# 120 Sugar Puffs

There are some days when nothing can be done.

Honestly, I've had enough of them to know this to be true. You just wake up, a bit puffy of jaw, shadowy of eye, blotchy of skin, blemished of chin - and yes, you know you'll look better post-slap - but that, however hard you try, you still won't look great. It's what I call a 'Can't Fake It' day, when make-up is a band aid rather than blaze of glory... when skin's just not playing ball and you'd rather retreat to loafing-land than go out and meet all those people who expect you to look, well, like you know what you're talking about.

Ordinarily I hit the panic button and the old faithfuls come out of the cupboard: Origins Modern Friction; Dermalogica Multi-Vitamin Power Recovery Mask OR Guinot Masque Essential Nutrition Confort; Sisley Eye Contour Mask; Lancome Hydra Zen Tinted Moisturiser (a newish find - very nice); a dusting of BareMinerals powder; Dior Skinflash; Stila Eyeshadow in Kitten and Guerlain Terractotta Bronzer... you know the routine.

But last week I had a bad day. So bad in fact that when I looked at myself in the mirror that morning I actually gasped. Out loud. I'd seemingly gained 6 pounds in my sleep and forgotten to take off my mascara the night before (I hadn't been wearing any) - everything was just off - out of focus, as though my features had decided to go into hibernation and been replaced with fading scribbles - like those chalked silhouettes of removed corpses you always see on CSI. Mortification! Then I remembered the salt-and-sugar fest I'd enjoyed the very late night before (look, I'm pregnant okay), and so, because it was a Saturday, I decided to go back to bed in a bid to wake up thinner, brighter and less likely to jump off the balcony. Surely, I just needed more sleep?

And whadya know? It actually worked. Which just goes to show that sometimes the best thing is to sleep on it.

And if that fails, well, time to bring on the cosmetic cavalry.

#83 Just for starters...

Has anyone seen the latest Just For Men advert? Good lord. Two little girls, who the audience must assume have recently lost their mother, run up to their father and beg him to dye his hair in order that he might be able to face the world afresh and hopefully find a new partner. Father dyes his hair and gets a first date, during which he takes a picture of himself with 'prospective new wife' on the old camera phone (too keen? surely not?) which he then sends to his children, who appear to be home alone while he is out schmoozing. The giggling girls then jump up and down, giving one another high fives, overjoyed at the image of their father hugging a strange woman. Based on a true story. Hmmm.

What intrigues me most about the advert is the type of man it is supposed to appeal to. My husband, a modern (though not metrosexual) male, recoils each and every time it comes onto the TV and despite being beset by his first smattering of greys, the idea of besmirching his head with a product as out-of-touch as Just For Men (the Old Spice of the hair dye world) is far worse than a future of salt n pepper strands. I heartily agree with his logic. In fact, I'd be far less disturbed by the discovery of a hidden porn stash under the bed than I would be if I stumbled across a seedy (and heaven forbid, empty!) box of Just For Men.

As far as I can tell, the average man is far less likely to fall for inflated cosmetic claims than the average woman. The idea of precious diamond dust, amazonian plants, bio-chemical research, space-travel tests etc etc, might get women pulling out the platinum card (and sales statistics would seems to support this), but men, it seems, are not amused. They want high performance, yes, but minus hyperbole and gimmickry - and are suckers for slick, chic packaging that won't embarrass them should it fall out of the gym bag and into the middle of the men's locker room.

I canvassed a swathe of my most stylish male friends and here are the products that got their hearts-a-racing:

Shiseido Men Cleansing Foam
Clinique Pore Minimizer Oil Blotting Sheets
Lancome Men Ultimate Cleansing Gel
Dermalogica Daily Microfoliant
Clarins Men Fatigue Fighter

What do they have in common? Simple, modern design; practical application and handling; effective formulas with visible results and, of course, not a single, empty 'love or your money back' promise hinted at on the pack (or in any of the campaigns). Even if Lancome hadn't roped Clive Owen into the advertising act (and according to the aforementioned menfolk) this just for men lot would still be just the ticket.

#36 Sister Act

I've just had the most self-indulgent weekend on record. I snoozed, watched movies, revisited my favourite novel, organised my magazines and managed to spend almost an entire 48 hours in just three rooms. Ordinarily, I'd have been climbing the walls, but there was something about the sodden streets and humid air that had me yearning for some quiet time – I think I uttered no more than twenty words in total as the hubby was work-tied all weekend. Last night's guilty pleasure was a re-run of Mean Girls – which, despite the tenth viewing, still has me howling with laughter in parts. It also got me thinking about The Plastics – the perfectly polished clique of girls at the movie's centre. Ironed hair, glossed pouts, airbrushed skin and hollow heads. It's hard to argue that the triumvirate's queen bee doesn't look good – even if she's full of matter so superficial (and artificial) that she'd give a bag of turkey twizzlers a run for their money. Her brand of beauty – the teen queen look – can be spotted every Saturday on most high streets around the country. I've always been intrigued by this look – knowing just how much intensive work goes into it. Clump-free lashes, flawless foundation (utterly unnecessary given their naturally peachy skin), pencilled arches and watermelon mouths… growing up, it was my sister, not me, who fitted into this category. She would set her alarm clock an hour before mine every morning, wash and blowdry her hair, spend thirty minutes perfecting her kohl-rimmed eyes and powdered face and skip breakfast as she was too busy tidying her brows. The routine gave her confidence – she was always a hit with the boys – whereas I found it irksome. I just wanted to roll out of bed, dab on some lip balm, pull my hair into a ponytail and go to school. The difference divided us for years. I could not see past her maquillage mask. She could not understand my naked face. At some point our paths crossed. I started to care about my skin. I read up on balms, creams, serums, gels and oils. I bought beauty magazines and earmarked the pages with good advice. Then, along with my first crush, came make-up – and, embarrassed as I am to admit it – it was my younger sister who guided my hand. She showed me how to pull an exaggerated smile and brush a pop of colour onto the part of the cheek that appears the most raised. She traced an expert line across my lids with Guerlain Terracotta Loose Powder Kohl Eyeliner – a seriously extravagant purchase for a 15 year old – but one that she uses to this day. She dabbed Shiseido Lipgloss in Champagne onto my lips and curled my lashes, before defining them with YSL mascara – I think it was Everlong. She introduced me to Juicy Tubes, Face Powder (jn a square box, decorated with the face of a geisha) and Bourjois blusher. As I evolved (or regressed – it is, I suppose, a judgement call) so too did our relationship. Funnily enough, the tables have now turned. She still knows her stuff, but with hundreds of new products launching every year, she loses track. I'm paid to be on the ball – and enjoy pointing her in the right direction and filling her bag with products whenever she pops over for a cuppa. She still pokes fun at me – the clueless, tomboyish, trainer-wearing big sister who has somehow managed to metamorphose into a 'real' girl… a real girl, who, occasionally, develops a penchant for the plastic.

#19 The Fairer Sex...

I’ve not had much experience with men as Mr Malcontent was pretty much my first love. We met when we were still young in mind and body, fresh of face and hopeful of heart. Many years have passed and things are still pretty darn good. The inevitable things have changed – nowadays I rarely bother with the good underwear, he wears a pair of pyjama bottoms with more holes than fabric – in fact, wardrobe-wise, Mr Malcontent is not too bothered. I don’t mind – he has a good eye, skilfully skirting the line between scruffy and sexy and besides, I’ve never really wanted him to be a Hugo Boss man. I’d rather have a H&M boy any day of the week. In fact, the only fine-tuning that Mr M has proved susceptible to is not of the sartorial variety. The change has, in fact, taken place within his cosmetic closet instead. Sod’s Law dictates that Mr M has impeccable, beautiful skin. Clear and temperate with an outdoorsy smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks – boyish and youthful. He does not look his age. Sod’s Law also dictates that he had never taken an ounce of care with his complexion – when we first met, he was using shampoo as a face and body wash. I think it was Vosene. He was prone to dryness, a bit of eczema and as I entered the beauty arena, my knowledge and access to information filtered down to him. As did my continual product passover. You see, he would never spend more than a couple of quid on himself, but his eyes light up like fireflies when I hand him a bag of new booty. He gets face creams, self-tans, firming gels, eye lotions, lip balms… he has become my official male tester. There have been a few hiccups along the way. He’d been using self-tan as an everyday moisturiser, rubbing it into his eyes and wondering why his hands had turned a bizarre burnt-ochre colour overnight. So now, along with pricey products, I also pass on foolproof instructions first. When something’s good, he’s eager to tell me about it. He really liked Lush Afterlife – a cream that I hadn’t high hopes for. He said it made his dry skin feel comfortable and improved it within days. He also loves Nickel Morning After Rescue Gel. He uses it after a night when he’s struggled to sleep and insists that it makes him look fresher. He’s currently using The Sanctuary Cleansing Facial Wash and Protective 24 Hour Moisture Lotion SPF 15. Sneaky of me to give him an SPF-laden lotion, as he’s loath to apply suncare during the day, but the combination is working well. His skin has been clear and blemish-free for a couple of months now – he used to get the odd spot almost fortnightly. He also favours Caudalie Lip Conditioner (having tried Clarins, Chapstick and Neutrogena) and liked Lancôme’s men’s range too – in particular the face wash. New likes include Kiehl’s Eye Alert, which he’s been patting on in the mornings and the Shu Uemura Depsea Moisture Replenishing Cream – which he went through at an alarming rate. If it weren’t so expensive, I’d have bought him a new pot. At bathtime, believe it or not, he’s cleaned me out of MOP Basil + Mint Shampoo and Conditioner. It’s a great formula for his fine hair and he likes the herby smell (that’s his stifled chef talking), even if I’m not too fond of it. That’s another bonus, not only does he provide me with valuable male insights, but he also Pac Man’s his way through my growing giftbags – clearing space for future finds. And though these insignificant scenarios do not form the core of a stable relationship, it is certainly a flawless foundation for a marriage of cosmetic convenience. A-men.

#5 The Top Tan...

My problem with self-tanning is not the colour produced, but the actual sensation of the product on the face. Most sit atop the skin, feeling oily and unnatural - or they are so heavily scented that it's impossible to forget you're wearing them even for a second. Two new launches are good, but still come with problems. Biotherm Self-Tanning Face Gel for fair skin, doesn't feel too bad. The packet says 'ultra-natural looking radiant tan freshness' - word vomit alert - and feels nice and cool on contact, but once dry, it feels sticky. In fact, I can always tell when Mr Malcontent has been at it, because it feels as though his face has been tacky backed. It also has an overwhelming smell - chemical-citrus. The colour it produces is good though. Then there's Lancome's Flash Bronzer Custom Colour Tinted Self-Tanning Lotion. Good because the colour it initially deposits onto the skin is the same colour that develops beneath it. But despite using a fair amount - swiped across the nose, tops of cheeks, below hairline - it gave me nothing more than a faint whisper of a tan. And after cleansing and exfoliating the next day I was back to shade one. It would, however, certainly be a good investment for lily skins afraid of tango tints. It smells rather nice too - delicate, powdery, soft. Neither is the holy veil I was searching for, which is why make-up is the only alternative. Which is no bad thing considering the wealth of brilliant bronzers out there.

I've never been a Guerlain Terracotta fan - sacrilege I know! I was always too scared of the deep, earthy bronze of their powders and feared I'd look like an unfortunate extra from One Million Years B.C. But since the launch of the Light Sheer Bronzing Powders, I've never looked back. The Harmonie Blondes 01 formula, combines gold and pink powders, without any unflattering glitter or obvious shimmer - just fine, sophisticated, light-as-air colour.

Another great option - especially for olive or tanned skins - is Origins Sunny Disposition. It isn't new, but I trialled it for the first time at the weekend and was seriously impressed. A tiny amount of the deep brown fluid blended over brow and cheek bones and the bridge of the nose creates the sort of healthy burnish that you'd normally get from a festival weekend. Like it.