Robert K

Wall Street Journal:

New York doesn't have much of a tanning culture. We'll leave the "fresh air" and "sunshine" to the outdoorsy freaks inhabiting other parts of the country. We prefer our fun indoors, and it shows. No matter what his ethic background, your typical New Yorker has the complexion of a cement truck. To sport a deep, glowing tan in this city is to say you just moved here from somewhere else—probably L.A.—and that's not cool.
Lisa Haney New York doesn't have much of a tanning culture.



So why does Yelp list 338 tanning salons in the city? Turns out, we've got a lot of closet tanners. Roel Kunst, owner of the five-location Manhattan chain Portofino Sun Center, said that in New York the tanning booth isn't about aping George Hamilton or the kids on "Jersey Shore." It's about getting a mood-boosting blast of UVA rays and just enough color to avoid looking dead at the conference table. The New York tanning cohort, he says, is "well educated and powerful," not to mention smart enough to ignore the media hype about cancer. "We don't have any morons coming to our salons," he says. "They're people who think for themselves."
Well, count me in! Thanks to an ancestry that includes Swedes, WASPs and a family of tapeworms, my natural skin tone could best be described as "pot-o-glue." Perhaps this is what has always held me back. Besides, the idea of a midwinter tan was cheering—especially if it meant entry into this exclusive society of independent thinkers.
Tans are cheap this time of year. Odd as it sounds, the high season for New York's tanning joints runs between May and July 4, when the amateurs want to get tan enough to go tanning in public. Come winter, salons are eager to generate a little revenue to pay off those $40,000 beds. Portofino was running a new-client special: six sessions for $99.
Still, I had some concerns. Not about cancer—there's a cure for that!—but wrinkles. Thanks to a lonely childhood spent reading on the sofa while the cool kids broiled alive at the community pool, my skin looks pretty good. Would six sessions damage my face? Kristin Meves, the manager at Portofino's 57th Street location, threw her hands in the air. "I don't know!" she said.
The lovely Ms. Meves had a golden visage so healthy and radiant, she looked like she had swallowed the sun, the moon and a stick of uranium. But it wasn't from the tanning booth. Some clients cover their faces while they tan, she advised. "I do too, absolutely."
My apprehension increased as we explored the spa. Thanks to state regulations, there's so many warning signs papering the walls it felt like touring a pack of cigarettes. And the machines, with their glass beds, metallic shells and glowing lights, look like the spawn of a '70s space ship and a Xerox copier. They even have threatening names: "Matrix," "Silver Bullet," "Big Bear."
Ms. Meves suggested I start with seven minutes on the MasterSun 360. It was, initially, a terrifying experience. You lay down on the cold glass bed, naked, and pull the heavy lid down over you, like the top of a casket. The combination of hot, bright lights and noisy blowing fans creates a sort of hurricane-on-Mars effect. I emerged a little shaken.
It didn't take long to adjust, however, and I started looking forward to the sessions. One cold and rainy Monday afternoon, after the boss chewed me out, I realized I was craving the warmth and bright lights of my tanning coffin. I rushed up to the salon, where Ms. Meves suggested increasing my dosage to 10 minutes and upgrading from my usual $6 dose of bronzer to the $15 "Designer Skin Luminary 25x Black Label Private Reserve" with "Magical Solar Silicon."
Uncle Rupert was paying, so why not? I emerged feeling revived. And while I wasn't exactly tan, I was looking a little more Miss July and a little less Miss Siberian Work Camp. Folks started to notice. "You look different," said one friend. "You look healthy." I felt impatient for more. It was time for the final solution : a spray tan .
In New York, you can get tan without leaving the house. For fees ranging between $150 and $200, Tamar Vezirian of Gotham Glow will show up at your apartment with her canister, spray gun and a little black tent. Her customers tend to be ad men treating clients to tanning parties, and wealthy Wall Street types who are too busy to venture outdoors. Even though times are tough, business is booming. "A lot of them would rather get their tans than eat sometimes," says Ms. Vezirian.
Folks short on funds can visit her Flatiron salon, where a tan costs $75. The whole procedure takes just 15 minutes. Ms. Vezirian, who sported a newsboy cap and a chartreuse sweater, had me strip and assume various odd positions ("Arms up! Arms down! Bend down for me! Step back up!") as she blasted me with dihydroxyacetone. She stuck me in front of a floor fan for a few minutes, then introduced a mirror. For the first time in my life, I was tan. Not L.A. tan, but lightly brown, like a well-baked muffin. I looked good!
But there are drawbacks, it turns out, to sporting a healthy glow. Was it my imagination, or were the city's deli guys, counter clerks and security guards treating me with a little less care and consideration? All my life, I realized, people had been kind to me because they thought I was dying of cholera. Now, even pals turned on me. "Anne is the only one among us who isn't vitamin-D-deficient," a friend remarked at Sunday brunch, "which is ironic because when the hard times come, we'll eat her."
No worries. Despite investing $222 in tanning treatments, I was back to sporting a deathly pallor within days. It takes a lot of money in this city to look healthy, but a New York complexion, thank goodness, costs nothing.

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Robert Klem
Superior UV Technologies
(888) 526-7712 x77
robertk@superioruv.com