Ok, so I thought this was going to be this really short little post where I just say something like, I bought this stuff, and I like it, and oh, look at my skinny little ankles! But it's not that at all. Why? Because I have a lot of pent up feelings about self-tanners and bronzers and that kind of thing.
First off, let me say that I am pale. You see the color of your address bar at the top of the screen? Yeah, that's me. I have grown to embrace my paleness and to love it, and to even get past saying the word pale, instead opting for words such as "ivory" and "creamy." But I was not always this way. Especially when I lived in my little hick hometown. Yes, in my hovel in hicksville, folks have tanning beds in their bedrooms (in fact, my mother in law does). Skin cancer be damned, those ladies are going to be tan. Me? If I laid out in the sun until my skin rotted off, I would not be tan. My skin knows three colors--white, off-white, and lobster red. As one can imagine, this made the ages of 12-13 very traumatic for me.
This was also right around the time that self-tanners first made their appearance at make up counters in my area. I seriously thought they were a gift from God. One Saturday, my mom took me to to the Lancome counter at the Kingsport Mall, where we bought our first bottle of self-tanning mousse. Then, I went home, put on a bikini, and my mom helped me with the stuff. What we didn't know is that our combined effort would turn me into an orange zebra that smelled like ass. Moreover, my mom's hands were newly Oompa Loompa orange. But we were not discouraged! The next day, my mom went to her job, which was as a controller at a home health agency, got a box of surgical gloves and we tried it allover again. Better results this time, or at least I thought. I was no longer Whitey McWhiteykins! I was so proud of my new tan that I decided to never wash my legs again. Instead, I would lay in the bathtub, my legs propped on either side of the tub, doing everything as delicately as possible to make sure that my tan was not disturbed. So not only did I smell like DHA, which I think I've established smells like ass, I smelled like unwashed DHA. Ahhh....I was sexy. I spent the summer watching MTV, talking on the phone, and admiring myself.
Fortunately for both myself and the olfactory senses of those around me, I went through a gothy stage right after this, and decided that tans were for "posers" and "preppies" and that my heart was full of too much black to support a self-tanned exterior. So the self-tanner went away for awhile. That's not to say that I didn't dally every once in a while with a product or two--I've used Clarins, Neutrogena, and Coppertone all to minimal success--but it wasn't an obsession.
Which is why I'm still not a complete lover of self-tanners. However, when I saw a product that was entitled "Big Skinny" that promised to make me thin and give me a tan and didn't smell like total crap, I decided to buy it (it helped that I had a fabulous one-day coupon and a bunch of drugstore.com bucks reserved from buying some allergy relief products, and ended up getting the stuff for about $10). It came in yesterday, and even from all those years ago, I remembered the drill. I exfoliated in the shower, taking a lot of time to really slough the skin off, and then I got out and started the routine. I squirted a little on my leg--AND HOLY SHIT, I PUT ON TOO MUCH--and started rubbing it in. Let me tell you, ladies, it takes a while to rub this crap in. And you will get some streaks if you don't. The good news is that it is a bronzer, not a self-tanner, so you know where it is going and where it is not. And the color, despite looking like shiny mud when I first put it on, dissipates to give a nice tan. A tinge orange, but not wretched.
Warning, though, this stuff does rub off, and you have to stay completely still for a 5-10 minutes to give it time to dry. I was almost totally late for work because I was letting my tan sink in and ignoring the glares from my husband as he tried to make sure the white comforter didn't come into contact with my legs. I think he forgot though, because when he got back home after running some errands this morning, he called me and said, "HOLY CRAP, MORGAN! DID YOU STAB SOMEONE? BECAUSE THERE'S ALL THIS STUFF ON A TOWEL AT THE FOOT OF THE BED!!!" Yeah, well. So just be forewarned--you'll look skinny, but you'll look like a skinny murderess.
More on that--I'm not sure if I look any thinner. Yes, I guess having a tan makes you look a bit thinner. But I don't think it makes that big of a difference. Moreover, the capris I thought I would wear today to show off the tan ended up being much longer than I remember, so all anyone could see was my ankles. And while my ankles look absolutely dashing, I wonder what the response would have been had I opted for a shorter skirt.
So here's the Cliff Notes for this long post of memories and self-tanning: 1) Big Skinny is ok, 2) Don't get it on your bedding, 3) I don't stink.
No comments:
Post a Comment