People are forever assuring me that their skincare creams are light. I am a person with oily skin; I should want light. But light, to me, implies ineffectiveness: thin, watery. “You won't even know it's there!” they insist, and mentally I check said cream right off my list. Other ways of expressing this same, unwelcome-to-me sentiment: featherweight, sinks right in, not at all heavy. A nice thick cream—body or face—feels a million times more luxurious, and a million times more powerful.
The other Americans must feel differently, because a good thick cream is hard to find. This one is just heaven. It's the soothingest, cushiest, fantastically thickest cream I've ever tried, and it's packed with antiaging compounds from a Bulgarian wildflower that's capable of regenerating itself from a dried husk. And it's not a trillion dollars an ounce, so you can really use the stuff and slather it all over. Strangest of all, it—well—it sinks right in. So I, parched, dulled and husk-like from the gnarly office air, can regenerate myself at my desk—I pat it on, not the T-zone, mind you—without even disturbing my makeup.
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