Back in February, I decided to treat myself to some new makeup. Conveniently, I was scooping up a trench in Burberry at the time (Oooo, you fancy huh?) so first thoughts, why not? Cut a long, glamorous story short...I purchased several things from jeans and a trench right down to lipstick, but the focus of this post: the Sheer Foundation.
Now, for some reason, certain creams and foundations seem to cause dry spots on my eyelids that only my aloe-vera worshipping better half can seem to cure. So, when the makeup artist in Burberry offered me foundation with added moisturiser already in it, I thought that this must be it...The Holy Grail. Safe to say, I looked fresh to death for the rest of Winter...
But then, along came that bitch called Summer.
Now believe me when I say, I love Burberry with every fibre of my trench-devouring heart, but I really do not appreciate having to run around the capital with my face rapidly melting into a pool of shame at my ankles. That "added moisturiser", yeah, well, I quickly found out that it doesn't like the heat and that it will actually attempt to run from said heat as fast as physically possible. After approximately two minutes of walking, yes, walking, I was a hot mess. Like, think Britney circa 2007 kind of mess. That beautiful rich bitch Burberry glow was gone as fast as I'd applied it and my face had rapidly turned into the 51st shade of grey.
After wailing down the phone for my best friend to hurry up so that I could hide in the shadows of her curly mane and instructing her on the tools that I required to reconstruct my once superstar face, my only option was to retreat into an unknown park to quietly and peacefully die behind my larger than life sunnies. When she finally arrived, this selfish bitch looked hotter than the seven hells combined. There was no doubt about it, my life was rapidly becoming a living piss take. One look at each other, and we both decided that I had no choice but to run to Selfridges as fast as my stubby legs would carry me, with my beloved face clinging desperately to my kneecaps.
When I finally managed to dash over to MAC in my irrational and frantic state of mind, the only thing that I deemed appropriate to do was to burst into tears and beg forgiveness for my temporary betrayal and hope that a flash of my prized plastic would be enough consolation to warrant a "welcome back". Luckily, the MAC employees in Selfridges are far more polite and attentive than their Nottingham counterparts, who no doubt don't even know the definition of those two words and would, consequently, have ignored my entrance into the store entirely in favour of carrying on with their bitchy, bullshit conversations.
Lo and behold, praise thuh Lord, my girl in MAC, hooked a sista up! I don't know what kind of visual sorcery MAC employees use but the assistant gave me one quick side-eye glance and bought back a bottled elixir of Studio Fix Fluid that matched my skin tone perfectly, and she even threw a free primer sample in there for good measure (in other words, she saw my face and thought "God, what an unfortunate, sweaty child"). Needless to say, I walked out of Selfridges with a grin on my face, a pep in my step and a bag filled with goodies!
Moral of the story: Fuck the added moisturiser!
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