” width=”400″ height=”267″ align=”right” style=”padding-left: 10px; padding-bottom: 5px” />It wasn’t a good night’s sleep, though. The mask dripped into my eyes and mouth and gave me nightmares — I dreamt I turned up at the office with my face covered in goo.
When I woke up in the morning, my hair was a greasy mess and littered with lumps of apricot. All that remained on my face was a brown slime, which I literally had to scrub off.
Everything else was all over my bed. I can’t even begin to describe the state of the sheets and pillow cases. Queasily, I bundled them up and put them in the washing machine on a hot wash — but the stains would not budge.
After a much-welcome shower, however, I noticed that my skin definitely felt softer and smoother.
The next night, I lined my pillow and sheets with dark towels to minimise the damage. Even so, they still had to be washed every morning, along with my hair.
They were the worst five nights I’ve spent, but I could see my skin getting softer and brighter — something, I’m disappointed to say, no one else noticed.
I headed back to Nick Miedzianowski-Sinclair for his professional verdict. He repeated the imaging process and told me that there was, as they say, good news and bad. I took the good first.
‘You definitely have clearer-looking skin,’ Nick said. ‘The skin tone has improved and it is smoother. The fruit acid in the apricots seems to have worked like a light peel that has exfoliated the surface and evened it out, removing dry bits of skin.’
And the bad news? ‘You’ve got more wrinkles.’
Horrified, I wondered if I could sue Posh, but Nick reassured me there was no way of telling whether these tiny, fine lines, which could only be picked up on the magnified camera, were due to the face mask or just a particularly sunny weekend spent in the garden where I’d been a bit slapdash with the sunscreen.
Whatever its benefits, the face mask is no substitute for lasers, he tells me, which stimulate the dermis and the production of collagen, plumping up the skin from beneath.
In fact, laser treatment is probably the reason why my skin appeared 20 per cent better than the average, because I’ve been having it regularly for a few years (not that I told Nick, of course).
‘The avocado and apricot mask is really just a gimmick,’ he said. ‘Not what I’d call a sophisticated treatment.
‘To be perfectly honest, you would have got the same effect using cream for piles (an old Eighties trick in which blemishes and puffiness are temporarily shrunk using haemorrhoid ointment).
And my verdict on Posh’s ‘miracle’ mask? It’s messy and time-consuming, both to mash up and smear on, and then to wash off in the morning.
It also rules out all night-time contact with the opposite sex. Sure, my skin felt better at the end of it, but Nick’s wrinkle-count would suggest that it might not be good in the long-term.
And what woman in her right mind wants to spend their nights covered in guacamole? Unless, of course, her partner brings a packet of corn chips to bed.
Clearly Posh has an army of servants to change the bed linen every time she wears her homemade mask. Me? I think I’ll stick to a lick of night cream instead.
Written by Amanda Platell, this article originally appeared in the Daily Mail