Out, damn orange peel!

I meant to tell you all - last week, I got a professional butt massage!

Don't be jealous. It's unflattering.

Actually, the treatment I underwent is from Bliss and is called the Quadruple Thighpass, billed as "a serious anti-cellulite treatment for those with 'thigh' anxiety." I happen to love my thighs, so when the idea of getting this done was presented to me, I asked if the therapist could instead target the tush? We all shook on it (me, the aesthetician and my butt) and proceeded.

First, I was coated and rubbed - arms, legs, etc - with a stimulating essential oil, much like a normal massage. Then, she targeted my lymph glands with this machine that I can only describe as one of those fish you buy for your tank that attaches to the glass and sucks out all the dirt. Does that make sense? It was kind of like a softly sucking vacuum that was placed at key points like my armpits and groin to stimulate my lymphatic system.

Then, I turned over onto my stomach and the good stuff started. (Warning: There will be much talk about my butt from here on out so if that's not you're thing, or if you're eating lunch while reading this, perhaps now is the time to move on.)

My Bliss pro took that same pulsing-sucking vacuum attachment and started adhering it to all different spots on my cheeks and upper back thighs, leaving it in place for a few seconds at a time. The purpose? To break up stubborn fat, she said. I just lay there, face poking through the little toilet seat head rest, imagining how bizarre it must look to have my naked rear exposed under the lights, silver-dollar-sized pockets of flesh simultaneously going in and out of this clear hose.

I twiddled my thumbs.

Next, she brought out the big guns: It was time for Endermologie!

Imagine motorized rollers that slide over your skin, slowly drawing in the skin and massaging it. Like a mini treadmill, where your skin is essentially, the track of the treadmill, getting wrapped and rolled and stretched out over the rollers. At first it felt only mildly uncomfortable - I've had dental cleanings that were far worse. But the thing is, I wanted it to hurt. I mean, if you're going to do it, do it! (Plus, Endermologie is tres expensivo and I knew this was my only chance so I needed to carpe diem.) I asked her to amp up the power because I really wanted to feel that cellulite getting ripped apart. This was a perverse sort of pain only someone who has had cellulite from the age of 12 can understand.

As she massaged my maximus (picture a slow Swiffering of the glutes), I imagined my rear view being transformed to Elle Macpherson's smooth, dimple-free posterior. I gripped the sides of the massage table and gritted my teeth, but I was secetly loving it and besides, I had no one to blame for the pain but myself (bikini wax devotes will understand). After about 15 minutes, we were done.

I was pretty sure I'd have some bruising and was definitely sore, but it was that good kind of sore, like after an actual workout. Heading home, visions of smooth, flowing chiffon and milky, creamy skin danced in my head. As soon as I shoved my key in the door, I ran to the bathroom, dropped trou and craned my neck around to see...

to see...

My butt.

A teensy bit red, moisturized from the oil and extra tightening cream applied afterwards, but definitely no Elle MacP. Was there any reduction in cellulite? I suppose yes, there was a mild improvement - after all, with all that kneading and rubbing and improved blood circulation, it was bound to look a bit better. But I was no Hanky Panky model. Spanx would still be needed under a dress made of thin jersey.

But, in Q.T.'s defense (Quadruple Thighpass), I will say, it's not meant to make a dent in your dents in just one treatment - six are recommended to see real results. I, as usual, got overly excited. The thing is, I could see doing it again, just because it felt good to feel like I was doing something about a part of my body I've never really felt like I could do anyting about. Kind of placebo effect - but what's wrong with that?

Now, the obvious question is, how hypocritical is it for a body image writer to be obsessing over her butt? It's a good question. I think some people might think, "What is wrong with her - why is she being so obnoxious about her butt when she's supposed to be setting a good example and is always talking about loving ourselves and focusing on the POSITIVE?" Those people are absolutely right. And I do believe that. Focus on what we love about ourselves (I did point out my affection for my thighs, correct?) But we can't all be perfect when it comes to body image. Everyone has their downfall. And mine happened to be hypermagnified by this process, which is why so much attention is being paid to it here. The point is, I didn't obsess over it, I didn't keep staring the day after and the day after. I just let my butt be.

Comments

does acceptance mean being required to be happy about everything? and where does that cross the line into stasis? I mean, if I want to be able to lift a big bag of dog food that I couldn't before, I can either accept my body or lift some weights. I guess I'd redefine acceptance as saying there is more than one version of beauty and that being functional is more important than being a size 0, but I don't think that means saying you won't ever want to change anything. but you caught it all in the last line "I just let my butt be" the day after.

Neutrogena has a new cellulite cream, get it, rub some on you but and do the bump ( dance ) against a wall. 15 minutes, not to hard, you'll break capillaries. Dont eat pickles or drink alcohol and eat celery,parsley,gr beans and zucchinni as much as possible, drink a teaspoon of apple cider vinegar with water every day and make sur you take you b's. Bye Bye dimmples, hello actress butt!