Have you ever called in pale at work?
I, Polly Blitzer, do hereby confess that I am Tanorexic. Tanzilla. A bona fide bronzophile.
I'm against tanning beds. Ew. Germs. Cancer. Wrinkles. Enough said.
But airbrush and spray tans are my guilty pleasure. And there's nothing to be guilty about! I go to the Queen of Couture Tans at Rita Hazan Salon in NYC. Her name is Anna Stankewiecz, and she imparts a subtle tropical tint without any hint of a fake. She's so detailed in her approach that she cleans the perimeter of each nail cuticle with a Q-tip after you're sprayed to remove errant particles of bronzer. (Brown cuticles, anyone?).
The only catch? You can't sweat or get wet for six hours. Otherwise, the formula develops unevenly.
So I got sprayed yesterday and later brushed my teeth. Safe activity, right? Uh uh. Water dripped down my arm from my wrist to my elbow and before I knew it, there was puddle of beige self-tanner and toothpaste on my sink ledge. I decided to blot (not wipe) to minimize the damage. But this morning, I woke up with a St.Barths glow, except for two prominent white lines on my forearms.
Warning: Brushing your teeth may lead to a streaky tan.
beautyblitz confessional: What's your worst fake-tanning fiasco?
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