It’s easy to feel overwhelmed when you walk into the ground floors of major department stores, don’t you think?
Dazzling lights. Floor to ceiling images of photoshopped glamazons with ethereal skin staring with judgement at your dull epidermis. Their faces represent the health I crave.
I want that frigging glow dammit.
So you find yourself pulled into the beauty vortex, the assistant with her hands inappropriately all over your face. Your phobia of abused personal space is pushed to its limits. She’s talking AT you as if you are some sort of recluse given your lack of knowledge on the importance of niacinamide and hyaluronic acid.
And you leave, feeling slightly inadequate and definitely overwhelmed, but somewhat hopeful armed with a stash of samples containing that scientific-blah-blah-skin amazaballs-technology that the assistant seemed so convinced would leave you with the skin of Cate Blanchette. (Can I get that promise in writing please?)