Looking for an expensive custom spray tan disaster? Congratulations -- you've found your place.
For just $65, you too can enjoy:
- orange splotches,
- random untanned body patches,
- and a full hour of waiting in a robe while emotionally unraveling before a major event.
My 4:00 appointment became a 4:40 appointment because it's prom season, which apparently means middle-aged women in robes become decorative furniture.
The experience began with:
"Would you like a white robe or a black robe?"
Naturally, I assumed this meant something important. Like:
- white robe = no staining
- black robe = you're about to look like a Cheeto
Nope. Apparently it was just... a vibe choice.
I chose black because everyone looks better in black while spiraling.
Then came the consultation, which felt like being dropped into an advanced astrophysics seminar halfway through the semester.
"Do you pull red?"
"Maybe she pulls orange."
"Give her Hawaii at 20% with sable undertones."
"Do you want to develop overnight or in a few hours?"
"Two-hour rinse but one-hour hand rinse."
Ma'am, I used to sequence DNA for a living and this still made absolutely no sense.
Then they showed me a 2-inch-by-2-inch photo of a bride and asked:
"Do you want this look?" I needed a magnifying glass to see her face.
I genuinely could not tell if the bride had a tan or had simply stood near sunlight, one in her lifetime.
Then they explained:
"Brides don't really want to look tan."
...then why are brides getting spray tans And why would I want to pay for that?
At this point I'm sweating in my robe trying to explain:
"Listen. It's Thursday. My nephew's wedding is Sunday. I'm wearing a yellow silk dress. I just don't want to glow in family photos."
Apparently this required another emergency staff summit conducted entirely by people walking by me in what I can only describe as fluent Vulcan.
Eventually a very sweet teenager sprayed me. She was kind and respectful, but I could literally feel spray hitting some body parts while other areas received nothing but hopes and prayers.
When I left:
- my face looked like I'd survived six months in the Amazon rainforest,
- my chest was reddish,
- and my legs remained spiritually untanned.
I was emotionally flooded, overwhelmed, embarrassed from being almost naked in front of a very sweet teenager, but I decided to trust the process.
Mistake.
The next morning in natural light:
- my arms had visible spray lines,
- my hands were orange and blotchy,
- the backs of my legs were completely white,
- my knees looked untouched and white
- and my shins appeared to have opted out entirely.
So now, instead of calmly preparing for a destination wedding weekend, I'm standing outside at 6 AM inspecting myself like a damaged rotisserie chicken.
Meanwhile:
- we had golfing plans (what's going to happen to my cute white golf costume?)
- dinner plans,
- my son flying in,
- travel to Northern New Hampshire the next day,
- and now I'm expected to decode another rinse chart apparently designed by NASA.
Thankfully my husband talked me off the ledge and we went to Walgreens where I bought Bondi Sands -- the product I should've used in the first place.
So in the end:
$65 for the airbrush spray tan
PLUS
$21 for Bondi Sands
= $86 to look confusingly orange.
Also... this business somehow has 30 perfect five-star reviews and not a single lower rating.
Not one.
That's not suspicious at all. read more
