Massaging away the misgivings

On the first anniversary of my father’s death, I took my mother to a day spa. This is the sort of thing people of a certain demographic do these days -- seek physical and spiritual solace amid the mist rooms, the essential oils and the aestheticians.

Where once spas were the milieu of rich people, movie stars and consumption victims, now they are available to the masses. One does not have to check into a fancy hotel or resort or travel to Sweden or even Northern California to spend the day luxuriating in whirlpools and mud baths, to be plucked and stroked and pummeled. Now, you can just go to Pasadena or Santa Monica or Century City.

Indeed, while the rest of the economy teeters, the spa industry has exploded. According to a 2001 industry study conducted by PricewaterhouseCoopers, revenues since 1999 have shot up from $5 billion to more than $10 billion. Likewise, the number of spas, most of them day spas, has doubled to almost 10,000. More than 150 million Americans now make their way to the waters every year.

According to Lynne Walker McNees, executive director of the International Spa Assn., the increased stress of daily life is the reason behind the phenomenal growth of spas. “Now more than ever, we need a place to recharge, time to renew,” she said from the organization’s headquarters in Lexington, Ky.

My mother, however, is reluctant to go to a spa; she has never been to such a thing -- she is of a generation for whom such luxury was reserved for the Vanderbilts and mafia dons. “I don’t feel quite up to it,” she says when I tell her my plan. “That’s the whole point,” I tell her. “When they’re done with you, you will.”

I’ve only been to a spa three times before. Which is a bit strange because, as a working mother, I am a keystone of the “pamper yourself” ranks, ordered into bubble baths and unconditional “self time” on a daily basis by everyone from Dr. Phil to the Wall Street Journal.

I have ambivalent feelings about this; I fear that the culture of 30-minute, or even three-hour, rejuvenation is not so much frivolous as it is distracting. Certainly, stress is the keystone of many industries -- from aromatherapy to psychotherapy. But as pleasant, or effective, as these things might be, none addresses the causes of the stress: the well-documented increased workweek, the myriad problems with our education system, our health-care system, our almost nonexistent child-care system.

Yes, everyone, no doubt, could benefit from a really good bubble bath, but having health insurance that actually pays for your kids’ dental visits would probably help a whole lot more.

But this day is not supposed to be about me and the perpetual talk-radio program in my head, it is supposed to be about my mother and making her feel better on a day destined to make her feel worse. So I made appointments at Burke-Williams in Pasadena because I have been there before and it is really, really nice.

Burke-Williams is one of the growing number of chain spas popping up all over the country; there are six in Southern California alone. “Shed the results of your intense lifestyle,” urges the promotional loop when I am put on hold. I tell my mom that this is exactly what we’re going to do, but she is more concerned with shedding her clothes in front of other people.

And she remains concerned and reluctant, until the moment she sits down in the whirlpool. Then her face relaxes in a way I haven’t seen in more than a year. “This is wonderful,” she says, clearly surprised. “It’s my first time,” she tells a young woman sitting across from us.

This is another thing many people of a certain demographic do, expose their parents to a lifestyle to which they are not accustomed. You see it everywhere in a city like Los Angeles -- the shock in older folks’ faces as they read the prices on a ritzy menu, the wonder as they run their hands over the custom-made cabinetry in their son’s new kitchen or see a movie star wave to their daughter.

I hand my mother an icy towel for her face. “Oh, my,” she says. “Now I know why people want to be rich.”

According to McNees, spa culture has exploded because people have realized that you don’t need to be rich to get an herbal facial or a hand and foot massage. “There are spas for every price range,” she said.

Which may be true, but part of the draw is similar to the allure of a Louis Vuitton bag, which, if one is not picky about genuineness, also is available in every price range. Carrying a bag that looks like the one Sarah Jessica Parker hoists creates a connection between the glamorous (her) and the mundane (you) that wasn’t there before. Getting your face exfoliated by an extremely nice woman who seems genuinely interested in making you feel better makes you feel like part of the privileged classes.

My mother gets a manicure and a pedicure, both of which include a massage and neither of which she has ever had in her life. When she is led back into the lounge, she looks stunned by luxury. “This place,” she says lowering her voice to a secretive whisper, “is great.”

In the steam room and sauna, she remembers all those movie scenes where important men made deals or got whacked amid the billows of white. “I always thought of steam rooms as being for men,” she says. “I didn’t know they had them for women.”

In fact, the members of the New York underworld aside, most spa habitues are women -- about 70%.

Free-standing day spas are not the only trend in the industry. More and more gyms and hotels see them as a requisite feature, and even less-traditional venues -- doctor and dentist offices, for instance -- are including them. Teens, McNees said, are also a new target audience.

“Teenagers,” she said “have a lot of stress in their lives.”

Again, my inner dialogue about the dangers of pampering stress away begins. But after three hours at Burke-Williams with my mom, I’m really too relaxed to care.