Maybe its the fact that I come from the sticks, but I really, truly do not understand the purpose of regular, monthly facials. Does it feel good? Sure. Is it relaxing? Of course. Do you leave the place with a face softer than a koala's bottom? You betcha. But how this experience is supposed to be worth the $85 + tip and whatever you spend on products, I have no idea.
As previously posted, Janie B and I had taken advantage of Spaweek to see what its all about at Astoria's own Anasa Day Spa (http://www.anasadayspa.com/.) The place is located on Newtown Avenue between 31st and 32nd Streets, but be forwarned -- its incredibly difficult to find, as its located on the fourth floor with minimal signage. The interior was spalike enough, you know, pristine tiles and flowers and Enigma thump-gasping around in the background. We were offered a glass of white wine (served in a plastic onesie cup) and told to fill out a three-page form, profiling our habits, medications, stress levels and threshold for pain. By the time I disrobed and slipped into my white terry "spa wrap," I was half prepared to clamber onto some table and saddle up in a pair of stirrups. Luckily there were only sheets.
Its usually at this point where the aestetician does the "skin analysis," i.e. she assaults you with a barrage of insulting descriptors, listing everything and anything that's wrong with your face. You have very oily skin with enlarged pores and five, no six blemishes, and the places that aren't oily are scaly and wrinkled and irreperably sundamaged. And while you're lying there, listening to her compare your face to the cryptkeepers rotting great-grandmother, you're filled with this shame and self loathing, knowing deep in your gut that you'll be dying of skincancer by the time you're 30 unless you do exactly what this woman tells you to. Happily, my facialist was kinder than usual, asking only about my current skin regemin and addressing the concerns I listed in my form. There was very little discussion, no chit-chat, which I prefer. It's not a date. We're not solving world hunger here. Its skin, for godssake. A collection of cells and pores and sebum. Get to the facializing already. The Signature Facial is your general run-of-the-mill procedure. The cleansing. The scrubbing and steaming. The masking. Extractions. Extracting is always my favorite part, mostly because its ridiculously painful. You feel like you're actually accomplishing something here. Pain? Bring it. Suck that shizz right outta my face. Give me something worth that $50 USD.
All in all, we escaped fairly unscathed, with personalized "prescriptions," which were curiously exactly the same...drink lots of water, scrub 2-3 times per week, yadda yadda yadda. I hate to admit it, but I was coerced into buying a tiny dropper bottle of tinted zit cream for $32. Blast. When all was said and done, I would have been better off buying those vintage 70's sunglasses I told myself I couldn't afford. Or that unpaid speeding ticket. Idiot.
