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The royal treatment: A day at a spa

By Mike Pearson, Rocky Mountain News (Contact)

Published November 5, 2008 at 6 p.m.
Updated November 5, 2008 at 6:01 p.m.

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Women have been treating themselves to spa days for years, but what about men? Are they still hamstrung by the stigma associated with self-pampering? The Rocky sent reporter Mike Pearson to find out what all the fuss was about. His day started with a facial from Sondra Lockett at Berenices salon in Denver.

Video Video: Women have been treating themselves to spa days for years, but what about men? Are they still hamstrung by the stigma associated with self-pampering? The Rocky sent reporter Mike Pearson to find out what all the fuss was about. His day started with a facial from Sondra Lockett at Berenices salon in Denver. Watch »

Mike Pearson gets a massage.

Photo by Ellen Jaskol / The Rocky

Mike Pearson gets a massage.

Mike Pearson's satanic brow, shaped by a scar sustained in childhood, comes in for a tweezing at the steady hands of Sara DeLuca at Berenices. Symmetry is the goal.

Photo by Ellen Jaskol / The Rocky

Mike Pearson's satanic brow, shaped by a scar sustained in childhood, comes in for a tweezing at the steady hands of Sara DeLuca at Berenices. Symmetry is the goal.

During a facial a mask is applied that will be dried before being peeled off.

Photo by Ellen Jaskol / The Rocky

During a facial a mask is applied that will be dried before being peeled off.

The day of pampering ends with a manicure from Paisley Minshall.

Photo by Photos By Ellen Jaskol / The Rocky

The day of pampering ends with a manicure from Paisley Minshall.

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Women have been treating themselves to spa days for years, but what about us men? Are we still hamstrung by the stigma associated with self-pampering? I decided to find out what all the fuss was about, and here's how I got there.

I once received a gift certificate for a professional massage. I thanked the friend who gave it to me and then ignored it until it expired.

When my friend later asked why, I said, "Real men don't get massages."

"Of course they do," she snapped in the barely suppressed rage of someone who's seen her money go down the drain. She cited professional athletes and stockbrokers and rehabilitation patients.

The real reason, I finally confessed, is that I don't like strangers' touching me. I get antsy when people stand too close to me in the checkout line. I figured my comfort level with a masseuse would be around zero.

Over time, she convinced me I was an idiot. She extolled the virtues of massage, using a myriad of adjectives to champion the experience yet leaving out the two words I most often associate with stress relief: 80 proof.

Her devotion to touch therapy - combined with the fact that the Rocky was paying for it - persuaded me to take the plunge. So I scheduled a professional massage with Brian Fun, a certified massage therapist whose Cherry Creek office is filled with autographed photos of the celebrities he's worked on.

Scholars agree that massage is probably as old as humanity itself, and it was certainly practiced by ancient Egyptian, Babylonian and Greek cultures. Hippocrates, the father of medicine, championed the therapeutic value of friction and human touch to treat ailments.

Still, getting a professional massage is as much psychological as physical. Sure, you crave stress release, but you also have to surrender your "personal space," as it were, and give someone else dominion over your body.

When I arrive, Brian tells me to take off as much clothing as I'm comfortable with and lie face down on the massage table, with my face peeking through a padded hole that resembles a disemboweled headrest. Soothing music plays in the background, and a faintly exotic aroma fills the air.

"I'm going to be doing a combination of Swedish and Ashiatsu massage," he tells me. He says he'll be using his hands and his feet. Then he adds: "You probably won't notice the difference."

And I don't, though at one point I'm convinced he's tracing an elbow down my back. It turns out to be his feet; he's suspended himself from several metal bars on the ceiling. It wasn't the first time I'd been walked on.

Arms, shoulders, back, legs, feet - the hour melts by as he moves from one pocket of tension to the next, promising me that when he's done I'll be as "limber as spaghetti." I'm pretty sure he means after it's cooked.

Brian tells me his clients range from teenagers to a 90-year-old man. I ask what he does when a customer falls asleep.

"That's the highest honor you can pay a masseur," he assures me. "It means they are very comfortable with you."

Part of his relaxation technique is verbal; we talk about jobs, family, places we'd most like to live.

And we talk about the fears people bring to the massage experience (the sexual stigma still exists but isn't overly prevalent). Brian surprises me when he says women are often uncomfortable having a massage from a male.

And then it's over. If I don't exactly feel al dente, I'm much more limber. I'm just grateful my ankles can still lock me upright. I feared I'd have to take the stairs like a Slinky.

Later, friends ask me whether I'd do it again. "Absolutely," I enthuse. Not only was I relaxed, but Brian gives his customers cookies at the end of the session.

If only my dentist appreciated the therapeutic value of chocolate chips.

Spa experience's crowning touches

A massage is one thing. A facial is something altogether different.

Never had one. Never thought I'd have one. Not sure I'll have one again.

A facial is the ultimate in "pampering," which is the whole point of going to a spa. In my case it was Berenices at 12th Avenue and Madison Street, and the people there couldn't have been more welcoming.

I descend a staircase to a small room in the basement where the actual treatment will occur. Strip to the waist, I'm told, and lie on this soft bed. Also, remove your shoes and socks and your watch and glasses. "So this is where they train TSA agents," I think to myself.

A soft rose light infuses the room, as does the sound of a miniature waterfall against one wall. There's music, too; I'm not sure what it is, but I'm pretty sure it's not Metallica. I have no urge to bang my head against the table.

My facialist is Sondra Lockett, and she explains that first she'll strip all the dead skin off my face and then open my pores. Or something like that. Her talk about cleansing makes me think it's a root canal for the skin.

She hands me a deck of cards with symbols on them and asks me to choose three. I do so and she tells me those symbols represent the three aromas she'll use during the treatment. Soon, the pleasant scents are wafting through the air. I wished I'd known the symbol for freshly mowed grass.

Sondra asks me what I normally use on my face, and when I mention a fairly generic soap- lotion product, she nods. I half expect her to say, "Why don't you just stick your face in boiling oil!" but she doesn't.

Instead, she talks about the importance of treating skin well and how you can preserve your youthful appearance longer by using the right products. Then she has me close my eyes and begins applying some sort of mask to my face. Except for a photographer clicking away in the distance and a persistent fly, it's all very relaxing.

I'm surprised when Sondra situates a plastic contraption near my face and it begins belching out a thin layer of steam. Not too hot, not too cold, barely noticeable. It's like being assaulted with a cloud.

As the mask dries, Sondra begins massaging my hands and feet. Now this I could get used to. The steam, the foot massage, the New Age music - if this isn't paradise, it's at least the front porch.

Sondra explains that far more women than men get facials, something I expected. When men do schedule them, she says, it's usually for a special occasion like their wedding day.

A few minutes later she peels the mask from my face and replaces it with a great-smelling lotion. And then I'm done, back up the stairs for the final two stops on my sojourn.

The first stop is with Sara DeLuca, who will tweeze my eyebrows. "This may sting a bit," she says with a smile as I sit in the chair and she goes to work. And it does sting a bit, though not on a par with having fire ants glued to your face.

Sara's goal is to manicure the eyebrows, to even them up. This is a bit of a chore, given that I've had a scar in the middle of one eyebrow since I was a child, causing it to grow at an odd - some would say satanic - angle.

She tells me some people are more sensitive than others when it comes to eyebrow grooming. I tell her I appreciate that my eyebrows will be symmetrical when I scowl. It takes maybe 10 minutes for her to de-Munsterize me.

My final stop is for a manicure. I've been dreading this. I've been biting my fingernails since I was in the womb, and I apologize to manicurist Paisley Minshall right off the bat. She's seen worse, she tells me sympathetically, and I'm just glad she doesn't add, "On a cadaver!"

We soak my nails in what looks like dish-washing liquid, and then she begins to buff whatever edges she can find. She concentrates like a woman trying to find corners on a beach ball. Next she puts a drying solution on the nails, then a clear coat of polish. I'm just thankful she didn't ask whether I wanted the polish with glitter in it. I'm still Zen-ing out from my facial. I'm in no condition to make tough decisions.

Paisley gently chides me about biting my nails and says some people have an impossible time breaking the habit. I ask her what the secret is, and she says there's no single solution. I want to ask her whether wearing boxing gloves will do the trick.

When she's done, I step out into the sunlight and my fingernails gleam like the lenses of the Hubble telescope. I don't even think about biting my nails for a good hour or two.

Back at the office, people tell me I have a glow about me. Since I'm not pregnant, I chalk it up to the facial. Opening up those pores has let even more of my inner light shine through.

Massage: fast facts

A 2007 survey by the American Massage Therapy Association found:

* A third of adult Americans say they've used massage therapy at least one time for pain relief.

* Forty-three percent of women and 25 percent of men report having had a massage in the past five years.

* Thirty-eight states (including Colorado) regulate massage therapists.

* In 2005, massage therapy was estimated to be a $6 billion-to-$11 billion-a-year industry.