I’m baaaack. Beauty Blast #8 is here. Everything I’ve included below is actually worth your hard-earned money. I vouch for everything below. You can hold me accountable.

As always, let’s blast.

A month or so ago, I fell over one night. Only God knows whether I tripped over my shoelace or my personality. 

I was out one night. Laughing. The next thing I remember, I was in bed eating McDonald's (double cheeseburger combo with a splash of mayo and diet coke - hold the ice) with a sharp pain on my chin. A few moments later, I let out the gayest scream I could muster when I saw my chin all slashed up.

Just look at the mess I created.

There’s something so sensual about a decadent shower ritual. Coming home from the beach, when you’ve basked in the sweltering sun for maybe too long, or when you’ve had a miserable day and everything’s cooked and nothing’s gone right. All you can count on is a five-minute piping hot shower to drown your sorrows and forget about everything for a minute as the water encompasses every inch of you.

If you’re looking for a new sexy product to soothe your pandemic blues, you might just find it here. You have my word; this carefully curated selection of potions, lotions, elixirs, creams, hell, even mouthwash is everything you need and nothing you don’t. Without further adieu, let’s…. fucking….blast.

About 30 or so minutes ago, I abruptly realised I’ve now been locked up for three weeks. I have my own apartment, which is dope but deadly. I’m the perfect toxic mixture of an introvert-extrovert, so I’m constantly battling the lockdown slump (borderline claustrophobia) or weirdly feeling quite cosy.

Right now, all I really have is myself and my beauty products. That’s it. I’m not at the point where I will start colour coordinating them or murmuring to them; that’s likely to come soon. I haven’t written a beauty blast in like five or so months, so this should be beautifully disappointing.

As always, let’s blast.

I want to pull the curtain open on beauty writing briefly.

Beauty journalists don’t just magically have a gazillion products in their vanity. Beauty journalists get paid piss poor, except for a rare few; there is no way we could afford it all without a loyal trust fund or the generosity from brands trying to peddle. Being a beauty writer is really not as glamorous as one would expect – that’s why I never wanted to pursue it as a full-time occupation. I do it because I love it, and I also fancy a shit tonne of free product.

It’s not every day we put out sponsored content. There is nothing more I disdain than publications who plug paid pieces like it’s raining money. Each day it’s a new hook, a new product, a new something which is always nothing. But I get it. People need booze, dosh, money for the slots, some sweets in the pantry. I guess, for me anyway, the area between editorial and advertorial is so ambiguous, it’s grey, translucent like some of your favourite gels, it’s undefined and completely rogue. No matter how much the ASA has tried to slap down their phantom fists.

But on the flip side. Websites aren’t complimentary, my sugar daddy is on hiatus, and someone has got to keep the lights on. So, over the last few months, Sauce has been working on a couple of projects that sing true to us, that feels right, that doesn’t make me want to set my hair on fire.

The Avo Tree came into our lives at the perfect time.

These last few months have been rude. Almost devastating. The great thing about our readers is they (often) kindly extend their attention to our personal Instagrams, so a lot of you will know what happened to my face.

Do you know what I mean?

It’s actually ironic that I am typing this out today, my face looks like a dumpster. My birthday was last week and the booze is still seeping out of my pores six days later. I literally can’t believe this, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror before and I nearly passed out. Kate, my beautiful beauty therapist and I have been separated because of bloody COVID-19. Jacinda clearly doesn’t give a crap about my skin’s essential needs, which is fine but I am breaking out like a teenager pre-Accutane. I guess everyone has a breaking point, and mine is six bottles of cheap bubbles over two days. Whatever, like a phoenix, I will rise from the ashes of my crusty, inflamed, pimply epidermis.

I’m in an extra reasonable mood this week, I just got over the man flu. Big ups to Liam. The response from our Beauty Blast #1 was fantastic, honestly, bless you all. It’s made me, almost, want to do one of these every two weeks, I’ll fail miserably in my pursuit for supreme efficiency. Why? Because I’m lazy, I overpromise and under-deliver, constantly!! But I do it with luminous, glowy skin. So shhhhhh.

I’m a reborn sun baby