. It's all about choice, right?)

Like all women who've made it their business to moisturise after washing (I know, chaps, it gets boring), we know how crucial it is to keep lethargy at bay by alternating products. Versatile, non-messy, non-laborious, non-synthetic, it fulfills a space in your daily routine if there's a vacancy. Like marriage that, ahem, needs excitement, this could give back the much-needed thrills to something stale. Uh huh, I agree you don't need an armoury of creams, lotions and gels, but that doesn't stop us needlessly wanting, does it? (One can pray, I guess...) Don't begrudge SOS Cream price-wise, it doesn't last an age (a la the usual sell), but it's quality ingredients you're paying for. (Unless you're particularly green-fingered and confident, a green beauty is better off honing her skills on basic recipes.) No glitzy packaging, no blurb, no marketing, no advertising. How rare is that? Topping that, see their no quibble month guarantee on all used products. That's enough for me! Their faith nourishes mine.

They also sell a Safety Gloves Barrier Hand Cream (£12.95), but I'd hazard this would do the job as nicely. A traveller's, globe-trippin' backpacker's, and seasonal skier's essential, this is a top mindful gift of care. My loyalty is hard won, and they've it in buckets right now.

Who knows what else will tickle me as much in the future, but 'tis sure exciting to find out when fortune decides to reknock.....

Review: Orange Flower Water by Neals Yard Remedies

Toners are my opium poppies, my secret passion. my am-to-pm nose-fix (oops, skin-fix). Like the holy Zam Zam water to the Muslim, the godly Ganges to the rural Indian, so the toner is to me a holy ritual. So many beauties dismiss them as fanciful extras (oh goodness, they're plenty economical), too many younger victims have been wronged by Clean and Clear and co. (oh but you're forgiven, poor darlings, hush, don't be bitter).

Like the smelliest fromage and wine, these staples of the bon viveur, a beautista (please, let's never see that appear in the OED any time soon) can't skimp 'n' save on quality ingredients either when - and there's no mystery here, right? - toners are essentially water with a few added extras. Humdrum, basic, a bit boring like daytime TV. So to you toner-skippers, like those dieters plumping for the Perrier and salade verde (with dressing on the side, natch) at Pizza Express, I do urge: be bold, be frivolous, be a gourmand and go for a Pizza Quattro Formaggi! Let's splash on something more exciting than Evian Mist, and something without alcohol denat: it's not a treat, it's a basic skin right. Hurrah! (Dare I reference L'Oreal and declare "You're worth it!"?) Ye of little faith, you too deserve such a ritual enjoyed for centuries by Arabian women and their rosewater.

And as for me: I do stand and testify, my name is Fly and I am an Eaudict to smelly waters in fancy bottles. How do I do it? Oh, quite easily, the stashing principle of no space is waste space rules, so nothing is off-limits - shoe boxes, airing cupboards, cookie jars, the car-boot, etc. Are there any telltale signs and symptoms? Indeed, common to us addicts is the identifying le smirk, a dead giveaway when confronted with a 'toner poser', e.g. supermarket toner. We're devious us lot, and it can go undetected for a lifetime. What could make tan Eaudict confront the problem, if it so happens, is the misfortune of having her luggage randomly checked at airport security, because by having her Smythson case thrown open for the world to see, she is forced to claim the dispensary that's become her life contained within - rows upon rows of bottled Eau cushioned within the odd piece of holiday clothing. Public confrontation like this usually does the trick because meeting with quizzical looks, bemusement, or worse (confiscation), the problem is dazzling clear, liberating and refreshing all at once. The prognosis? Nay, not good, even if she falls into debt, gets a pay-rise, etc. she'll find ways of replacing current discontinued faves, or better, 'DIY-it' and become an Eau maker. The condition tends to be chronic. How can I help? You can't, but sympathy and a kindly ear won't go unappreciated (and in my case, do gift me your kindness - my wishlist is available upon request...!)

So back to my fellow addicts, what's tickling my fancy so to justify the above confession? Oh, so many, too many. But my latest love affair is with Neal Yard Remedies' Orange Flower Water, a delightful beast of a product. An easy £8.60 for 100ml, it's a perfect size that won't risk boredom (200ml sizes or above aren't worth the investment unless it's Love) or debt. Good for 6 months, 97% organic, I shan't quibble on 3%, the few drops of bitter orange blossom oil, as you can imagine, bestow it the most delicate aroma that's 'softly sweet' (better words fail me.) Added aloe vera (just magical stuff) extract soothes and cools instantly, so no need to chill beforehand - so handy for us who actually need such space for, erm, chilling fresh odd bits of food. (Note there is a minuscule touch of alcohol, non-drying I promise!)

Magically simple, how does it compare to simply using plain distilled orange water from aromatherapy suppliers? Well, put it this way, a few drops of any essential oil to base water gives toner legs, a meaty core, real ommmphf, like fine fragrance. Natural beauty chums will identify how neroli (or bitter orange) is one of the most precious, and expensive, essential oils to produce and buy, like the saffron for the cook. So NYR's OFW is divine, all ready-made it's ideal for the neroli water-seeker who can't afford those skin therapeutic recipes calling for neroli, and neroli only.

Passing by NYR Covent Garden a few months ago (okay, I lie, it was the plan) I couldn't resist the OFW - my toning collection's parched of neroli, okay. With my "just looking" face in place, I thought I was unbreakable. But among those bottles of alchemy, the OFW beamed at me like moth to flame. So after much testing, sniffing, sampling and sniffing some more, that was it. Like the poor cow at farmer's market, I was stamped 'Sold'. There was no point fighting it despite going off to 'browse' (or an opportunity to flee its clutches), one whiff of neroli for citrusy-lovers is like crack cocaine, instantly bewitching.

But it's all worked out petty nice actually, skin aglow at the thought of such a pleasant discovery (or maybe its the detox tea?), I'm all self-congratulatory for exercising such wisdom and frugality when I've denied my collection of a pricey bottle of neroli essential oil (NYR, 2.5ml, £19.05). OFW satiates me amply - for now, anyway. So for thrifty beauties turning their noses up at this in regards price and quality - pray don't! - the price of neroli reflects quality so is deadly serious, and having snuffed enough bottles of 'neroli' essential oil by other aromatherapy lines, NYR's is 'up there', reaching senses so far up the nose that the others could only endeavour an awareness of. And to resplendently monied-beauties using Darphin, Sisley's Eau Florale mist and such (erm, me jealous?), who are sitting there pooh-pooing this smugly, well, I say, more to go around for us poor common flies!

Despite loving dry and sun-damaged skins, this is a suits-all product because neroli giveth glow to all skin types from pre-teens to grannies, something we ladies all seem to crave like that sneaky Marlboro Light (okay, let's gloss this) or a quickie Cadbury's chocolate break. And unless your skin is particularly sensitive, seek the rosa damescena essential oil in a toner, I'd say, or for oily skins, some witch hazel. Simply swipe and go, oh la la, easy as pie.

Who said beauty was fussy? They always drone. But, nay, do fuss about with toning, because it's rudely enjoyable. So revel in it, smell the bottle, swipe lovingly in long, light strokes (I like organic cotton), and find the heavens in a bottle. NYR sell compatible spritzer tops for those partial to them. Toners aren't miracles, they won't resolve but aid skin concerns, but the joy in toning is in memoriam of an exotic tradition with plentiful history à la Egyptian women, et al. Ditch the common alcohol and synthetic fragrance in generic toners, they hate your skin. Simple as that. You're better off using nothing for all they seek to do is mimic the real thing.

The verdict? Ravishing. Effective and economical. (Natural beauties rejoice!) Now, how many products perform on these two basic points? And a fantastic company, although some sales' assistants suffer from bouts of ignorance (so annoying) and indifference (so wrong), they oughtn't make it so easy (I'm meant to be homemaking, ugh). As for negatives with OFW, erm, I'm still thinking.....I'll get back to you on that one.

Review: Nvey Eco's Erase corrective makeup

Lest you think me nothing but scathing, spilling vitriol here, there, and everywhere given I've yet to be positively glowing, verily, I plead in my defence, non-performing products really puts the fire in my belly.

Nothing displeases, irritates, nay, infuriates me more than shoddy products and brands getting off scotch-free, whether they're the 'big daddy' companies that have the mega $'s for double-paged spreads, or the nobody, small brands that you, foolishly, decide to buy in to. Why? Because it's niche. Because it's rated (who are are these people exactly?). Because you want to be different. And because you want to make a bloody statement. But, alas, it happens you're wrong. The truth is, as with the old GMO vs. organic potato test, natural/organic ain't always best. Nope, no taste difference, but you know, yes in your deepest depths, that one is safer, doing hearty goodness to the body-cum-temple.

In fact, however demoralising, natural/organic cosmetics can be so bad. So very, very bad, as we natural beauty flies know. Conversely, there are winners but they're pricey, limited and requires a day's trek across town to your nearest counter unlike your local Boots that's a stone's throw away (though you secretly like this). So for those not quite minted, budgeting everything from Tom's toothpaste to the daily Imedeen (Whoa! Pricey much?), what are the options in between?

I lament, not much, and I scoff, a wasteland of mistakes to be had.

Making beauty mistakes seems to be a women's rite (nothing wrong there, what's more joyful than woman-to-woman confessions over a frothy latte or a cheeky cocktail?), but golly, it's no thrilling day at the summer sales on a budget.

So this brings me on to the object of my downright objection: Nvey Eco's Erase concealer. A blatant rip-off of Benefit's Boing corrector, I should have stuck to my guns and 'gone chemical'. Maybe if I was on LSD (Never, I promise, Mum!), I wouldn't have noticed?

Nay, I ought to have done battle with my ethics brandishing the loofah because I'd have been better off using off-white shoe polish under my panda eyes. Simply enough for one to lose will, this has tested my organic strength. There's nothing to Nvey here. Nought to see here, move on people, move on.

So what's my problem?

Okay, I concede, 'tis a nice, decent chunky thing, oh-so-pretty in the pan, say the size of a tot's palm, something to whip out the Primark leatherette bag on the tube to check for spinach between the gnashers. But you'll be even more dazzled by its 'erase' effect (read: greasy) under those already unforgiving fluoro lights.

And yeah, I do hear you, there must be some redeeming features for 15 wholesome UK pounds, right?

Nope, except for the Australian certified-organic ingredients. Skimming your eye over the lengthy ingredients list, (it's all Greek to me! Actually it's Latin) it appears impressive but it's no more advanced than other offerings on the natural market that's simply powder and a few emollients chucked in, despite its boastful claims of antioxidants. I see not.

And most importantly, the finish? Glossy thanks to the organic oils of safflower, jojoba, and beeswax, etc. Think poor Judy (no, not that daytime Judy Finnigan, but she of the duo Punch 'n' Judy) slapping on the Tippex as a concealer. It's beyond me how this won a 2008 Natural Beauty Award...? Scratches head.

They say: "ECO Erase ensures an even and soothing coverage" for all manner of blemishes. Well, soothing though it may be (lavender, goldenseal, marjoram, and more), 'even coverage' is something to be desired. Solified hard in the pan, as hard as cement, gentle finger-patting becomes harsh dragging, and using a brush is impossible I tell you. The finish is glassy opaque. So wrong.

Now it may be I opted for the wrong colour, you soothe, but as a pretty fair laydee (or according to my darling sister, "pasty as shortcrust") and with only 2 universal colour choices on offer, I don't think Neutral (lightest) was much of a gamble on my part. There's Medium though, for all other womenkind.

I have no beef with Nvey Eco in general, for they're only bravely trying to put their breezy aussie stamp on the organic map, but for concealer, stick with trusty names I say, that have a long-standing reputation. Gratis Dr Hauschka's Concealer, I won't be dipping my toe bravely in new waters any time soon. Now that is a serious winner for £15, not perfect but does the trick nicely for now, and with a decent finish, i.e. human-like. Nvey Eco's Erase is nothing but a magnet for passers bys' weird looks. Avoid.

For you brazen daredevils despite my honest critique, I've even froogled it for you, and the best price is at www.greenglamour.co.uk for £13.70. But, pray, don't make my mistake without testing the shade instore. Tsk tsk, and not on the back of your hand either ladies!

Others rave about the foundation, but I guestimate they're partly sold on the Bobbi Brown-esque packaging that oozes glamour and sophistication. And if it's anything like the mediocrity that's Erase, no thanks, not for me!

NewsBite: Liz Earle set to launch a perfume

Glorious news for natural beauties!

Cue drumroll please....Liz Earle is launching her first perfume!

I believe (read: pray) it's based on the heavenly Instant Boost Skin Tonic, of which I must be her most vociferous fan after the great lady herself naturally. It'll be my first natural perfume, so I anticipate great, great things from Botanical Essence, Eau de Parfum, No.1.

Does this also mean there's No.2, No.3 in the making? How promising! And, I bet your last summer seedling there'll be a QVC fray come October time, and hopefully it'll be on Introductory Price (thank you, QVC!), a mere prediction of course.

You can sign up for an email update for its October launch at http://uk.lizearle.com/index_2.php?userpage=fragrance_comingsoon&S=2a4718504a70a033d489f

Happy, smelly days!

Review: Elizabeth Arden's 8-Hour Skin Protectant Cream

Foul, horrific, a filthy product. It's nothing but grim lube in a designer tube. For a wholesome £20 too. I persevered, really, I did. But like a frustrating wart, it had to go. And so it went straight on Ebay - it was that or landfill....

I urge you, join me free-thinkers, shove in-place your earplugs, manumit your psyche from the babble and spells weaved by those in sales paid a tidy sum, from up-there in promotions to down-there in retail. If skin-unkindly petrolatum (56.8%, cosmeticsdatabase.com) is truly your heart's all-consuming desire, then alas, my power to soothe your dry spots with all manner of skin-loving natural balms and emollients is impotent. Thus, you shall have synthetic oil, but at the very least, I beseech, get it in a non-designer tin for 99p. It's called Vaseline, and you could have 20 of these. Neat huh, how fabulous! Vaseline now even comes in Rose, by far a headier synthetic aroma than that of Skin Protectant's.

How can one conjure its unpleasantness without feeling the need to hurl? Don't expect the sensory experience like the one to be had at a hedonistic Banyan Tree escape, it's closer to your council's central waste dump. To be specific, on first use as you await something verging on pleasant, after all, "It's designer, honey!", you'd be wrong. Like fears with uncontrollable chemical-engineering, it emits an explosion of golden gunk that's sickly pungent with a honey-like consistency (but without honey's ambrosial profile). Thick, it melts upon skin's heat. And like the obese who can't move despite trying, it sits. But hey, that's the idea!

For me, it all began some moons ago. With parched lips and cuticles despite a decade's use of Vaseline, it finally clocked, something was amiss. Either my bodily makeup was freakishly a 'Type Arid', or my products were inefficient. So, at the end of my tether seeking an alternative, what else do you do but 'go high-end', like a dazzled immigrant seeking British skies with the foolish hope of salvation?

So having heard the ubiquitous marketing for this cult beauty staple on tap, I foolishly hopped and triple high-jumped onto the bandwagon. What a foul surprise! Sold as a 'Skin Protectant Cream', I figured it was an emollient-rich cream. Nope, there's no water in it. It's just a lubricant for 'cracked, dry, chapped areas', just as they say! So it's a balm. Yes, an '8-hour' balm. But it's a chemical balm (not to mention comedogenic) that sits happily on the skin, for eight, marathon hours that's dandy if one needs a long-wearing barrier from extreme weather. But for those who aren't frolicking on the Alps in all seasons, legging it from arctic bears daily, or even a pilot or Virgin hostess, it's simply not fit for humans.

Models, make-up artists, beauty editors (and I concede, a handful of poor misguided simpletons) rave and rave, and rave some more, about it, as a gloss for the eyes (oh how my eyes weep at the thought), the lips, and anywhere that requires lubrication. But note these vocal fellas are professionals who seek the 'gloss' look, or in the case of editors, need to pay the rent/mortgage. Humans don't need glossy skincare, what a thought! I say, dump it. They must, pitifully, be none the wiser.

But now now, surely Elizabeth Arden's 8-Hour Skin Protectant Cream be of some use? Okay, I admit, in defeat, 'tis ace for your tyres. Rusty door hinges. Waxing your wooden floors. Perhaps, even treating your Ikea garden furniture. Mechanics would find tons of usage for it!

On the design side, the Limited Edition range is kitsch 'n' cute, shame they can't sort out the formula. That would be like making a bakewell tart with no cherries, I guess, how sad.

But there's beautiful hope on the horizon. Namely, natural balms. I urge you to be open-minded. Try, be adventurous, seek them out, skin-loving plant oils that mimic the skin's own composition which nourish, moisturise, soften and, unlike an 8-hour trick, actually permeate the epidermis. Voila! Once applied, it disappears. Now that's a true balm. No magic needed.

I, converted, fatigued, am now truly balm-ed out - there's no hope left for me, I drown in a sea of tins, from Badger's Balms to Liz Earle's Superbalm. The best of the canvas bagful I use dependent on mood, is Balm Balm's Geranium Balm. Delightful, cheerfully cheap, and efficient. A close second would be Burt's Bees Beeswax (a bloody bargain for £1.95 at cheapsmells.com). And though I yearn fantastically to hand over ten round pounds for a measly 10-15ml balm (say Decleor's, Nude's, Dr Hauschka's, Origins' even) one can't but question the reasoning behind their pricing. Hence, no comment.

Lastly, for even thriftier, or merely creative home-maker types, cooking up your own balms (and products) is fantastically hearty for the soul. With plenty of recipes online, there's a great community for DIY beauty. I have yet to sample balm-making given the affordability of natural balms, but what could be neater than receiving a home-made balm? Note to self: must get to grips with beeswax.

Review: BareMineral's Kabuki brush

Now I'm no makeup brush connoisseur (more brush-envy addict), but I'm a dab hand in the kitchen, and the patissiere in me thinks this perfect for pastry. It seems plush, it seems lush, it seems skin-friendly but don't be blinkered by its shiny handle - it's a frightful hedgehog. Nothing like the softest, oh my, softer than a baby's bottom Bobbi Brown brushes that I've snapped up in recent years at duty free.

(Poor me only has a few staples, and Bobbi Brown asks a lot, a good limb and a leg in fact for a basic powder brush. My advice for Shu Uemura's, Nars', or By Terry's' brush-watchers: save, go against the beauty editor's screech of 'splurge!'. (No change there). Do as you do with the pension plan. With each monthly saving, think of the individual hairs collected. 'Tis a burst of joy one feels when it comes to entering your pin at the SpackeNK till. You've deserved it!)

Anyway, okay, I concede, it came in a kit (onilne from the US) with the heavenly BE Mineral Veil, a crazily good sheer, no-shimmer (and god forbid, glittery) finishing powder that's great for most skins (save the dry perhaps), but honestly, stuff your ears with cotton, Kabuki-seekers, block out the sales droning on QVC and co. because despite what they say, this ain't The Brush for it ladies. (Although sable and goat ought be perfect hair for buffing, is this a case of bad batch, bad goat?)

So, I'd been eyeing up this powder since that Alison on QVC spoketh, and commandeth. I'm no lightweight, but verily, she unveiled a truth, this powder redeems the nightmare that's the 'Buki.

Using it is like stumbling in the dark, like that bad, forgettable First Time. 'Tis enough for brush virgins to write them off altogether. But hold faith young ones. There is hope and help on the horizon, and often at the cheaper end of the market. Bourjois do neat brushes (I know, I'm shocked too) for less than a fiver (Superdrug), and are great starter brushes for the young 'un first dabbling in makeup, even the late-comer having her first foray in the world of brushdom. You wouldn't want your tweenie or teen looking like a clown now, would you? Nor your best friend using those awful good-for-nought sponge applicators that come with eyeshadows, etc. How mean.

But maybe I'm being a miser. With its compact head, it probably does buff well. But - I never reached that stage. There's only so much scratch-scratch buffing one can endure, unless you're being thrifty and plan to forgo the blush. The Kabuki is recommended for face and body, but save your face ladies, and use it on the decolletage. Or better, the soles of your feet designed to handle life's rough and smooth.

Generally sets are fantastic value, and oft introduces you to more delightful goodies within a range appropriating your loyalty forever. And the Kabuki, I have noticed, often comes in a set (BE are madly hot on sets, have you noticed?) And not to be sniffy since advice is always welcome and nice, but tutorials for an identikit generation? No thanks. I'll leave it. But I digress, and it's no wonder the Kabuki is a staple kit item given how frighteningly rough it is, they probably can't offload them quick enough - I can't even imagine the makeup professionals jumping on these even as freebies. Reminds me of their Flawless brush (and samey-samey Full Flawless), scratchy as hell. Shudders. Also, BE seriously have to control themselves, simply how many 'Radiance's' can they spin out next? I can't fathom the difference between Pure Radiance and Radiance (there's 10 plus, and counting....), All-Over Face-Colour and Warmth, and some more. Come again? Navigating the Narnia that is BE is more perplexing than reading the banking T&C's, you'd need to devote an entire Saturday. How dull. Makeup should be fun, not leave you flummoxed...

And thankfully, it came in a set otherwise I'd be quite peeved to have to shell out its RRP £24. (Thank god for Ebay addicts, otherwise it would join my pastry brushes). If you do decide to shell out good-earned money, it's available with discounts online (lookfantastic.com, feelunique.com, HQHair.com).

My penny: leave it. Actually, there's a fantastic synthetic-natural combo in the shape of Mac's, now infamous, 187 Duo Fibre brush (£29; small, £24.50, maccosmetics.co.uk), pricey but 'tis a goody. (There's now a BE version sold with the Radiance's, not on my wish list you can bet). The 187 looks a fright, but it's jolly good, whispers over and stipples powder dreamily on bare skin. (The dye doesn't wash well though, but then again, I am quite fastidious about brush cleaning.) Also, I've noticed crownbrush.co.uk do amazing value sets, not keen on their P&P charge though, nor 're-stocking fee', huh? I am eyeing up their badger sets, their tales always look mightily soft when I spot them in the wild....

Lastly, I'm nearly finished I promise, the critic in me can't resist mentioning one more booby in relation to Kabuki. Now if you were smart and bought a starter jar of whatever, usually 2g, you'll notice the head of the brush won't fit the pot. (Now don't shake the pot enthusiastically, girls, loose powder has a habit of exploding in your face like gunpowder.) So it follows it won't pick up much, so 'tis a no-no for starter pots. Even with full-sized pots, the process is annoyingly messy. I think they had a stint of temporary amnesia and forgot to consider the BE mantra of 'Dip and Tap' during the design stage because there's no handle as far as I can see. Duh! There's nothing to tap with, BE peeps. A mismatch much? So too, whoever deigned the sifter jars needs to steal Laura Mercier's, even Estee Lauder's prototype. Bad, bad, bad design.

The Kabuki: no value, no quality, no joy. Animal friendly?

"There are no ugly women, only lazy ones"

...erm, according to Helena Rubinstein, d.1965)

Quel dommage! How disillusioned was she? The most beautiful creatures merely have greater cares. You know, kids, seeing the world, pioneering research, helping the poor, climbing the Wall of China, making a difference, etc.

[Beauty-sick(ened) flies like me ought indulge in some laziness more often, that's the unpalatable Glorious Truth. Ho hum.]

The 'Me Me Me' section will provide the aim of this blog, but there's a little below to chew on given my (complex) motivations. I'm a newbie to blogging, but not blogs, so don't judge kind people...(!)

(I also to review on makeupalley.com under bellaspots. Great site for the independent reviewer but so, so many gems of voices are lost in the flurry of reviews.)

Despite my conflicted soul, I pursue the beauty myth with unrelenting vigour despite being wiser than all the nonsense I am fed. Beauty companies, advertisers, editors, surgeons, and purveyors of the beautiful lie that beauty is everything, benefit more than me or the body I inhabit, so why is it so hard to let go?

Like so many disappointed, annoyed, fatigued, antipathetic, but empowered consumers made poorer in heart, mind and pocket, I am committed to weeding out those seeds of emptiness (something must be missing, right?) that nourish this unnatural materialism for more and more products. Suffice to say, my beauty walk-in cabinet is in need of some purging.

However, a new-found organic agenda has fed an even greater obsession, one for knowledge. But even this set of ethics has done nought to streamline my bottles and jars, opened and sealed, nor purse.

The Harrods Beauty Sale oughtn't be the highlight of diary. Poop to misogynistic glossies, poop to beauty editors fawning to advertisers, poop to crummy brands, poop to beauty jargon nonsense that serve to confuse the user.

Why is she doing this then? Good bloody question.

Indeed, I ask myself the same, maybe one day I'll find enlightenment because it ain't found at the bottom of a jar of Creme de la Mer.

So, verily, it'll be a pleasurable slog to blog liberally about all the latest, hi-tech vs. natural, faddy, inefficient, traditional, cult and kitsch, high to low-end beauty products, and all that can't be categorised in-between.

Buzz.