It’s a well known fact that the female is the deadlier of the species, the black widow spider and the female praying mantis (who eats her partner after mating) are poster pin-up examples, as is the femme fatale sporting her weapons of war – her blood red lips, her bullet mascara and of course her killer lashes!
Is anyone else fed up with the patronising language of beauty products?
There’s only one thing worse than reading about how xyz skin potion will tear back the years using the spit of the Inner Mongolian sea lion mixed with the sperm of the monkey that comes but once a year, to make you look twenty again, or how your mascara is your secret weapon. In what war? In the war on our intelligence?
There’s only one thing worse than the advertising and that’s the packaging.
I succumbed to all this bollocks last week and bought another mascara. Yes, I enjoy wearing makeup (even if I don’t enjoy the advertising b.s.) and I am careful about replacing my mascara every couple of months or so after previous severe problems with my eyes! Two corneal erosions (where a layer of my cornea ripped off with the eyelid) a few years ago has made sure of that!
I bought the latest and greatest mascara that promised to grow not thousands but MILLIONS of lashes instantaneously. In fact judging from the photo on the promotional stand the growth would be so extensive that I would soon be sporting two fully grown female tarantulas on each eyelid.
Wicked!
I excitedly hurried home to try out my secret weapon. With it I could prove that I am indeed brains and beauty all tied up in one spectacular – yet freaky-hairy eyelashed – package.
I ripped open the Boots bag and tackled the packaging.
Unsuccessfully.
My first attempt at opening and making safe this explosive little packet failed. The gold shimmery wand weapon was encased in plastic that had been Araldited into position. Damn those counter agents! I reached for my trusty knife from my cook’s knife block and wielded the flashing blade of steel like the professional I am. The plastic casing had no chance.
I was in.
At least, through the first piece of packaging. The mascara was shrink-wrapped (by the world’s smallest shrink wrapper?) twice. I pulled the dotted lines to no avail. I tried to pick open the top with my fingernails but no luck.
Finally, I resorted to my ultimate chopping/tearing/eating device. My teeth.
I ripped it open to reveal…..yet another layer of shrink-wrapped plastic and a security tag.
Now, I might be underestimating the danger held within this package, but really? What is so dangerous about mascara that it requires more protective packaging than the Crown Jewels or that last phial of Anthrax the lab in deepest darkest Nevada is using to create a vaccine?
Or maybe the extreme packing was just to get my blood up. Certainly, once I’d finally opened the package I felt dangerous – not quite a killer- but certainly a professional.
Professionally pissed off.
Why do the beauty manufacturers do it?
Why do they promote their products with a heavy dollop of pseudo scientific or extremist advertising? Do we need to believe that we’re sporting ‘Killer Curves’ (Australis Killer Curves Mascara), that we are Professional (Covergirl Professional mascara), that we can hypnotise (Lancome Hynose Star Mascara), or that we have a secret weapon (Mirenesse Sexy Secret Weapon mascara)?
Do we need to be DARK AND SMOULDERING?
What are we? A fire?
Do we need all of this deception, especially when the majority of mascara ads have disclaimers that state that false eyelashes were used in the photo shoot and they didn’t get the uber tarantula eyelashes look through the application of that secret weapon. They used the old fashioned secret weapon – falsies + Photoshop.
And now that my blood pressure has returned to normal, I must ask: Do we really need mascara (or any other beauty product) encased in extreme packaging?
It’s not as if we’re going to shake our pretty little heads and kill someone with it, are we?
