A few nights ago, while having drinks with friends at our rural Iowa bar, I suddenly smelled hot lavender wax. It took me a moment to realize that it was a synesthetic reaction to hearing the opening groove of Smokey Robinson’s “Cruisin’.” In the summer of 2003, that song played every hour in the soundtrack loop of the spa where I worked in New York City. Whenever Smokey came on, I would begin my cleaning circuit, throwing away cotton swabs and wiping up puddles that had dripped off of fashion models and daytime television stars.
When I crossed paths with a client (robed, naked, anxious), I would bite my lip, slowly smile, and then whisper, “Hey, do you want a glass of wine?” as if it had just occurred to me that something in my power could give her pleasure.
“You read my mind,” she’d say. I’d wink and reappear moments later, a silent cupbearer. Play me off, Smokey.
The managers were annoyed that clients seemed to like me so much. All the other counter girls were thin, beautiful, and 19. I was a fat 23-year-old Midwesterner who didn’t even wear makeup. When I showed up for the first day of work, they tutted at my hips and exchanged concerns that no uniform would fit me. Their deepest anxiety was about my chest, which very much existed and might be seen by clients. They suggested special reducing undergarments. I offered them the option of buying me new underwear or refraining from staring at my body. We agreed that the latter was a sensible choice for everyone.
Our clientele belonged to two distinct groups, we were told at one of our strategy meetings, and it was important to sort them at first contact so that we could know how best to meet their needs. The middle-class ladies (eye-rolling all around) had gift certificates and came to be pampered. They come once a year and never buy products. They are unashamed of washing their faces with soap, and they take forever in the locker room. Management told us that these were not our target population, and that we should be polite, but not generous. Smile, but don’t beam. Ask them pointedly when they pay if they would first like to see the products recommended by their aesthetician. “No? OK, if you’re sure.” The spa is aspirational for them; they want to be reminded that we’re out of their league.
Truly elite clients were to be the objects of far subtler cruelty. We were taught to wince at their answer to any question about skin care. However often they were scheduling treatments, it was never enough. Rich people, they said, do not come to the spa to relax. They come because they are convinced something is terribly wrong with them, and it’s our job to give them a focus for their anxiety. We give them a diagnosis, and then we offer a regimen of on-site and at-home treatments. These clients come week after week and spend hundreds on waxing, peels, scrubs, and creams because they’re caught in a cycle of self-loathing and short-term redemption.
No one who works in a spa is rich, of course. One of the nail techs—a true artist, recently moved from Missouri—told me she wasn’t sure whether she really knew how to read. Most of the aestheticians were immigrants who legally depended on husbands or relatives who terrified them with threats. Even the pretty young counter girls turned out to be working class teens from New Jersey or Staten Island, trying to figure out what to do when college isn’t an option and boyfriends aren’t proposing.
I asked my coworkers if they resented that their job was to make women feel bad about their bodies. The pedicurist would sigh earnestly, grab my shoulders firmly, and say, “A lady gets a pedicure, Carrie.” The masseur raised an eyebrow and offered to show me what I was missing. A fellow counter girl was disgusted: “What are we, gorillas? Humans are meant to be waxed.”
It didn’t seem to me that being rich enough to buy beauty treatments at an expensive spa made any of our clients less fearful. They insulted themselves mercilessly (my cellulite, my broken capillaries, my disgusting dried-up old face). Famous actresses begged me to do their makeup for them, insisting that they had no sense of style. Supermodels cried while demanding that I tell them how to be beautiful. “Am I invisible?” I demanded to know. “Can you see me? I look like this, and you’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen in real life.”
“You’re too kind to me,” one six-foot German goddess replied, grabbing my hand in both of hers. “But I know I look like hell. Tell me what to do.”
I pulled her head down to my eye level and peered into her extraordinary face, one that was even more beautiful in person than in magazines. I turned her chin softly from left to right, and she started to cry. “I don’t see anything that couldn’t be fixed with better hydration.” Her eyes widened with frustration. “And a capillary treatment around your nostrils,” I conceded. She clapped and hugged me. I booked her for the week after I planned to quit.
So great!
That frustration of feeling like a societally-mandated gargoyle in the face of socially-mandated beauties who just WON’T SHUT UP about their “flaws”?
NAILED IT.
Thank you for reflecting on this; it was very well written and allowed a meditative moment of reflection of my own on beauty culture and my own capillaries. Our created world is very odd, sometimes, and powerful.
I thought this was lovely and important. I used to walk around amazed at how adorable everyone was, I should get back to that. Also, as an alum, I’m very glad to hear you are working at Grinnell. They are lucky to have you!
Ah, greetings from Iowa, Grinnellian!
Echoing the Grinnell alum love!
Me too! Grinnell love!
This is so well-written. Thanks for sharing!
So so great and beautifully written! I had my body issues scared right out of me while working briefly with models (I was a booker and a wrangler – so also invisible) and they were the most beautiful creatures I’ve seen up close, and they HATED how they looked. They could always be thinner, their skin creamier, their necks longer and more sinuous. If they are The Attainable, and THEY hate everything about them, then I might as well just love my tummy and my shortness and my bad skin, you know?
Me too! Since then, I don’t think I’ve ever really aspired to be better looking than I am, because those people can be really tortured. (Of course, academics are this way about our brains, athletes about their muscles, etc.)
Absolutely! There’s always someone who will be “better” in some way. Viewing looks, brains, etc. as a spectrum rather than a hierarchy is what can keep the whole thing close to sane.
Thank you again for this great piece!
This is so wonderfully written!
I’m a beautician and I have a client who says that she doesn’t have flaws, only particularities. Obviously, she is a paragon of awesomeness and I have been trying to teach everyone this attitude, with moderate success. As part of the same campaign, I always ask what the perceived problem is instead of diagnosing it myself (don’t want to accidentally give them something else to obsess about) and always say that it’s not a big deal, but we can fix it if it makes them feel better. Salon/spa visits are supposed to be fun and I refuse to make anyone feel bad about anything, damn it.
As someone who is now sometimes a spa client, I thank you! When others start with the guilt routine, I feel like saying, “I have been to that marketing meeting too; can we just do the thing?”
😀 Yes, I know. And I also feel sorry for the ones who have to do it, even if they don’t want to. I’m lucky that I have a choice, management doesn’t care what I do as long as I pay my share of the rent and expenses.
Once I had a groupon for some kind of microdermabrasion – if I liked it I would have paid more to go again.
But the lady was so aggressive with how deficient my skin care was and how disgusting my skin was I was like “nope! Not for all the tea in China! Byeeee!”
My gods. Yes, never ever ever ever go there again. Ever. If you can’t find a beautician you like, skip the microdermabrasion/facials and get yourself a mild exfoliant and a moisturizer and you’ll eventually see the same results.
This reminds me of an intense experience I had at a Lush. It was near Christmas, I just wanted to pick up some facial scrub for my mom, but I couldn’t go two steps without a different employee asking me if I’d like to discuss my skin issues. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so obstructive and annoying–I actually had very nice skin at the time, but I also had a pretty bad case of dermatitis in my twenties, so I know about skin issues, children! I almost left without the scrub. I felt a little bad knowing they were merely footsoldiers in this campaign, but not really. I’ve never stepped foot in a Lush since.
Ugh, Lush. I know they have some kind of enforced mega-friendliness/engagement code drilled into them, but I just can’t deal with it. Once a year or so, I think “It would be nice to go smell some pretty things and maybe buy myself a treat”, and I walk in, and I am assaulted every 10 seconds by every single employee asking me how they can help me/what am I looking for/would I like them to talk at me for 20 minutes about the thing I just glanced at/&c. Gah. And I can’t ever think of a polite way to say “Please do not talk to me, I am not interested in engaging with any humans right now, if I need help I will ask you”. So I always end up leaving as quickly as possible after less than 5 minutes, and then I am grumpy about it for the rest of the day. (I’m just a little bundle of sunshine, obviously.)
I appreciate your neutrality/positivity with regard to (perceived) lady flaws (ahem, particularities).
I once had a completely unsolicited skincare consultation on a train of all places, where a salon rep very politely told me that she knows exactly what to do to clear up the nickel-sized blemish on my face, and handed me her business card before getting off. She was pleasant enough, but I did not seek out this reassurance, and the blemish she was referring to was just some slowly-healing bruising because I stupidly picked at a pimple and I am very pale. Nevertheless, I felt so much more upset than I expected. I knew the discoloration would eventually go away on its own, but I was pretty thrown off by her intrusion. If this had been a permanent feature for me, I would have been so, so much more pissed and insecure after the encounter.
I’m so sorry that happened! This is exactly why I never say anything first, I let my clients tell me what they want me to do. Who does that?! Who does that AND THEN, to make the whole thing doubly terrible, only offers her business card instead of actual advice?! Again, so sorry, and rest assured that she didn’t know what to do to clear it up, other than put something anti-inflammatory on it.
thanks. It was years ago, so it’ no big deal. Even at the time I didn’t think she would have been able to do anything, since she was wrong about what it even was in the first place – but if it had been a rash or an acne problem, then I think the responsible thing would be to stay out of it, because it’s a dermatological issue.
I’m not familiar with the kinds of services offered by spas, but I am always amazed at the outlandish claims that beauty creams/toners/serums make. I think some of the people buying them might be better off paying a dermatologist for a realistic assessment of what can or cannot be done (for redness, scarring or acne, for example). I think this probably also applies for some (not all!) of the services that spas offer.
You’re mostly right. It depends on the severity of the problem. I can’t prescribe antibiotics/birth control pills/Accutane for acne, I can only clean your face and give you a salicylic acid exfoliant, but that’s usually good enough for mild cases. And, in fact, you should avoid seeing a dermatologist if your issue is very superficial, like dry skin, because they’ll just sell you a mediocre, overpriced skin care product, and you can get those in a spa, too 🙂 (Disclaimer: I don’t actually know if this happens in every country or just here.) But for anything more serious, yes, go to a doctor.
Yeah when I go to the spa it’s like the wizard of oz thing. Its not because I’m broken, its because I just had a real hard time getting to oz, or I’m going to see the wizard and I want the giant buffing hand to polish me up a bit while I lie still for a while. Everywhere should be like this- “tell me what you want to jazz up on your already fabulous body!”
YES! Everyone SHOULD be exactly like that!
“Yes, I want my eyes to match my gown for this meeting, thank you. Also, if you could put that ridiculously floppy bow in my hair, that’d be super.”
Wow, talk about psy-ops! This was great.
The quote about “humans” being meant to be waxed had my eye twitching. Just say WOMEN you nut, you know good and well men aren’t submitting themselves to that kind of torture on a large scale.
This particular young lady was quite funny in her rants about how men should wax, too. She was on the verge of some kind of feminist breakthrough, but in the direction of gender equality in depilation rituals. They made her a manager.
this is awesome, i <3 this piece and especially this comment
I think there is a phase many young hetero women go through when they are most attracted to men who look the way young women are forever told to look: smooth-skinned, soft-lipped, fine-boned. In my own youth, this manifested in a crush on LOTR-era Orlando Bloom, but it can also create a self-perpetuating cycle of being constantly disappointed that men are not more like women, and then… feminism! Sometimes.
They made her a manager.
Beautiful.
I’m like the Asha Greyjoy of beauty treatments. “WE DO NOT WAX.’
You sound like you would have been a breath of fresh air in a place like that. What a great piece 🙂
I worked as a cosmetics girl in a department store for about eight months before I quit (to work in a stationery store, because STATIONERY!!! Ahem. Anyway…) and honestly, it just about killed me. I couldn’t find it in myself to recommend that people – usually women – should actually spend their money on the products we were selling. A bar of soap cost 25 dollars (and this is about 12 years ago, it’s probably more now). Sure, it was a big bar, but still. And my workmate would do add on sale after add on sale, and I would be thinking, ‘how, in good conscience, are you doing this?’
Amusingly, since I left, I’ve barely worn makeup again.
Are y’all required to wear *lots* of makeup. I expect to see sales people wearing the makeup they are selling, but I am always shocked by the amount. It looks troweled on. I see the like only on very old women who seem nearly blind and cannot be expected to know how they look. Please tell me it’s corporate policy that makes these otherwise lovely people so heavily made up.
Well, it’s both. I am employed at a popular cosmetics chain and there is a base level requirement you HAVE to wear. I favour a lighter look, and am not in a direct sales position so I get away with it, keeping in mind I have more than required on anyway. On the other hand, some of those woman are trained makeup artists and love a heavy look. They wear it on their own time too. Others are not as trained and, still, put a lot on.
But absolutely, the bosses/head office always, always want you to wear more and do more steps. I hate selling.
Yeah, even though I was working for a company which prided itself on a more ‘natural’ look, we still had to wear full makeup – foundation, powder, blush, eyeshadow, mascara, lipstick and gloss. It made me acutely uncomfortable. I can’t really understand why I stuck with it for so long, tbh.
And the way they structure their commission system also turns people into arseholes, too.
It’s kind of (but not really) shocking to hear it stated so plainly that body insecurities are cultivated, fabricated even, in order to sell products. I would have thought they’d give you SOME sort of positive spin, like “we’re helping women be beautiful!” (by making up reasons to take their money) but nope. I guess it falls more under “who cares if your underpaid employees feel *good* about their job.”
If anyone wants to join my gorilla troupe, we’ll be over here, trying out matriarchy for a change.
For this one time, I will honestly say MY BODY IS READY.
Bless, this is amazing
I’m in!
I will join you with my authentic, 1980s-era, never-been-waxed self. And when I was young, I grew a delicious thick pelt of curly hair on my legs, much like that on my head — it was adorable.
Can I join if I occasionally get my eyebrows waxed? It just hurts less than plucking them one at a time, and not controlling my eyebrows isn’t an option because a) it doesn’t fit with my preferred femme-fatale makeup aesthetic and b) if I don’t do something with them I’m afraid they might grow off my face and onto someone else’s.
(I recognize and enjoy the irony of being a red-lipstick-wearing, winged-eyeliner-sporting woman who hasn’t shaved her legs or armpits in well over a year.)
Also, I totally know what you mean with the synesthetic reaction – there are certain songs that got heavy radio play that transport me back to working at Subway, oregano smell and all! 🙂
Unfortunately mine is “Funkytown,” and it transports me to a slightly grimy Kroger supermarket cash register circa 2002.
This was so enjoyable to read and so timely given what (who) the media was slavering over yesterday (I know that’s likely a coincidence but nevertheless). Thank you!
Hm. I went through this phase but then ended up realizing I wanted to date actual women, so I always thought it was just my latent queerness mapping itself onto wistful heteronormativity. Interesting to hear that hetero women experience this too.
(Ok, I dunno what’s going on but this comment is showing up both as a reply to Sara Davis – as intended – and as a stand-alone comment at the bottom of the comment thread? And I can’t seem to edit/fix it.)
I love, love, love this piece, Carrie.
I love this piece and bet you’re fabulous.
You remind me so much of my aesthetician Jane! She finally went out on her own, because that “cruel” spa mentality was too much for her to take. Thank you, thank you. What a wonderful piece!
Re models, initially it seems mad that they’re often so insecure about their looks because you’re like ‘Hey, you are paid money for being so beautiful! How can you be insecure?!’ and then you realise what you just said. ….Oh…right…that would be why.
Yeah, even though I was working for a company which prided itself on a more 'natural' look, we still had to wear full makeup – foundation, powder, blush, eyeshadow, mascara, lipstick and gloss. It made me acutely uncomfortable. I can't really understand why I stuck with it for so long, tbh.
And the way they structure their commission system also turns people into arseholes, too.
I think it’s a control thing. Women are used to being made by society to feel helpless, valuable only for their looks, which they’re told are the one thing they can “fix.” We can’t fix society, we can’t fix workplace harassment, we can’t fix having our work constantly undervalued by society, but we can fix our looks. We can eat better, hydrate more, use the right skin products, be “healthier” (by which we mean thinner, more youthful, and sexually athletic), find sexier foundation garments, and buy the right makeup. Maybe if we do that, we’ll finally find our power. Maybe if we keep getting chemical peels and seaweed wraps, it’ll all start to make sense, and we’ll be able to believe in ourselves, and other people will respect us as the radiant, perfect creatures we want them to think that we are.
Being glamorous and beautiful must be exhausting.
just keep shoving that straw into my chest ladies!
I feel like that big wheel-thing would be really good for massages.
In fairness to her, I’ve been at water parks, and…some guys really *should* wax. A lot. Yeeow.
thanks. It was years ago, so it' no big deal. Even at the time I didn't think she would have been able to do anything, since she was wrong about what it even was in the first place – but if it had been a rash or an acne problem, then I think the responsible thing would be to stay out of it, because it's a dermatological issue.
I'm not familiar with the kinds of services offered by spas, but I am always amazed at the outlandish claims that beauty creams/toners/serums make. I think some of the people buying them might be better off paying a dermatologist for a realistic assessment of what can or cannot be done (for redness, scarring or acne, for example). I think this probably also applies for some (not all!) of the services that spas offer.