Everyone knows that things simply lose all magic when used often, and that's why retail is deemed therapy. This adage is especially applicable to beauty products. After using something regularly, however efficacious or charming initially, one begins to tire of it. The magic simply diminishes (along, hopefully, with the zits or wrinkles). One grows simply to dread even opening the cap of the thing, or take a bath. I've got a new routine to make getting my ears wet worthwhile:
Facial wash: Stella McCartney Care Purifying Foaming Cleanser. Purportedly 100 per cent organic, it smells wholesomely of quince (so very English, right?). This is mildness itself, wholly suited to nurturing sensitive skin.
Moisturise: Annick Goutal's Creme Splendide is mauve pink and it smells like the way a Fantin Latour painting looks. I love that it contains rose sap, I feel like I'm slathering on the soul of a rose tree. How nice is that?
On Neck: First, pat on Cle De Peau's Lotion Tendre Balancing 1. It's Japanese, so it smells of wet cotton pads and mildly of sperm. So it's very nourishing. Then slather on La Priarie Cellular Cream Platinum Rare, which is supposed to contain platinum. It smells slightly minerally, and is a sturdy grey colour. Novel right? A light as souffle grey cream. It looks very efficient, and is very expensive so I smooth any extra off on the tops of my hands. At this price, even traces would be useful. Lips: Last ditch rescue for prune lips, a thick slick of Elizabeth Arden The Original Eight-Hour Cream. It is heavy, non-budge and smells medicinal. I like. Chaste sleep: I've this new habit of spraying myself (toe-to-neck) with the slightly menthol Caudalie Eau De Beaute (I think this is meant only for the face but it feels so nice on the body) that is inspired by Queen Isabelle of Hungary. It smells wonderously prim, like my midnight Marks and Spencer pyjamas. All my paws must be marinated in L'Artisan Parfumeur's Premier Figuier Body Cream. This smells deliciously sweet, with a green note that makes it not sexy, if you know what I mean. Finally light the Gucci Noelle candle, crack open a book and feel blissfull that I'm not out there somewhere grinning drunkenly at strangers with a cigarette dangling out of the corner of my mouth. Those days, thankfully, are quite, quite over.