It's strange to step back and think about how the practice of paying others to massage, wax, wrap and groom our naked bodies has become so commonplace. A recent New York Magazine cover story by one of my favorite writers, Emily Nussbaum, explores the explosion of spas and salons, our shifting ideas about beauty, grooming and privacy, as well as the often ignored hardships of salon workers, who perform taxing physical and emotional labor every day.
She writes that, "twenty years ago, salons were a treat for the idle rich or for women playacting that role for a day. While a subset of socialites were groomed by hired help, for most other women—working women, stay-at-home mothers, young girls—a massage was an indulgence, a facial a luxury, a manicure the type of thing you did at home." Now these procedures are viewed as necessities for women who want to look well-groomed and put-together. Women's magazines (particularly bridal magazines) prescribe spa treatments as a solution to even the most mild beauty problems, while women who don't have weekly manicure and pedicure treatments are called out by other women for looking "unprofessional."
But as much as it's become the norm, there is still something disconcerting about the power relationships implicit in these treatments. A large percentage of salon workers (particularly in nail salons in major American cities) are minorities, many recent immigrants without strong English. And you're paying them to provide a service that traditionally has been exchanged between female friends, sisters or mothers and daughters. As teenagers, many of us spent our sleepovers painting each others nails or applying home facials, bonding together through the escapism of beauty treatments. Once we reach our 20's, those practices become commercialized, and spending time with a friend often means going to a salon and having someone else paint your nails while you chat.
As Nussbaum says, "The first time I got a pedicure, I felt something similar: physical vulnerability, mingled with a lurid awareness of power—an Asian woman who didn’t speak English was kneeling in front of me, washing my feet. It felt distinctly slave and master. But that’s only true the first time you have a treatment like this. Pay once, twice, three times, and the aura of exploitation dissolves..." The same thing occurs for the women performing the services: over time the act of washing another woman's feet or waxing her pubic hair stops feeling demeaning and becomes normal.
Salon and spa workers must navigate this complex world of emotional etiquette, since they're expected to provide this big performance of warmth, care and concern, a kind of paid friend. A sociology professor quoted in the article talks about his theory that more women are getting spa treatments because they're looking for an emotional and physical connection that's lacking in their lives and want to be touched and comforted. A recent study cited in article found that the more expensive the spa or salon, the more likely it was that the clientele demanded "pampering" and other emotional services.
Like a therapist, a manicurist or facialist is someone you can spill all your secrets to, without worry that they'll be shared with others. You can expect that she'll listen, express support and refrain from criticizing. Most women would never consider sharing this kind of personal information outside of the safe confines of the salon, and since class differences make it unlikely that you'll run into your confidante outside of the spa setting, it's unlikely that you'll ever interact with this person when they're not massaging or waxing you.
I'm certainly not here to pass judgment on anyone who participates in this industry. I love getting the occasional massage, and I like to keep my toenails painted in the warmer months. But I think it's interesting to step back and look at these admittedly strange practices that have become so commonplace.
We engage in this kind of alternative universe when we step into a spa, where everyone acts as if they're old friends who share a history and exchange secrets (at least the client is sharing secrets, it would be "unprofessional" for the worker to state their true feelings about their work). We feel comfortable exposing ourselves physically and emotionally for a person who we'd never consider spending time with outside of this environment. And we try to forget the fact that the person rubbing our feet or painting our nails is doing it out of economic necessity, that their deep concern for our personal lives and physical comfort is nothing more than part of the job.
What do you think?
