Cruel Sun
With all of the sunless tanning options available today, you really have to be a bit of a masochist to sit outside and bake all day. I'm not saying that no sun is good sun. To the contrary, sunbathing can be wonderful, so long as one has by their swimsuited side a well-stocked (and fashionable) tote. (Coconut-scented sunscreen, fruity colored spf lipstick, a bright umbrella, fabulously frivolous flip-flops and floppy hats are sunbathing essentials.) In fact, she she me and I are firm believers that all things are okay in moderation. Thus, we refuse to completely give up sunning, complex carbs, Krispy Kremes, or 4-inch heels. Anyway, this whole tangent on sunless tanning was sparked by the arrival of spring dress weather and a pending Saturday night fête. I made the executive decision to leave she she me with the Aruba in a Tuba and treated myself to a tailor-made airbrush tan.

Ordinarily I'm not really concerned with the Aryan-ness of my complexion, however there was something about a burn-free tan that struck my fancy. (I've only ever acquired the coloring of a super-ripe peach and only after much scorching.) For a fair-skinned fashionista like myself, to turn bronze was huge from a fashion standpoint alone. It means I could wear pinks and yellows with out looking sick; black without looking pallid. I could debut my strapless dresses sooner than later. It opened up a ton of new wardrobe possibilities. Next to a full skirt and a signature scarf, a spray tan was a summer must-have. Apparently some of my peers had enjoyed the benefits of airbrush tanning for a few seasons and they knew only the chicest places to visit. In the name of journalism, I booked an early morning appointment at Exotic Tan (a local fave) and began my night-before prep work - 1. shampoo hair, 2. exfoliate entire body (am hooked on Bella's Walnut Sugar Scrub), 3.shave legs, 4.condition hair, 5.re-shave legs for complete smoothness, 6. skip moisturizer. The final step is extremely important as the mist won't stick to moisturized skin.

I arrived at the salon in my most casually-chic style editor duds and was greeted by the tannest girl I had ever seen. Seriously, I don't think I have ever seen anyone more tan. It was a little early in the morning to be hit with such perfection. And to add insult to serious injury, perfectly tan lady remarked how fair my complexion was. I think her actual words were that I "shouldn't expect to look like I had just spent a week in Hawaii." Inner monologue response: Um, if I actually went to Hawaii I wouldn't look like had spent time there. Hello, I came in bright white, now its your job to make sure I leave tan, or at least tanner. Back in the room it was just me, perfectly tan lady and a miniature vial of a dark brown liquid. I stripped down to my oldest black bikini; she hooked the jar to some sort of loud compressor thingy and I got sprayed. I have to admit, if you put the awkwardness of having a tan stranger three inches from your body aside the whole event was rather cool. I could practically see my skin change colors right before my eyes. I guess that's what Michael Jackson has witnessed for most of his adult life. While she sprayed she gave me the lowdown. Basically the custom formula works with the melanin in your skin to make your skin darker. A good spray tan can last up to 10 days if properly cared for (lots of moisturizing, no hot showers, no swimming in chlorine or salt water). This is truly the tan of the bathing beauty. She also informed me that the airbrush method gives a more even and controlled tan.

In a matter of minutes she had applied a second coat (better safe than sorry) and was on her way to the next tanner. I, on the other hand, was left standing with my arms straight out, neck out, legs slightly apart to dry. As I was standing there air-drying my airbrush I thought about my new tanned self. Would people be able to tell? Would it be like the Viagra commercials where people notice something different but can't put their finger on it? Would my teeth look whiter? Should I stick the vial in my pocketbook? I think I've got an old air compressor that I'm pretty sure would do the job. I am definitely wearing a strapless dress to the party and maybe everyday until my tan fades. Tan, for the first time in all my years. It was enough to make me weep. Wait, I can't weep, what if it runs. I'll be Streak Girl. No self-respecting local rock star was going to fall for or even mildly flirt with 'streak girl' at this party. Oo! My favorite eighties song. "..If you fall I will catch you - oh I'll be waiting. Time after time. . ."

"Uh, what are you doing?" Nothing like getting caught in the scarecrow stance singing Cyndi Lauper by the perfectly tan lady. Apparently I had been drying for 15 minutes and there was now a line outside. It didn't matter - I was tan. I raced to she she me's apartment excited to show her the results. Perhaps we would celebrate with a little retail therapy. After the whole closet purging goodness knows she could use some. Upon entering I found she she me in similar scarecrow stance amidst several tanning products. I'm a little unsure as to how effective or date-safe it was to mix tanning cremes, but what did it matter? We were tan, we are on pre-party detail and it is finally warm enough for flip flops again. Life is good.

See you at the soiree.