Breaking the rules

Tossing social stigmas aside, I made my first-ever trip to a spa and came away feeling like a new man

By Jeremy Schnitker

 

I am now, almost certainly, the first male in my family’s history on either tree to receive a manicure or pedicure. I’m also possibly one of the few to ever treat myself to a back massage.

The fact that most Midwestern-raised males my age are in the same boat is sort of a shame. Why should us men be robbed of these pleasantries women often take for granted merely because of social stigmas?

One night, as I was lying in bed researching story ideas for this magazine, my lower back was beginning to ache. I was picking at the dead skin on my cuticles. I could see the dry skin cracking across my knuckles. And I thought to myself: “Why don't I go to a spa and see if this stuff worth it?” So I did.

I was admittedly nervous upon entering B. Rose Salon (3335 N. Southport). What was I supposed to do once I got there? Where was I supposed to sit? Am I dressed correctly? Are the people going to look at me and wonder what the hell this burly dude is doing here?

The tattooed guy working at the counter, however, looked more manly than I did. He told me to place my stuff in a locker and take a seat. Shortly thereafter, Claudia, my masseuse, guided me to a small, dimly lit room in the back with a massage table and told me to take my clothes off down to my underwear and hop under the sheets. (Hint: Make sure you shower and apply deodorant before you get a massage). She left the room and came back momentarily to work me over.

As stated before, the peak of my massage experience up to this point doesn’t go any farther than intense flirting sessions with girls in high school. I wasn’t really sure what to expect from a professional, other than figuring it was going to probably make me feel a lot better. And let me tell you, it did.

If you walk around the city lugging a computer bag over your shoulder like I do, you put a lot of tension on your back and shoulders. More so than you probably even realize. Having those tensions worked out is relief that perhaps only a professional massage can provide. I could literally feel knots being rubbed out of my muscles.

I was only able to get a half body massage, but it was more than enough to make me feel as loose as I had since that one time after surgery when I accidentally took too many codeines. Initially, I thought a massage would put me to sleep, but while it was relaxing, I felt equally energized. It was the same type of energy you get after an intense workout. The tiredness doesn’t hit you until a couple hours later.

Once I stepped out of the massage room, Joette, my foot- and hand-care specialist, was waiting for me with a foot tub full of piping hot pink water. I rolled up my jeans, put my feet in and watched as she began to do things to them that no human ever has before. She clipped my toenails, picked dirt and sock linen from underneath them and rubbed in some kind of exfoliating lotion. Then she took out a filing nail and began rubbing the dead skin off my heel like a piece of sand paper smoothing out a piece of dry wood.

Joette told me she gets quite a few guys that come in for pedicures, which surprised me. She also said a lot of times people bring a bottle of wine or a couple beers to drink during the session. (Something I thought would make for one hell of a unique bachelor party kickoff: “OK guys, before we hit the strip club, we’re going to the spa for some beers and pedicures!”)

Joette also reminded me that although women may not mention it frequently, they appreciate a man who keeps his feet in good shape. That alone is one reason to have something like this done regularly.

I felt perhaps the least masculine while getting the manicure, which is usually accompanied by a nail painting session (which I passed on.) Much like with a pedicure, nails are clipped and cleaned, and your pesky cuticles are rubbed down. A couple different lotions were applied while my opposite hand rested in a warm bowl of water with marbles in it.

Just as I was beginning to get really comfortable with the whole routine, my time was up. Feeling like a new man, I headed to the bar across the street for dinner. As I sat there gazing at the Bulls’ game on television, the bartender waiting on me had to have thought I was stoned out of my mind. I sat there in a daze, my jaw dangling like I was watching an episode of “Gilmore Girls” where Lauren Graham and Alexis Bledel forgot they were playing mother and daughter and started going at it. I felt amazing.

Later that night as I lay in bed, despite the fact I sleep on a rickety old mattress bought from a thrift store, I felt like I was melting into it. With the dead skin gone, my moist feet could actually feel the sheets. My soft hands rested comfortably in my pillows. What ensued was arguably the purest night of sleep I’ve had since puberty.

As the days pass, I look at my hands and feet and wonder if it’s worth it to have something like that done on a regular basis. Going to a spa isn’t as cheap as going to the movies. My massage would have cost $55 ($85 for an hour), the manicure $20 and the pedicure $50, coming to a total of about $125. Not exactly chump change for average guys like myself (though reasonable in comparison to other spas).

While most of us don’t have room in their budget for the full-blown treatment once a month, given the quality of sleep I’ve had since, getting this kind of pampering a couple times a year might be worth it. Stigma be damned.

B. Rose Salon is located at 3335 N. Southport. Call (773) 296-9500 for an appointment.

Click here for more Weekend Warriors