The car wash level premium

(and the story about the spray tan)

Good. So I went to Greece. By the way, I'm there now, with all beauty journalists. So I thought: I need to look a bit ‘done’. My sales director Daniëlle was heading to Los Angeles and had the same wish list, so we booked ourselves a day at the car wash.

She started with Roya, our eyebrow guru. I had to work for a bit and then we met up in IJburg. Yes, in IJburg, at MJ's salon. Marie Jose, that's right. She from MJ is a dear contact who had invited us to experience the phenomenon of spray tan with her. And since we were there, she also took care of our nails with a nice gel polish from OPI.

A spray tan. I almost didn't dare to say the word because it sounded so incredibly Samantha (no, Barbie), but when I did, it turned out everyone around me was a spray tan addict. As if it was the most normal thing in the world. So I stepped, clad in a surgical thong and shower cap, super sexy into the spray tent. Amber, the spray tanner on duty, had me do all sorts of yoga poses so the color would adhere best.

“You did shower immediately after eight hours, right??” Beauty colleague J. had experience. “Otherwise, the tanning process continues!”

It was a bit cold, but that was because the spray was kept in the fridge for the best result. Fine. Who wants to be beautiful must suffer from the cold. And Amber didn't seem to mind the goosebumps and nipples at polar bear level. Anyway. After fifteen minutes, I was all done and then Amber advised me one thing: DO NOT shower for the first eight hours. What I would do afterwards didn't matter.

After the spray tent and a beautiful manicure (I can never decide what I like more about OPI's polishes; the colors or the names, you can say), I went to Roya. A little eyelash tint and an eyebrow job and a hug like only she can give. Can you start a hotel, Roya? Or a practice? I would love to pay to cuddle with you for an hour if that's allowed.

This morning, the beauty posse and I gathered at Schiphol. One of the fellow travelers, Esther Goedegebuure from JAN, I had seen yesterday. “May, what happened to you? You are BROWN!” She almost shouted. Then I saw myself in the bathroom mirror. It looked like I had just returned from four days in Greece instead of on my way there.

“You did shower immediately after eight hours, right??” Beauty colleague J. had experience. “Otherwise, the tanning process continues!” You understand: I was somewhat tense on the plane and asked neighbor Esther to check my appearance status every half hour. But the tanning process has stopped. It has become a neat four-day Ibiza tan. I will never become a real Samantha-Barbie. And I'm glad about that too.