If you're anything like me, although you know Instagram marketing is a filter-filled donut of falsehood and the influencer who's in histrionics "absolutely LOVING!" a product is lying through her teeth for the Moneys, sometimes you can't help but fall prey to a pretty picture; and the enormous and thriving industrial complex of marketing mechanics behind it. They used sunlight, you guys. And BOUGAINVILLEAS. And people with wonderful bone structure. I'm only human after all.
It was about two months ago when I caved, and ordered two of Blur India's liquid lipsticks in the unimaginatively and forgettably named shades under the category that I like to call 'This Company Likes Having Sex'- they might've been called nudes, or dudes, or dudes with nudes. I forget, and I digress.
I received my package in the mail a few days later; taking it to my room brimming with excitement. And this, reader, is where things go horribly wrong with this story. I opened the box up, took out a lipstick, and realised in the span of thirty seconds and one application on my lips that
there was about a picogram of product in the whole bottle (factory mishap? or more sinister, built this way?)
everyone on Instagram was lying to me, without exception, and
my lips were on FIRE
Not literally, but trying to put some of that lipstick on my lips had meant I had scraped off half of the skin on them in the process. It JUST. WOULDN'T. SPREAD. My little sister had play makeup growing up that was easier to apply. I had given myself 'lipstick' with a permanent marker in sixth grade that was easier to apply. If you're Hercules, I would recommend this product. If you aren't, RIP your mouth.
Next; the patchiness. OH lord, the patchiness. Quilts in old fashioned TV shows would be put to shame by the way this lipstick spread itself out. Jesters could've worn my lower lip to court in medieval times. I had squares of globs of pigment, followed by swathes of skin as naked as the day I was born. I was shocked, but then distracted by the dryness. Bear in mind, I have a LOT of liquid lipstick. Name the brand, name the shade. None of them had done such a fantastic job of drying me out like this product did. My lips were parched. They were arid. You could've used them as the before in a vaseline ad for lotion.
The shade also looked nothing like it looked online, but that I could excuse. You know, given my mouth was figuratively in a drought.
But how could they have marketed themselves so effectively? I wondered. How could not a single post in their 600-ish posts have revealed the true nature of this malevolent batch of lipsticks?
In a sudden gust of realisation, it hit me why they called themselves Blur India. Every single post, every try-on video, every piece of promotional material, comes filtered to the nines. Pores? Invisible. Texture? Invisible. Horribly cracked mess of product? I N V I S I B L E
I end this post with a PSA. Don't trust influencers. Don't buy Insta makeup. Don't blow this up so I don't get hit with a lawsuit.
