 ...This is not a typical end to conversations I have with my girlfriends....(it's also probably not as un-typical as one might think -- I live in SF, remember?)...but it is one I recently stated.
Let me back up. A few months ago I had date with myself at Imperial Day Spa. I do this from time to time -- head out for a day of guilty pleasures with good ol' Trish. Sometimes I try a new restaurant, other days it's just a book, a blanket, and the great outdoors. One time, I saw a matinee showing of the Hannah Montana movie by myself... which turned out to be pretty awkward, as the only childless adult in the theater, getting choked up when Billy Ray and pre-twerking Miley sang a father/daughter duet (save her, Billy Ray!). This time, my pleasure day was spent at a traditional Korean spa in SF . Here, I was bathed, scrubbed, rubbed, oiled, stretched, and flopped around on a plastic wrapped massage table by a tiny Asian woman in classic black Hanes Her Way undies. She was cordial but unsmiling; kinda mean, but kinda nice. She was no nonsense in her 100 lbs. of quality cotton covered unmentionables. I loved her immensely. I was also surrounded by other women undergoing the same procedures, politely smiling occasionally when our "eye masks" (read: a wash cloth haphazardly draped over my face) slipped and we were face to face in equally naked, compromising positions. I had heard about this place from my yoga teacher, who sold me on the concept with words like "body", "butter", "smooth", and "I f*cking love it". (I tell her all the time she is the dream teacher - a zen California girl, with a mouth and a 'tude like the best of NJ). If Lindsay likes it, I thought, then so will I. While this brief description probably has some of you cringing, and questioning my taste in recreational activities (let's just forget the Hannah date, k?), it's important for you to know that your judgements behind letting Hanes Her Way use a cloth and some sugar scrub to vigorously sloth off what gloriously feels like an entire layer of skin (and yes, they really get it all...from everywhere), are so very wrong. Because, dear readers, It was awesome. After 90 minutes of hot water filled buckets being dumped on me, fresh cucumber applied to my face, warm oils rubbed into my pinked skin, I felt refreshed, stretched, scrubbed clean. Pampered, accepted, and even a tad glow-y, in fact. I recalled my experience for a handful of girlfriends recently, and 3 I want to try it!'s later, we come back to the title of this post... Girls, I said as my friends nervously fiddled with their pink robes, I just read a quote today that I want to dedicate to this night with you...I'm paraphrasing here, but it goes something like this: It's time we end our memberships to the church of self improvement, and begin to worship at the temples of who we are! (actual, much more eloquent, quote can be found here). And with that, my beautiful friends and I dramatically dis-robed in the silent spa, giggling like children and obviously approving of one another's hot bods. How does an evening at Imperial play out, you ask? First, you strip down in a well maintained locker room and wrap yourself in a pink robe, trying not to make it obvious that you are attempting to read the back tattoo on the lady bending down next to you. Then, you squat on a plastic chair in front of removable shower nozzles, soaps, and a bucket for a bit of pre-bathing. Yep, a bucket. It's all very primal. Yet somehow, slightly regal. Next, you soak in the hot tub for 20 minutes (30, if you are able to take the heat without passing out, which would be pret-ty awkward in a nakey-time Korean spa). When your number is called from upstairs (Fo-ty Sevan! Fo-ty Sevan!), you make your way up the steps to be greeted by a cordial, but unsmiling, middle aged Asian woman wearing nothing but her unsexy skivvies. This is where the pleasure begins, and where you quickly get over the fact that your ass is being scoured by a complete stranger. This is where you relax into the massage, and, instead of being freaked out, marvel at the fact that this woman can simultaneously kneel-balance on your freshly scoured ass while moving her knees in a circular motion and digging her elbows into the knots of your back. Was she a gymnast in another life? I'll never know. 90 minutes later, and you feel brand new. Thankfully, my friends LOVED their time at Imperial. But I already knew they would, because my friends are awesome. Here's the thing -- this sort of female bonding happens all over the world (e.g. Korean spa). This safe space to relax, breathe, cherish and nourish our bodies in their most natural states is not considered weird in other cultures. So why do we often make it such a big deal, here? Shouldn't we boost each other up by celebrating who we are at our most vulnerable? Shouldn't we say to our beloved gal pals what up, ladies, my parts are just like your parts, and they are beautiful and real and sacred...let's go get them polished! Suffice to say, if you're ever in SF and want to try Imperial out...you know my answer. In Gratitude, Trish
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