Few realize that the beauty therapists of the galaxy can be practically grouped into planetary categories. Yes, even the ones operating on Earth. Here are the main types. You may have encountered some of these galactic archetypes already. Or, perhaps you are booking an appointment with one of them this very week.
The Sun Beauty Therapist
She appears from the shadows, a seemingly flawless vision of immaculate maquillage, manicure and the scent of stealth wealth. The Sun Beauty Therapist keeps one eye on the mirror and one eye on you. Her monologue is a soft bubbling stream of subtle one-ups and name drops – she works, but one day a week, she’s studying Ikebana, actually at her apartment in Japan. Fortunately, her modeling years left her with good friends there, and her hedge fund hubby is “Oh sorry, did some of that lash tint go in your eyes. It won’t sting for long, anyway...” You will leave looking almost as gleaming as the Sun Beauty Therapist, but you will be mysteriously exhausted, barely making it home to flop onto your couch. You need to be close to animals, nature or high glycemic index foods, fast. Everyone says you look amazing.
You Will Leave Looking Amazing But Be Mysteriously Exhausted
The Moon Beauty Therapist
Her treatment room is like a perfumed womb with soft fluffy towels and not even a hint of damp. Everything smells like lavender or lemongrass; the music is soothing but not cloying. Her core competency is massage, and her touch immediately removes all angst. You tell her everything and then fall asleep dribbling into your rosemary clay face masque. In between bouts of hypnotic birdsong and the Moon Beauty Therapist painting goo on your face like an art restorer working on an Old Master, you’re vaguely paranoid. Was “everything” too much of an overshare? Then you realize that the therapist has faint lilac rays shooting out of her fingers. Nothing gets done in the treatment that you could not do yourself but your chakras re-balance, and your face is clean.
She Is A Vortex Of Information On Everything From The Tabloid Geishas To The Latest Herbal “It” Supplement.
The Mercury Beauty Therapist
She is a vortex of information on everything from the tabloid geishas to the latest “it” herbal supplement, skin care ingredients, and local council machinations. She does not shut up, interrupts herself and you but provides a motherlode of precious ideas and inspo. At first, you want to ask the Mercury Beauty Therapist to stop chattering and let you be in a more contemplative mode. But you quickly realize that you are in the presence of a kind of quantum data portal and that everything you need to know will come to you during a leg wax. Her soundtrack was released that week, and she is also a D.J. It’s impossible to tell how old she is and her beauty advice comes in cryptic riddles, like the Sphinx.
The Venus Beauty Therapist
Dear God you think, early into the treatment; Is she in love with me? The Venus Beauty Therapist maintains hypnotic eye contact and sends off pheromonal signals of sensual affinity, soul connection and well something that seems libidinal. Her questions seem like pillow talk, and she acts besotted. Halfway through the treatment, you’ve committed to a course of ten sugar-bamboo bark body scrubs and are angling to get her to come to a theatre event with you. You’ve told about ten white lies to impress her, but you don’t care.
After the treatment, one glance in her low-lit, rose-tinted bordello mirrors convinces you that goddess energy is enhancing your aura. You spend the electricity bill money on crushed diamond toenail varnish, alien aloe vera stem cell peptide serum and perfume that you didn’t smell but which has a fabulous container. You really love packaging. And who needs power when you have Inner Glow?
Crushed Diamond Toenail Varnish And Alien Aloe Vera Stem Cell Peptide Serum
The Mars Beauty Therapist
After an aggressive micro-dermabrasion and halfway through the second of what will be several excruciating acidic peels, it occurs to you that beauty therapy may not have been this woman’s first ambition. She initially aspired to road resurfacing or terraforming hostile planets. When you complain about the pumpkin skin mask stinging, the Mars Beauty Therapist appraises you with the cool gaze of a Navy SEAL recruiter at the start of Hell Week. “You need to toughen up,” she says. “This is a war. You’ve got dead skin cells, discoloration, and lines that need correcting.” The Mars Beauty Therapist permits herself a grim sigh, as she assesses the terrain in front of her. “It will be painful, but we’re going to do derma-rolling,” she says, brandishing an instrument that looks like a miniature Tower of London torture device. “I’ll get my 1000x magnification mirror so I can show you what we’re dealing with here.” The background music is Nineties Club Anthems streamed straight from her gym music. Indeed, she is extremely fit.
The Derma Roller Looks Like A Minature Tower Of London Torture Device
The Jupiter Beauty Therapist
You think you’ve gone into the wrong place because of the sheer amount of stuff the Jupiter Beauty Therapist is selling. It is like an Aladdin’s Cave of beauty and wellness product. It’s verging on hoarding, but she sells a heap of it a week, so nothing sits there. She’s big, generous, cackling and the opposite of a Qi Vampire. She flatters, spoons huge dollops of skin cream into jars for you to try, presses fancy soap upon you and lets you bring your children, dogs, and problems into her sanctum. When the Jupiter Beauty Therapist is not talking to you about her new range of boob cream, she’s trying to hook you up with this guy she knows. She’s the top salesperson in her realm, a pyramid schemer and big thinker.
She’s leveraged up into laser machines, fat melters and soon, she tells you excitedly, cryogenics. Her treatments are expensive because the interest rates kill and she pays per pulse. But you can finance everything, as she does. After a glass of champagne with some midazolam to take the edge off the saggy jowl radio-frequency zapper, you’re high enough to think you’re in a D-list Sci-Fi. And you’re delighted to lie back and plan expansive visionary new deals with the Jupiter Beauty Therapist in hazmat laser goggles like a buxom terminator. “There’s a new filler coming on the market,” she says, waving a syringe full of the old filler excitedly. “You can do liquid total body lifts. You need to get a horse IVF syringe to do it.” She is nearly always just back from or about to embark on some crazy high concept holiday.
Liquid Total Body Lifts With An Horse IVF Syringe, Leveraged.
The Saturn Beauty Therapist
Her demeanor is more like that of a neurosurgeon or elite policy wonk, and she immediately inspires trust. The Saturn Beauty Therapist plays contemporary classical music, has organic, hemp or bamboo fabric gowns/towels and stocks costly tiny pots of facial product from “a dermatologist who is also an architect in Norway.” Or “the scientist who mapped the Vitamin K genome.” It has to be kept in the fridge and is patent pending. But what she’s passionate about now is how trigeminal nerve manipulation (yes she’s studying cranial something) restores the natural integrity of the facial structure. She hasn’t eaten processed food this decade but senses that you may be “less strict” than her. She can tell how many grams of trans-fats and sugar a person consumes by their skin texture and demeanor. The Saturn Beauty Therapist says that without an anti-inflammatory strategy, no skincare or beauty treatment will work, ever. She is against exfoliation and explains why, during the facial treatment. You fall asleep halfway through the advanced reasoning bit, dreaming of high mountain fortresses and clear air.
Image: Space 1999
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