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.