Pampering

In Yves Saint Laurent on Sloane Street last week, in the handbag section, in a state of frenzied longing, I could not quite take my hands off a large semi circular evening bag of emerald green suede frills which initially made you think of roses but at second glance resembled the most elegant pile of floppy cabbages you could possibly imagine. It was a perfectly judged accessory, luxurious, witty and very slightly humble but the suede was of such high pedigree and so buttery to the touch that even the gentle stroking I was subjecting it to seemed ill advised and, frankly, harmful.
How do you look after a bag like that? I asked one of the shop assistants?

Well, he replied thoughtfully. It's a good question. I always advise clients to steam these bags in the evenings, over the kettle, when you get in after a night out and then simply brush it down gently with a suede brush for a minute or two and leave it to dry somewhere away from heat, make sure it's nowhere near bright light or a radiator or anything. Because these bags pick up dirt and grime and odours in the way that skin and hair does, they do need special attention. I tell my clients to think of it as an exfoliation treatment.

Right, I nodded uncertainly. This was truly more aftercare advice than I was given when my daughter was born but it made me think. When our handbags demand their own facials has the whole notion of pampering got completely out of hand?

I feel a bit of a backlash against (human) pampering at the moment. I have friends who feel down on their luck or unhappy in love or stressed or depressed from endless baby-broken nights who are encouraged and even subsidised by their chirpier friends into some kind of beauty salon treat and increasingly it's a disaster. If you are feeling vulnerable it's not the time to put yourself and your body into the hands of a complete stranger who may be brusque or stressed herself or feeling sad or bad or mad or at worst an unhinged sadistic body fascist who's looking for a suitable outlet.

I like talking to beauty therapists but sometimes the parlour chatter I've encountered has made me feel deeply anxious. How can you relax when you have to defend yourself against a therapist who is trying to sell you an army of expensive beauty products you do not want? Much is made of hairdressers and beauticians being the unacknowledged relationships' counsellors of the world but I've always found myself cast in that role during treatments. I'll never forget the Greek hairdresser's description of the the terror he felt when he hid for eight hours in bushes in order to avoid his First Communion and the subsequent beatings he received as a punishment. I've often wondered what happened to the woman at the Clarins counter who told me all about her impending marriage to a man from the Cayman islands who was 15 years her junior and had not been in touch for a few months, but she had spent thousands on the most amazing wedding dress she could find and did I think she should worry?

I always think beauty treats should feel madcap and festive in the way that painting your toe nails in your bedroom whilst listening to records when you're twelve is. But a lot of treatments seem more about curbing then celebrating. They imply there's something unacceptable about you in the first place that needs making good or hiding. Instead of daring and luxury they have more to do with the dreariest kind of discipline and conformity, a ganging up on the problem areas which is all very well, but it shouldn't be confused with a treat. Of course some treatments are down right punitive. The giant cheese slicer implements wielded by American pedicurists, well, you can drop a shoe size after a procedure like that. You see people emerge from beauty salons as though they were mini casualty units: bloody cuticles and bright red faces, singed upper lips. And you can add insults to the injuries. After a pedicure recently my neighbour was told, 'Now you can be a real woman again.'

In the newish american magazine Lucky which styles itself 'the magazine about shopping' a recent advert for a skin care line harnessed this Tough Love approach.

LOVE THE SKIN YOU'RE IN? WHY IT DOESN'T LOVE YOU.

What has your skin ever done for you? Dry patches? Blotchy complexion? Stay out in the sun too long and your skin might even try and kill you. Skin is in a bad mood, and she's taking it out on you. Skin doesn't need love; she needs discipline.

Although it's nice to see a semi colon in a skin care advertisement, when it comes to pampering this campaign makes one thing abundantly clear: The Party's Over.