With the rise of ‘skinfluencers’ and our love of high-end, performance-led skincare, it’s easy to see how spending a great deal of money on products has become the norm. Many of us may not even bat an eyelid now when someone mentions spending £50+ on a serum, moisturiser, or mask, and shopping from expensive brands has almost become a badge of honour.
Continue reading
Get unlimited digital access, first month free
Try for free
Already a subscriber?
Sign in
It was the final straw, the pointless argument that was the nail in the coffin of my disastrous on/off, mostly pen-pal friendship with David 1.0. You simply cannot call what we have been resuscitating every now and then a ‘relationship’, given we’ve not had sex since October, and then it was disappointing. The vintage physical contact took place in my lovely room at the Rosewood hotel in London, where I was staying for work. He had brought sex toys and a blindfold, so there was no skin on skin, no actual kissing, merely him rummaging, as though wanting to find Marmite in the back of a cupboard. I was not aroused. Instead I felt annoyed at the blindfold, given I could no longer admire the twinkling erotic edifice that is the London Shard.