There should, quite possibly, be a new tag-name for people like me, and by me I mean a 'we', those of us who, whether for escapism or plain unadulterated pleasure, have developed an addiction to pre-scheduled relaxation.
Spa-sionista, perhaps? Noun: she who can ubiquitously pinpoint, on demand, the exact must-have treatment in the next must-visit spa, customised to every budget, needs or dream from a pre-defined stack-rank scoring system that rates pleasure to painful from her own personal experience.
Spa-sionista, perhaps? Noun: she who can ubiquitously pinpoint, on demand, the exact must-have treatment in the next must-visit spa, customised to every budget, needs or dream from a pre-defined stack-rank scoring system that rates pleasure to painful from her own personal experience.
This week my blog has been inspired 'in-spa' - fortuned by lady-luxe, my spa-venture upgraded to first class, I was blessed with sampling the pampering of the crème de la crème of beauty treatments with a 2-hour soaked and stroked spa-cation in Crème de la Mer.
Stepping out of the Harrod’s lift to the pent-house 5th floor Urban Retreat was as decadent as a 5-minute Wonka elevator ride in the chocolate factory. I was immediately surprised, though, that even as early as the turn of the morning key there was no room to spare on the velveteen banquettes that decorated the waiting area. Recession was certainly not hindering relaxation, golden tickets were in plentiful supply and any more attention from the welcome reception would have demanded a paparazzi spread in Hello magazine.
My next 2 hours was a spa-volution time-lapse that was to take me and my spa expectations to a whole new level of unwind where whales and panpipes would, quite simply, no longer be enough and, as I mastered my new life in this pent-house spa-cial territory in the virtual sandy cove of ‘La Mer’, I started to consider …does the reality of a life in the fast lane mean we need our relaxation pit-stops to up their game?
My visit to La Mer served not only to de-stress but to confirm the value of having high expectations and, as I allowed myself to embrace the Darwininan spa-vival of the fittest, I realised that scented candles, incense, fluffy robe and a bowl of fruit are no longer sufficient to dress up a glorified back rub or a toe polish that has been tinkered by a max-factored beauty. No, with our time, money and tolerance tight, when we choose to invest we have a right to demand a guarantee of good rest. If and where the price is high, then the environment, products, treatments and service need to reflect real experience, not work experience...
So, as I left my penthouse pod with my head emptied from thoughts and my voice hoarse from silence, I accepted that where there is a trend there is always a spend but, in a world where our nine-to-five stretches to seven-eleven and where escapism for relaxation is rapidly becoming a weekly reminder on the fridge door, I wonder ....should we, in fact, value our ‘me-time’ as precious a commodity as the massage oil that unashamedly caresses our wallets with its boutique price-tag?
My visit to La Mer served not only to de-stress but to confirm the value of having high expectations and, as I allowed myself to embrace the Darwininan spa-vival of the fittest, I realised that scented candles, incense, fluffy robe and a bowl of fruit are no longer sufficient to dress up a glorified back rub or a toe polish that has been tinkered by a max-factored beauty. No, with our time, money and tolerance tight, when we choose to invest we have a right to demand a guarantee of good rest. If and where the price is high, then the environment, products, treatments and service need to reflect real experience, not work experience...
So, as I left my penthouse pod with my head emptied from thoughts and my voice hoarse from silence, I accepted that where there is a trend there is always a spend but, in a world where our nine-to-five stretches to seven-eleven and where escapism for relaxation is rapidly becoming a weekly reminder on the fridge door, I wonder ....should we, in fact, value our ‘me-time’ as precious a commodity as the massage oil that unashamedly caresses our wallets with its boutique price-tag?
'Til next time, Pandora
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