|
We all do it, and don't dare say you don't! If there's a copy of Hello or Cosmo lying around on a coffee table or in a waiting room, and providing there isn't access to any sports pages then, just like moths drawn to a lamp we'll pick it up and give it a damn good thumbing...
"It's just not fair ... first Rachel from Friends and now Tomb Raider... Ooph! Jeez Madonna really does have man-hands... Ah, Ms Diaz, if only we bumped into each other at the Open Beach one day, we'd have so much in common."
Chick mags are money. Page after page of top-class totty dressed to impress or snapped lounging around in bikinis on Malibu Beach. To be honest, the content's identical, only drop the lipstick round up and replace it with some random story about gangland feuds and that's it. Job done.
So there I am on the sofa, explaining to my housemate Sarah that if only there was some way of genetically modifying Jessica Alba so that she had Penelope Cruz's eyes, Cameron Diaz's neck and shoulders and Maggie Gyllenhaal's dimples then we'd be getting somewhere towards moulding my perfect woman; and that's precisely the reason that stem-cell research should be encouraged by governments rather than 'considered with caution'.
Anyway, she wasn't having any of it and wrestled the mag out of my grip.
"She's been double-dipped," Sarah said, pointing at a photo of Diaz on the red carpet. I spat my tea across the room like an exploding pimple. "Yeah, definitely double-dipped."
What? How? Why? I hadn't heard of a woman being double-dipped since lower sixth and even then it was never anything more than rumour.
"Look you can see here..."
I snatched the mag back. "What? Where am I looking?" I blurted out rabidly
"There on the red carpet."
"Are you sure? I hardly think Cameron's the sort of girl who'd fall into the trap of being double-dipped on the Oscars walkway."
"No, she gets double-dipped in the salon."
"We're thinking about completely different things aren't we? What does your double-dipped mean?"
"Well, it's all to do with the spray tan isn't it? Just like the garden shed... you paint one layer of that stuff on to your shed and, well, I suppose it just looks fairly plain. So you paint a few more layers on to bring out the best in the wood, its subtleties and contours. Same with a spray tan. Look, she's had one spray."
"What, like a base-coat?"
"Yeah and then the tan-artist will go over with a second coat a darker shade and create cleavage if there's not enough naturally. It's called body contouring... anyway, what did you think double-dipping meant?'
"Goodness me, is that the time? I really should be heading off to work."
"But it's Fri..."
Unbelievably, this seemingly insignificant dialogue set me up for a phone call two days later from Ed. "Andy, we need someone to go and get a spray tan and do a before and after piece."
"And what? You want me to recommend someone to do it for you?"
"Yeah, kind of... we'd like you to do it for us."
Then came the sucker-punch. Before I had a chance to respectfully decline the offer by instantly hanging up, she got it out: "It pays", and like Pavlov's dog I wagged my tail and agreed to the job.
Now I don't know how much attention you pay to the weather in Dubai but remove the odd three weeks of inclemency spread over December and January and we have it pretty good here most of the year with regards to access to sunshine.
As such, I had always been bemused by the concept of the city's tanning salons. I could never see why, when you could top up your tan outside by the pool, you would instead pick a salon option.
But then I had a chat with Dr Nasr from the Dubai Dermacare Skin Centre (04-3420088).
To put it simply, exposing the skin to prolonged sunning has the potential to be bad news as globally and locally the rate of skin cancer is on the rise, often resulting from tanning. Suddenly, the concept began to make a little more sense.
Firstly, it was my belief that the spray tan acted like a stain, much like a wood treatment. As it transpires this isn't the case with many of the newer tanning solutions.
Upon contact with the skin, these solutions cause a chemical reaction between the lotion's active ingredient dihydroxyacetone (DHA) and the amino acids within the skin, which leads to the Maillard reaction - this works according to the same principle as the browning of fruit if you leave it out on a counter too long.
The good news is that there's no need to worry unduly about DHA as it has been given a clean bill of health from the Food and Drug Administration, the Canadian Health Ministry and the EU and is considered non-toxic and non-carcinogenic... which, and call me a traditionalist, is something I always look for in skincare products.
However, before you go and get sprayed, always first use a small patch of skin as a test area.
And so it was that I found myself wandering around the maze-like lower level of the Jumeirah Emirates Towers hotel in search of the H2O men's spa and treatment centre.
Upon arrival, I was put instantly at ease by the soothing scent of frankincense carrying on the air.
The process was quite quaint, certainly one that I had never really envisaged myself undergoing.
There was Dennis, my designated spray-tanner, bedecked in his H2O uniform, which half-resembled some sort of workman's overall; he was wearing a little pollution mask, again consistent with an auto spray pit, and held in his mitts an industrial air brush attached to an air pump that growled away menacingly.
Only instead of preparing to touch up the cherry-red finish on a '67 Shelby he was confronted by me: a hairy-backed, pot-bellied lump of man wearing a matching pollution mask and nothing (you've had your breakfast, I hope) but a pair of black paper panties...
I will be honest, apart from focusing on not bursting into tears, I was thinking of two things. Firstly, I imagined the proud heritage of the McNab family name and its links to many a bloody skirmish amongst the lowlands of Scotland and just what my forefathers might have made of the scene unfolding in Therapy Room 1.
Secondly, and just after I'd caught my reflection in the tiles, I was relieved that I'd declined the editor's kind offer to send a photographer to capture the moment.
The spray lasted a sprightly 20 minutes and with my body misted from top to bottom in a double coat of St Tropez it was time for me to do a quick inspection. Very nice, I thought. Initially the tan resembled Ceylon metallic, my favourite shade of BMW body work.
However, on further inspection it seemed too extreme for my naturally fair skin; so a quick shower later and I left the cubicle looking a little more sun-kissed than C3PO.
A couple of days on and the tan looks as good as if I'd spent a weekend on a sun-lounger lubed up in factor 12.
So what of people's reaction to my newly touched up exterior?
Well, it would be fair to say it varied greatly depending on gender. It was, need I say, the fairer sex who picked up on my chameleonic transformation - but not with a "Ooh, you're looking well Andy, you've been working on your tan have you?" kind of way, it was more in a quizzical Dr Bones McCoy raised eyebrow way - you know, the sort you get when you return from a weekend away with the boys and somehow seem to have misplaced one of your eyebrows.
And then the dialogue from girl to girl seemed to be a variation on the question "What have you done?" One or two were keen to inspect the tan and even correctly guessed the brand and solution. "Ooh, St Tropez Stage 3, that's one of my favourites."
The reaction from men was more '.......' They didn't register any difference, much the same as if I was confronted by someone who had slightly darkened, I would assume they'd just spent a bit of time outdoors and would rather eat my own fist than compliment them on looking healthy.
So there endeth our social experimentation. Chicks dig it, but more in an expertly "Ooh, they did a good job on you" way, rather than "Cor, you're definitely coming home with me tonight" way. And as for the lads, I mean would you ever really want to compliment another dude on looking more tanned than usual?
The whole being sprayed part of the deal was a little overwhelming, bordering on uncomfortable. But a couple of days later the memory's beginning to fade and any time I catch my reflection I do look naturally tanned and truth be told, like the look.
I suppose it's been achieved without the all the hard work that goes into sitting on a sun-lounger for hours. Well, I suppose old habits die hard, but you never know... maybe I'll be back in front of the air brush again some day soon.
|
