I’m back.
The Groupon was $55.00, and offered a skin consultation, a mask, and my choice of microdermabrasion or a glycolic peel. The full value was close to $300.00, and I expected to tip at least $50.00, so total expense was $105.00.
The place was a former superintendent’s apartment in a fancy co-op building on Central Park West. It was furnished as such – very warm and welcoming, with real artwork and comfy chairs. This relieved me, because I anticipated cold sterility in the décor, and that would have applied to the customers as well. Why are some of these places so guy-hostile? We have pores too! Stevie Wonder’s Send One Your Love was on the stereo. Nice!
I settled in to wait, but I was the only one there.
The “doctor” who saw me was not a dermatologist – I’ve never seen a ruffled lab coat, but she had one. She looked like Colbie Callait, who I love, but then I worried a bit that maybe she smoked pot. (I think that if Colbie and Jack Johnson shared a bong, the cloud would be so thick that LA would have a blizzard in July.)
Dr. Colbie’s catlike eyes assessed me as she asked if I smoked, drank, and got enough rest. (No, HELL YEAH, No.) Vell, she said in her Russian accent, there’s a lot we can do to feex you up.
And she did! After a thorough cleansing that made every pore feel like it contained a French Gypsy, she started with the microdermabrasion. She decided this for me, because the fact of the matter was she thought I needed both. The only thing with the microdermabrasion was that some of the stuff got on my teeth and it sure is gritty. Otherwise it was just like having a vacuum suck out your pores. Then she put on a glycolic solution, followed by a glycolic moisturizer. Eet vill steeng, Dr. Colbie told me. This was held in place by some gauzy pads. She left and shut out the lights. I wanted to fake-yell Get it off! Get it off it burns like FIYAAAA! but it seemed like Dr. Colbie didn’t really have a sense of humor.
Alone in the dark with my face a-blazin’, I wondered if I’d look like Samantha from that episode of SATC when she got a peel and her face looked like strawberry jam. The music switched from Stevie Wonder to what Mike calls Black Sex Music: R. Kelly’s When A Woooooman Loves segued into a Rick James and a sista moaning Fire and Desire, which had me weeping tears of hilarious irony. After an eon, Dr. Colbie returned.
You steenging? she wanted to know.
Not too bad. I thought I could sense her disappointment through the bandage. She removed them, got me cleaned up, and showed me a mirror.
Pink. I was pinker than icing on Julia Allison’s cupcake. But it was a very clean pink. There was a residual tingle. When she left the room, I replaced the mirror on the shelf next to books, and being a nosy parker, I had a peek at the titles. What Spas Do Wrong, Upselling!, Marketing Spa Products.
She obviously had memorized every one, because she gave me the hard sell on a glycolic night cream. I paid $40.00, and later found out that it retails for $28.50! But it did get very, very good reviews online. Whatevs. She told me how to use it, so I guess that’s worth something.
I would go back, but I would NOT pay $300.00 + tip even though I know that’s going rate. My skin feels smooth, and looks (pinkly) terrific. Random note – on the way back, THREE random strangers either said hello or chat me up in the subway and the elevator.
So! Those of you with ladyflowers – your real problem is makeup, if you wear it, and your skin is thinner than mine. Pick one or the other, but don’t go for the double whammy.
Gentlemen – your problem is that you don’t exfoliate at all, ever, and those of you who do don’t do it often enough. Your mug is probably home to a few blackheads and dry patches. Get rid of them. When you go a-male bonding, tell the guys at The Swarthy Salty Sea Succubus that it’s so you don’t cut yourself when shaving your manly man beard.