By Sali Hughes
The age of limp pampering is on the wane. Thank goodness the beauty gloves are coming off
• Read more from the spring/summer 2020 edition of The Fashion, our biannual style supplement
I had saved for weeks for my first facial. In 1989, £11 was a considerable sum, and all that stood between me and perfectly clear, glowing skin. With the lights lowered, ambient whale song playing softly and a warm blanket placed over my body, the therapist prepped my face with a cleansing milk, a sweep of floral tonic, peel-off mask and facial oil, before… oh, time’s up. That was it. Every penny I had, squandered on what was effectively the nightly routine I’d been diligently performing at home. It was hardly worth unhooking my bra.
Since then, I’ve never been able to tolerate beauty treatments that many may class as “pampering”. The word itself – meaningless, infantile, a bit 80s and decidedly naff – is emetic enough without the inefficiency, the pointlessness, the utterly wasted time and opportunity of a procedure that fixes precisely nothing.