DMAGZ041997 — 016

Mobil station at State Highway 114 and O’Connor and called for directions. At 9:05,1 parked my trusty Honda, with 164,000 miles on its tired odometer, between a BMW 740i and a red Lexus sports car. I decided at the last minute to leave the magazines in the car. I sprinted through the parking lot, swearing under my breath, and slowed down as I approached the door, vowing to be calm.

In this ragged spiritual condition, I met my masseuse. She inflicted considerable pain on me in an effort to de-constrict muscle, all the while dearly regarding me as a lost cause. She pointedly mentioned it was good I had the massage appointment first, because she could make up my tardiness from my massage better than, say, the facialist could.

Don’t expect your first massage to be pain-free. But after that things got better. I had sea salt loofahed into my skin, then rinsed off, and had a soothing facial, and what amounted to a bubble bath in a whirlpool tub. Someone brought me a shrimp salad for lunch, which ate while Heuted through a copy of one of the two magazines I had left in the car. Turns out the spa had reading material-how could I have doubted it would take care of my every need?

A whole different personality later, sometime in the afternoon, I had a fitness assessment and was perfectly calm to discover that I scored slightly below average for my age in cardiovascular, strength and flexibility tests. My assessor was lean and fit herself, but her cuticles were in terrible condition. I guess nobody really has it all together.

Massage, when it doesn’t hurt, can send you floating. And some people think even the painful deep massages can make you feel lighter than air. The skilled hands of an unobtrusive, quiet person rubbing lotions into your face can send you away from physical reality. Maybe the point of the spa is that you might not be any more beautiful when you leave than when you arrived, but you just don’t care about it as much.

I heard this story last Christmas about a woman who drove over to a neighbor’s house in Preston Hollow to drop off Christmas gifts. In a hurry, she drove her car into a muddy drainage ditch. She called a towing service but left before the crew arrived, running home in the rain to pick up another car. There was no way she was going to be late for her 1 p.m. facial appointment.

I didn’t understand this before, but after my day at the spa, I do.



BERNARDO’S SALON & DAY SPA: The Spa That Loved Me

WHEN I ARRIVED AT BERNARDO’S 20 MINUTES LATE, THE CHIRPY receptionists assured me they could bump my appointments back, ,Lno problem.” That seemed an impressive task; I had not seen so many women cramming in an afternoon of beauty since prom.

I didn’t sign up for anything fancy. I wanted a basic facial and a Swedish massage. One of the more unusual offerings at Bernardo’s is watsu. an underwater massage, that promises to take you to a rare level of relaxation via floating, kneading and swirling. But because the ads for it look like erotic water ballet, I passed. Imagine my surprise, then, when my masseur turned out to be the man in the ad-a buffed beach babe who looked like he had just surfed in from the Pacific, with a blond mane like a mermaid’s. He told me in a California drawl, “Glad.,.you…maaaaaade…it.” Then he escorted me upstairs to the spa area.

Atmosphere: This bustling place looks more like a quickie mall salon than a soothing spa. The first floor, with all its impressive honey-colored wood and marble, was noisy with hairdryers and telephones. But upstairs the quietness sets in, and all the rooms are private, toasty and dim. Rating: 3.5

Stress Reduction: Bernardo’s is not for the immodest or the shy. My masseur had a sensual touch and moaned more than I did. {I felt guilty for not buying him dinner afterward.) We did have two awkward moments, though. The first, when my ankle got tangled in his dreadlocks, and second, when I got the giggles as he massaged my back with his knees. (You have to feel it to believe it.) Stress Reduction Rating: 3; Pleasure Principle: 5

As for the facial, I got the usual masks and creams that left me supple but cakey. I found it unprofessional that the technician didn’t walk me through her process and describe what she was doing. When I asked her about the products, she was vague and said things like, ’it’s a gel.” Unfortunately, she had plenty to say about herself-her bachelor’s degree, her makeup trends, even (argh!!>herchildhood. Rating: 1

Guilt Factor: Bernardo’s is for pampering, not for lecturing or rigorous treatments. Staff was extremely casual and cordial. Zero guilt. Rating: 4

Spa Etiquette: Full of busy bodies, Bernardo’s was surprisingly immaculate. The receptionists made sure 1 was OK with a male masseur, and the male masseur seemed genuinely concerned that-above all-I should relax and be comfortable. A real gentleman would have offered me a cigarette as I left, though. Rating: 4 -Sara Peterson



ESTÉE LAUDER SPA: Classic Serenity

SHOPPERS HUSTLE UP AND DOWN NORTHPARK CENTER, BUT INSIDE THE Estée Lauder Spa at NorthPark’s Neiman Marcus, all is quiet. And the spa has a reputation to match: calm, not trendy, catering to the same clientele as the Neiman’s store where it’s located.

Atmosphère: It was almost too quiet. Almost like Old Rome, albeit a gold-tone-decor’d Old Rome, with tufted chairs and ottomans in the common areas, subtle wallpaper, ivory marble. Classical music played. I saw only two other clients while I was there, but there were a lot of technicians in white coats scurrying about.

No one hassled me about taking a too-busy friend’s appointment for a facial and a body massage, and after filling out a questionnaire, 1 was quickly ushered down the hallway to the secondary changing room-shower-locker area (primary area apparently full), then into a treatment room. Rating: 4

Stress Reduction: Suzetta, my personal esthetician, soothed four delicious elixirs on my face. Between each application, her magic fingers did their stuff-feathery tapping all over, gently pushing pressure points at my temples and around my eyes, that upward patting of the throat. She worked my shoulders, too; it was divine. The facial, probably close to an hour (I lost track of time) was truly relaxing; Suzetta even dimmed the lights and departed for a few minutes, leaving me with potion-soaked pads over my eyes and a (bonus) moisturizing treatment and heat gloves on my hands. I didn’t want it to end.

My body massage with Lisa was more therapeutic than relaxing. She was good, no question, and strong. She used one arm to rolling-pin me from my neck to my toes; later, she held one of my arms then the other behind my back while she pushed toward the table the corresponding shoulder. I was tempted to holler out; I thought she might be Rolfing me. Lisa also brought me a bonus (the second)-a heated, crunchy sheet filled with something to lie on when she, too, left the room for a few minutes. At the end of the hour, the knots in my neck were dramatically smaller, but she said several sessions were needed “to really get rid of them.” It was more a prescription than sales pressure. Rating: 5

Guilt Factor: After looking at my face under one of those damnable no-secrets lamps, Suzetta declared my (37-year-old) skin “good”; Dut Lisa the masseuse diag-nosed a “turtleneck problem”-shoulders tensed up into neck, a common stressed-out businesswoman’s malady. Rating: 4

Spa Etiquette: The place was spotless. A bust wrap and robe were supplied, along with a pair of one-size-fits-all (a little big) sandals. The terry-cloth jewelry pouch was a nice touch. Suzetta didn’t talk much (conducive to total relaxation), but she did tell me, when asked, that she’d ministered to Priscilla (“the nicest woman you’d ever want to meet”) Davis. The only annoyance I experienced was waiting 15 minutes (with a glass of ice water, provided by one of those scurrying technicians) between my facial and massage. Rating: 5 -Elizabeth Eckstein



THE FOUR SEASONS: A Day at the Spa

This well-known spa, at a lush resort hotel in Las Colinas, lives up to its reputation. While a menu of a la carte services is offered, I took advantage of a day-long package that included aromatherapy massage, facial, loofah salt glow, aroma hydro, salon hair styling, spa lunch, sauna, whirlpool and cold plunge.

Best to have the massage first and then get down to real relaxation. For true peace, I recommend you climb into a whirlpool bubble bath that’s already been prepared for you, by someone who’ll come get you out when it’s time, and then eat a terrific lunch someone else brought to you, while you sit there dressed only in a fluffy robe with no makeup on. I entered the spa feeling rushed, harried and deadline-pressured and came out looking good and feeling good, with work the last thing on my mind.

Atmosphere: Definitely a resort, a retreat from the busy world, though not as lush as it could be. You’re totally closed off; no outside view. The “spa area” where you relax and wait for your next appointment has soothing green walls, plants, tiled floor and cushioned wrought-iron furniture around a glass-topped table full of magazines and newspapers.

In one comer is a large whirlpool, and in the middle is a small keyhole-shaped tub of blue water-the cold plunge bath. Japanese screens along the walls hide small whirlpool tubs. Rating: 4

Stress Reduction: For a day-long spa package such as I had, you start by picking up a dance card of your appointments. Fine, but I took off my watch first thing, determined to let the day simply be, and consequently worried about being in the right place at the right time. They’ll come get you from the central area for your appointments, but you’re on your own for sauna, whirlpool and cold plunge, and if you’re used to watching the clock, it’s hard to shake the habit. Also, the cold plunge sounded a little too drastic for me, so I skipped it.

Masseuses, facialists and other “skin technicians” were soothing-no effort to sell any products, no push to educate you unless you ask. The masseuse tsked over my tight muscles a little more than I was comfortable with, but the facialis! stroked my ego by telling me I had great skin. Rating: 3.5

Guilt Factor: I felt like a whiner when I had to admit-ouch-that the masseuse’s probing hands did hurt. Rating: 3

Spa Etiquette: The place was scrupulously clean. The women whose hands were all over my body-the masseuse and the attendant who performed the loofah salt glow took the efficient and clinical approach, which I appreciated; the facialist had loving hands, which I also appreciated. And the best part of the whole experience was snuggling down into that wonderful robe. I immediately went out and bought one like it. Rating: 5 -R.H



L’IMAGE SALON/DAY SPA: Stripped-Down Spa

L’IMAGE HAS SEVERAL LOCATIONS, INcluding the one I went to at Village On the Parkway. Not all L’Image locations offer spa services; some are just beauty salons. This is the perfect spa for the first-timer who doesn’t expect much outside of a new experience-a no-frills, no-nonsense salon that doesn’t push its beauty and treatment products, just gives you what you came for, soothing relaxation.

Atmosphere: In my private room, classical music played in the background, lights were turned down low and candles were lit. Overall, L’Image was non-intimidating and soothing. When I go for a massage, I want no discussion and no bonding, and that’s what I got here. Rating: 4

Guilt Factor: No one mentioned anything regarding how I take care of myself, thank you. My masseuse was also my facialist, so I had a smooth transition between the two experiences. She didn’t talk at all during the massage and only spoke during the facial to let me know what she was doing-no compliments and no criticisms. Rating: 4.5

Spa Etiquette: I was given a form to fill out, asking what level of intensity I desired. But I was never asked if 1 wanted a male or female massage therapist or how 1 felt about nudity. Rating: 2.5

-Ellen Thrower

REJUVENA SKIN THERAPY: Clinical Efficiency

Everyone from 14-year-olds with acne to 80-year-olds come to Rejuvena. They have frequent “in-service” courses from doctors, therapists, cosmeticians and others to keep the technicians up to speed on the latest medical and beauty advances. About half the facialist’s clients had had some kind of plastic surgery. This spa was apparently started by a dermatologist, so health is emphasized as much as beauty, which explains the clinic-like facilities.

The 90-minute massage included deep tissue work, trigger-point therapy and Swedish massage. Everyone who goes to Rejuvena for the first time gets the same kind of facial, a 60-minute analyzing, cleaning, extracting, hydrating, tightening, moisturizing affair, depending on one’s needs. Clients can opt for more aggressive “facial therapies,” e.g. glycolic peels, for which this spa is well-known.

Atmosphere: Rejuvena is not for romantics. A few candles are lit, and the lobby does pipe in the requisite New Age piano music, but not much is done to hide the perfect view of Foley’s parking lot. The walls are lined with products and (even worse) product posters; the floor is covered with industrial carpet and speckled linoleum; and the furnishings looked fresh out of Office Depot. The backrooms are filled with huge thrones for pedicures, a giant tub for hydrotherapy, and the usual recliners and tables for facials and massages. However lackluster the interior, Rejuvena is sanitary and hygienic. But no matter how good you may feel later, there’s no escaping the dampening ambience: You have come to a strip shopping center. Rating: 1

Stress Reduction: When I go to a spa, I want an out-of-world experience. At Rejuvena, I’m still in 75225. But this spa has a lot to offer. The high quality of the technicians and products combined results in first-class treatments. I had one of the best massages of my life here. 1 walked in frazzled and walked oui in a pleasant stupor. Rating: 4

Guilt Factor: For better or worse, the masseuse didn’t ask how I take care of myself, and I didn’t volunteer, so there was no guilt. While this masseuse was not comfortable discussing the finer points of physiology, her expertise was considerable. As a practitioner, she was methodical and professional. She was also congenial and had a cute giggle.

The facial lady was more inquisitive about my skin maintenance habits. As she peered at my pores, she offered, “I see a lot of skin damage.” No one wants to hear this, so I was eager to learn how to correct the situation. I asked about collagen treatments or if it was time for an eye job. But she had no easy answers. Her philosophy was prevention. “Ninety percent of aging is due to sun damage,” she said. “Just keep your skin clean and protected.” She didn’t push products, which was appreciated, and like the masseuse, this woman was enormously talented and professional. Rating: 4.5

Spa Etiquette: The masseuse gave me a perfunctory overview of what the massage would be like. Because I have had several massages, I didn’t have any fears to assuage or embarrassment to deal with. A first-timer would have needed a lot more hand-holding. By contrast, the facialist mapped out the process like she was reviewing a battle plan. She gave me a line-up of events, in order, with warnings about burning, tingling and light blinding my eyes. I couldn’t keep up with her, but I really didn’t care. Rating: 4

-Christine Allison



RENEE ROULEAU SKIN CARE: Zen There, Done That

MY NAME IS NANCY, AND I AM A MASSAGE AND FACIAL ADDICT. There, I said it, and I feel less stressed already.

To me, the term “Swedish Massage” is for rookies. I love having small Chinese women walk on my spine and am passionate about my search for the perfect Shiatsu massage. I have submerged myself in hot manured mud, placed lighted candles in my ears to purify my thoughts and had incense burned from my thighs by a masseuse in a rooster-feathered headdress in my search for inner peace and stress reduction. So I was prepared for a less-than-satisfying experience when I walked into Renee Rouleau salon.

Atmosphere: The smell of vanilla greeted me at the door along with four women eager to make my afternoon a delight. I was given client information forms to fill out that rival any medical forms I have completed. At one point, I felt I should call my mother to see if there was a history of clogged pores in my family. As I filled out the forms, sipping my complimentary herbal tea, I took in the lobby scene: warm, tan tones on the stuccoed walls, low-level lighting, flickering candles and a waterfall gurgling sounds of peace. In the hallway beyond were immaculate, candlelit treatment rooms named Sun, Earth and Moon. Perfect. Rating: 5

Stress Reduction: I was instructed to undress to my level of comfort and relax. A sign on the wall read “Breathe,” and all of a sudden life seemed so simple. I stripped and nestled on the table, comforted by a warm heating pad. The sounds of Enya soothed from above. I was nearly asleep when my masseuse returned.

An hour later, tiger-balmed to the max and feeling like a noodle, I was handed a plush terry cloth robe and moved down the hall to the Earth room to meet my esthetician, Lisa. While I waited, I hypnotized myself with a crystal pendant dangling from the ceiling above my head. Sounds of Indian flute music filled the room. On the wall a plaque instructed me to “dream great dreams and make them come true” and “believe in magic.” By the time my facial began, I was dreaming that I weighed 105 pounds and ate nachos every night. I was believing in magic. Rating: 4

Guilt Factor: Reality set in when they told me my skin is dehydrated and flaky. Somehow this differs from dry skin, but I am unclear how. I am reassured that this is not uncommon for “maturing skin.” I looked up to the crystal for comfort. Breathe. Dream. (Isn’t everybody’s skin “maturing skin?”) The mask is on. Lisa explains each step with the knowledge of a Rhodes scholar. Throughout the next hour, I learn about the molecule size of my moisturizer and the ill effects of mineral oil on the skin. In my subconscious I dismiss most of this information as New Age pseudo-clinical-jargon. Then came the phyto bubble mask. Breathe. Dream. Then came the seaweed-mask exfoliation, oxygenation, detoxification, rejuvenation-I was believing. Mentally, I was packing my bags for Sedona. Rating: 3.5

Spa Etiquette: I grudgingly pulled on my clothes and stumbled to the lobby. Lisa was waiting for me with a complete array of products customized for my skin, available for purchase. At this point one can’t help but feel manipulated. We are taught never to make decisions in stressful times, but what about the times when we are completely unstressed and vulnerable? I figured I was safe with a vanilla candle. I bought one. But then, I can always use a liposome seaweed day creme, so I bought one. I spent an extra SI 14. Breathe. Dream. Rating; 5 -Nancy Nichols



THE SPA AT THE CRESCENT: Noisy But Nice

The Crescent Hotel hosts travelers from Beautiful People to Business People, and the same mix ends up at the spa. It also attracts a big local clientele, perhaps of a slightly trendier sort than might go to Estée Lauder.

But how to find the spa? I saw no signs. The concierge told me which elevator to take to the lower level, where the club’s fitness room and other amenities are. Finally, I got to the women’s locker room. Money seems to be on people’s minds here. A TV was tuned in to CNN. As a beautiful young woman at the next locker stripped down, she said, “Can you believe the stock market?”

Atmosphere: The Spa at the Crescent is creamy tan marble, glass, with soft peach light. Quietly elegant, not too clinical. Meticulously clean, but not antiseptic. In the facial room, a scented candle burned and music softly played. There’s a “quiet room,” where those waiting for various ministrations can recline or read. The massage room was darkened, with George Winston piano music playing. Rating: 5

Stress Reduction: These people think of everything: even the facialist chair was heated. The only flaw in this otherwise perfectly relaxing two hours: the occasional THUMP, THUMP-THUMP, as cars leaving the Crescent office tower drove out of the parking garage,located just over the massage room. This doesn’t contribute to a soothing atmosphere. Don’t book a massage for rush hour, Rating: 4

Guilt Factor: The facialis! told me my skin looked great (liar!) and said I seemed to be doing the right things for it. Rating: 5

Spa Etiquette: Both my facialist, Kathleen, and my masseuse, Barbara, were very professional. Chirpy, friendly Kathleen gave me a bust wrap to wear under my long, hooded robe, then showed me around and told me where to go (though after my facial, I got a little lost trying to find the next room). Barbara left to allow me to slip under the blanket in the massage room, where a little heater made it comfy to strip. I never felt uncomfortable. Rating: 5

-Glenna Whitley

SPA NORDSTROM:

Head to Toe Pampering

MY SKIN IS SCREAMING. I HAVE tortured it, baked it, chemically burned it, bleached it. beat and picked it, parched and dried it- if I did all this to my children they’d arrest me for abuse. Pretty soon a Senate subcommittee in Washington will hold special hearings on how I have violated my skin’s human rights, and my skin will hang low and loose in retaliation.

This I learn while getting a facial at Nordstrom. But I didn’t expect anything different-I have never liked my skin, and it does not like me. But the facial esthetician offered much information and made a good argument for tossing my Brillo pad and treating my skin with some respect. She also didn’t push for another appointment; a facial two to four times a year would be just fine for me. So I will return; besides, I hear Nordstrom pedicures are out of this world

Atmosphere: Although they are booked way in advance, there was no hustle-bustle. All masseuses/estheticians wear beige to match the walls; floors are cool marble; decor is understated elegance. I liked knowing that when you look kind of sleepily roughed up without a stitch of makeup on screaming skin you won’t run into friends dressed to kill for a Crystal Charity Ball planning luncheon. That first floor location near the Alpha garage entrance makes for quick getaways. Rating: 4

Stress Reduction: All treatments at Spa Nordstrom begin with a foot soak-the masseuse pours warm, bubbly water over your feet as you sink into a chenille armchair, This reduces stress, they say, like that of battling Toll way traffic to get there. The massage and facial definitely reduced my stress; at one point I was almost asleep. If I could have gone home and gone to bed. I would have slept like a baby. My only stress was thinking about affording this on a weekly basis. Rating: 5

Guilt Factor: The masseuse, a cheerful woman named Carol, was very sympathetic to my dry skin and tightly knotted muscles. Rather than lecture, she empathized. She offered solid suggestions (exfoliate more often) and was impressed I exercise twice a week.

The pearly-skinned esthetician, Shawn, was equally pleasant and well-trained. Despite its primal screams, my skin, she assured me, wasn’t the worst she’d seen. She had a field day with my sadomasochistic skin care regime-using whatever product samples I can pilfer or obtain free with other purchases. My favorite skin care product is Accutane. Shawn made a fair case forgoing off the “quick fix” of internal medications and giving her skin care regime a try for just six months. With a twinge of guilt that I’d condemned my skin to death by lethal injection, I left Nordstrom with a shopping bag full of seaweed/sea products. I knew better, but I still want to believe they will make me beautiful and serene and prolong the pampering I received at the spa. Rating: 3

Spa Etiquette: Everything’s sparkling clean, and each massage room has a shower in case you want to wash off before/after the massage. Carol and Shawn gave me plenty of time to disrobe (everything off) and put on a thick terrycloth robe and slippers. Nordstrom supplies solid, thick wood hangers-even a garment bag-to hold your street clothes. Rating: 5 -Mary Candace Evans