By BR Kellie
The last time a stranger saw me naked was when I gave birth. The time before that? Probably when my mother gave birth. It’s fair to say I’m not huge on people I don’t know seeing me in the nick. Yet with a tropical holiday in the offing, a distrust in The Husband being able to help me self tan the places I couldn’t reach without me looking like a streaky hot mess, and a raging cold that left me unwilling to move more than necessary I booked a company I saw pop up on Facebook to come to my house and turn my white fat brown.
Kellie Confession: I love being brown. Up until a decade ago it’s fair to say I was a dirty rotten sunbather. Who rarely used sunscreen. The moment the sun peaked its head through the spring clouds I would be out there, limbs bared, praying to Ra. Then I wised up to the harmful effects of the sun’s ray and stopped sunbathing, but began to use those lovely moisturisers infused with tanning products in order to get my glow on. But in all my years I’d never had a spray tan. To be honest, I was a little afraid.
Spray tans seemed to be rife with potential pitfalls. Streaks. Oompa Loompaness. Patchiness. Of course there was the chance you’d end up looking like you were about to hit the stage of a body building competition, which is great if you are about to strike a pose in front of admiring eyes, but a) I have no muscles and b) as much as I love being brown, being that brown would look ridiculous on this Celtic skin. Then of course, there was that getting nudey in front of a stranger thing…
So there I stood, greeting a lovely woman at my door, preparing to show her my buttocks and boobies. I admitted having never done it before and bless her, she didn’t blink and eye, in fact, she told me that once I’d had it done I’d want to do it again. What? Naked in front of a stranger? Again? We’ll see.
First of all she had me fill out a form to ensure I was healthy and good and no considerations needed to be made, then she questioned my ability to go brown in the sun, just how brown I would go and with that in mind we began.
She passed me a disposable g-string to wear. Yay for not being super nudey! Instead I was only mostly-nudey. The g did not cover a lot! With arms crossed I shuffled into the bathroom, all pink-cheeked with embarrassment, and stepped into the tent-like structure she’d set up in my bathroom.
What followed was what felt a little like doing the robot. Turn round. Bend forward a bit. Arm up. Arm down. Arm up. Arm down. Twist leg. And again. Initially I giggled like a loon – nerves do that to me. But the therapist was so friendly and professional that after a while I just did as I was told and forgot she was seeing what 99.99999% of the world had not. Also, when you feel that cold blast (and she did warn me it would be cold) of air combined with tanning solution you soon stop snickering. While not painful, it’s bracing, although it would be a lovely thing to experience on a sticky hot summer’s day. Once I’d roboted my way through her instructions she buffed my inner elbows and under arms with a fluffy brush and then hit me with some wonderfully pleasant warm air as she dried me off. I need a slave to do this for me during winter. It was delicious.
The therapist used Black Magic Argan Tan, a quick-dry formula that meant you could wash off and go about your business within one to three hours of the spray tan. I was expecting a bit of a stink, but there was none, in fact it was rather sweet and quite pleasant – a nice change from some of the stinkier formulas I’ve applied in the past.
Post spray I had to wait a couple of hours before washing the tan off. This was an interesting time as I had to wear loose clothing (or in my case a skanky old flannelette bathrobe) and not leave the house. Well, I suppose I could’ve left the house, but considering my state of dress, I thought it was best to confine myself to the safety of the lounge. There was some panic when I saw the colour settling into my pores. Was I going to look all brown speckled? The temptation to jump in the shower and wash it off was real, but I persisted. An island awaited as did a bikini and there was no way I was blinding fellow holidaymakers if I didn’t have to.
The time ticked passed in a whirl of forum checking and article writing and I was finally able to hop into the shower and wash off the bronzer, leaving the colour to develop in roughly 12 hours. I woke up looking like a supermodel! A short, wrinkled, curvy one. Boy did it look good – and when I slipped into my holiday dress, followed by a bikini, I felt a million dollars.
As for post-spray care? I was advised to moisturise twice a day to ensure its longevity and ability to fade evenly. Easy peasy? Indeed. Nearly a week later the tan has faded, but it’s still not there and it’s streak-free. As for becoming addicted to spray tans? I can see how that could happen. This nudey-prudey would willingly strip off again.
Have you been spray tanned before? How did you find it? Are you keen to give it a go? Chat away…
I just like my pale white self, not out in the sun much anyway.