Do This At Home? bliss fabulous skin-reviving rubberizing mask

You know those really excellent masks you get sometimes, when you’re getting a professional facial? The ones that are actually exactly like masks, that peel off in one go, and feel like they are taking every impurity with them? Our pals at bliss have come up with an at-home version of this via their fabulous skin-reviving rubberizing mask.
01 THE BEGINNING
You get six mixes in the box, which includes one measuring cup to fill with the amount of water necessary to create each mask, and six spatulas to use in the mixing and application of it. I cleared the decks in the bath and after cleansing my face, I got to it.

02 JUST ADD WATER
I was surprised at the purple hue, which I would not have been had I been paying attention to the ingredients. Bilberry figures largely, as does seaweed and vitamin C. I was already feeling under pressure, even as I mixed, because the packet cautioned me to apply the mask as quickly as possible.

03 MIXED UP!
Yeee, there it is, ready to go — get to work!

The impossibility of two things became apparent fairly sharpish:
1} I couldn’t take photos of the application and apply, simultaneously.
2} The spatula was not nearly as speedy and effective as the need for haste implied.

So, I took matters — ha, ha — into my own hands.
04 ABANDONED THE STICK

When you are lying flat on your back with your eyes closed, certain things may pass you by, like, the texture and appearance of the mask itself. Unless all rubbery facial masks are not like this? It may merely be the result of non-profesh application + gravity. Drippy!
06 DRIPPY!
I tidied that up as much as I could, and went into the sitting room to recline.

The sensation of the mask on the face was cool and invigorating> a word I use when product is tingly, but not in an irritating sense. Although I don’t mind an irritating tingle every now and again.

It did eventually dry, without drying out.
07 DRIED UP

TIME TO PEEL.

I have always wanted to ask to see the mask that the aesthetician peeled off, sure I was going to see every single thing that had had the potential to criminally block my pores, but I’d be so zoned out at that stage, I’d always forget to ask. I was eager to see what my DIY efforts would yield!

Hmmm.
08 ALMOST GONE
Those lumps are not oogy bits of sebum*, they are proof of my inability to mix anything well by hand, and why I don’t bake. Needless to say, this didn’t come off all in one go. I left the flakes of mask to collect in the sink…
09 THE AFTERMATH
… and hopped in the shower to wash off the rest.

Which I possibly should not have done, as there are two warnings regarding the disposal of the mask, right there on the packet, which say not to send it down the drain. This stuff is not the most dissoluble in water: I got some of it on the fleece I was wearing during the treatment, and the bilberry mix didn’t come off in the wash.

Luckily, I had wiped up the main bits of it, post-treatment, with some kitchen roll, and put it in the trash.

So, was the mess worth it?
10 POST BLISS I gotta say yes. Under the circs, as ever with an iPhone in the bathroom, the image is not A1, but oh! my skin felt so soft, and clean, and my pores felt tight, but not too tight, and I just felt all glowy and fresh.

I didn’t really mind making a mess, and reckon I’ll get better at this with practice. At €49 for six masks, that’s about €9.80/mask — that’s good value for the very spa-like result.

As ever, when you use a high quality product, the aftereffects last that much longer. I didn’t put on makeup for days afterwards, and when I did, it went on like dream — meaning: it didn’t feel like my foundation looked like a mask.

So: do it at home? DO ITTTT.

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See blissworld.co.uk for more information.

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* I wish they were oogy bits of sebum.

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Sweet Sixteen Minus Six: Voya Lazy Days

Wish I had one of these on me right now. Still the best, most relaxing bath I have ever enjoyed. This is Sweet Sixteen Minus Six, number 6.

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I have always loved seaweed products. I used a powdered version for the bath {Seavite? I think so} that really required a strong drive to use, as it made a complete and utter mess of the bath after it was done. I mean, like, total ring-around-the-tub mess, and talk about a buzzkill, having to clean it up almost immediately after having sent all your tension down the drain. [Or else you have an argument with your live-in-fella-at-the-time because you let the mess go for a day or two, also a buzzkill.]

VOYA Lazy Days Seaweed BathI wasn’t sure about this when I got the box. I mean, it’s a box. How’s seaweed supposed to fit in a box? I knew the Voya line very well, and have even had their seaweed baths, based in Strandhill, Co Sligo, on my to-do list almost since I moved to Ireland. I knew that the entire product line was organic, and that the seaweed itself is harvested by hand. I didn’t know that you could get it freeze-dried into a roughly rectangular bundle.

Well, it is possible. The hunk of seaweed has been helpfully inserted into a mesh bag; there is, in addition, a wee bag of dead sea salt. <I wasn’t sure whether to captilise that or not, but Voya haven’t. Is ‘dead sea salt’ a thing that is separate now from the Dead Sea? Anyway: as instructed, I ran the bath full of hot, hot water and dropped the brick of weed in. I left the room to let it sit — I had to, because almost immediately the pure, salty scent of the seaweed began to waft around the bath. As I didn’t want to lose a layer or two of skin, which I would have done had I immersed myself, I went and did some email.

When I could bear it no longer, I went back and ran the water cold, sprinkled in some salt, and got in. Now, I love a good bath, and I go the full whack, with candles and a glass of wine, or when the circumstances demand, a short glass of Laphroaig, and appropriate musical accompaniment. Even then, I tend to get bored long before the water begins to cool. Not this time: I kept topping up the bath with as much hot water as it could handle without overflowing. I squeezed the now-football shaped net of weed to release even more of the gel that had infused the water. I was in there for almost 45 minutes.

If you take good care of it — I put mine in a large mixing bowl and covered the top with cling film — you can get another bath out of the ball. It’s not as transcendent as the first, but it is still pretty boss.

The re-hydrated bag of seaweed was pretty impressive, and also pretty: it bore no resemblance to the stuff that washes up on a beachy strand, and looked as if each… frond?… had been groomed to reveal its jagged beauty. I felt as relaxed as if I had visited the Strandhill baths themselves. This is a sublime treat for body and mind. Bonus: a cursory swipe of the bath the next morning was as hard as I had to work to clean up. In my book, there is no higher praise.

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Voya Lazy Days €16/£15.50/$32

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Sweet Sixteen: Voya Lazy Days

I have always loved seaweed products. I used a powdered version for the bath {Seavite? I think so} that really required a strong drive to use, as it made a complete and utter mess of the bath after it was done. I mean, like, total ring-around-the-tub mess, and talk about a buzzkill, having to clean it up almost immediately after having sent all your tension down the drain.[Or else you have an argument with your live-in-fella-at-the-time because you let the mess go for a day or two, also a buzzkill.]

I wasn’t sure about this when I got the box. I mean, it’s a box. How’s seaweed supposed to fit in a box? I knew the Voya line very well, and have even had their seaweed baths, based in Strandhill, Co Sligo, on my to-do list almost since I moved to Ireland. I knew that the entire product line was organic, and that the seaweed itself is harvested by hand. I didn’t know that you could get it, freeze-dried into a roughly rectangular bundle.

Well, it is possible. The hunk of seaweed has been helpfully inserted into a mesh bag; there is, in addition, a wee bag of dead sea salt. <I wasn’t sure whether to captilise that or not, but Voya haven’t. Is ‘dead sea salt’ a thing that is separate now from the Dead Sea? Anyway: as instructed, I ran the bath full of hot, hot water and dropped the brick of weed in. I left the room to let it sit — I had to, because almost immediately the pure, salty scent of the seaweed began to waft around the bath. As I didn’t want to lose a layer or two of skin, which I would have done had I immersed myself, I went and did some email.

When I could bear it no longer, I went back and ran the water cold, sprinkled in some salt, and got in. Now, I love a good bath, and I go the full whack, with candles and a glass of wine, or when the circumstances demand, a short glass of Laphroaig, and appropriate musical accompaniment. Even then, I tend to get bored long before the water begins to cool. Not this time: I kept topping up the bath with as much hot water as it could handle without overflowing. I squeezed the now-football shaped net of weed to release even more of the gel that had infused the water. I was in there for almost 45 minutes.

If you take good care of it — I put mine in a large mixing bowl and covered the top with cling film — you can get another bath out of the ball. It’s not as transcendent as the first, but it is still pretty boss.

The re-hydrated bag of seaweed was pretty impressive, and also pretty: it bore no resemblance to the stuff that washes up on a beachy strand, and looked as if each… frond?… had been groomed to reveal its jagged beauty. I felt as relaxed as if I had visited the Strandhill baths themselves. This is a sublime treat for body and mind. Bonus: a cursory swipe of the bath the next morning was as hard as I had to work to clean up. In my book, there is no higher praise.

Voya Lazy Days €16/£15.50