A Day at the Spa

By TAMALA M. EDWARDS

Avon knew it was time for the most personal of makeovers. In business for more than a century, the company seemed fusty and passe, a bunch of pesky ladies in sensible shoes pulling samples out of Tupperware. But when Avon decided to present a new face last fall, it didn't seize on snappy slogans or supermodel spokeswomen. Instead, it opened a day spa.

Now on New York City's Fifth Avenue not far from Tiffany's gems sits a different kind of jewel box: a 20,000-sq.-ft. pleasure palace awash in cool shades of celery and dove and replete with overstuffed furniture and antiques. Top stylists have been lured to snip and color hair, usually after guests have had massages, facials, mudpacks, herbal wraps or nail services. "With career and mothering, I don't have time," says TV producer Colleen Growe, 39. But every few weeks, she'll break away for a leisurely manicure, haircut and massage. "Just walking down the hall feels luxurious."

These days, when the wallets are fat and time is slim, the day spa's the thing. Demand for quick-shot pampering has driven up the number of such spas from 30 in 1989 to 1,600 this year, according to Spa Finders magazine. But it's not just about full-service emporiums like Avon. Barbers are rubbing backs, department stores are doing aromatherapy, and gyms are packing mud. There are spa-mobiles that bring the cosseting to your home, and special "teen" packages for your kids. "The business is going nuts," says Peggy Wynne Borgman, a Saratoga, Calif., spa owner and consultant.

Traditionally spas were places for the sickly to take the waters; later they were known mainly as fat farms. Spas got a better rep as luxurious destinations like Canyon Ranch and Golden Door opened in the 1960s and '70s, but these paradises were seen as remote retreats for the rich and famous. In the '90s, day spas have attracted a more diverse crowd, people who can't afford to spend thousands and linger for a week. "I can't get away for that long," says Connecticut motivational speaker Ronni Burns, 47, who gets a massage and facial twice a month. "I find that much relaxing stressful." Joan Haratani, an attorney who soaks in a whirlpool and gets a massage once a week at Oakland's Claremont Hotel, explains, "I don't consider it a luxury. It's an absolute necessity."

Indeed, day spas have evolved from an indulgence to an expected perk. Some health-insurance providers, like Blue Cross of California now cover at least some spa treatments if prescribed by a physician. Better hotels simply have to have one, and companies like Hewlett-Packard are hiring on-site massage therapists for employees. Big Business has had its head turned in other ways too. The French giant LVMH, owner of Dior and Givenchy, last spring bought New York City's ultrahip Bliss spa for an estimated $30 million. Cosmetic companies like Estee Lauder are competing as well, with growing chains of day spas across the country.

With spa reviews splashed across the pages of glossy magazines and hot spas turning up in gossip columns, one almost feels swindled by basic treatments. A massage now seems incomplete unless one is rubbed with freshly grated ginger or kneaded with heated stones (some of which are even placed between your toes) culled from Southwestern rivers. Just trying to choose the right facial can raise your blood pressure: Should it be a glycolic peel or a fruit peel? Some dermatologists have even created "medispas," doing cosmetic procedures like dermabrasions in spalike surroundings.

The fanciest day spas have become experiences, somewhere between theater and sin. Thick swaddling robes, mineral water and wine, gourmet buffets, fresh flowers and piped-in music are typical features. In Las Vegas, Canyon Ranch has opened a 61,000-sq.-ft. day spa--the largest in the country--at the Venetian Resort-Hotel-Casino. Soak and get an underwater massage in a private pool filled with flowers, or stay dry and pick one of the 18 other options, like the Balinese or Indian oil rubs. For the piece de resistance, visitors soon will be able to steam and swathe themselves in mud in a room where fiber-optic cable replicates the night sky. A soft rain from the fake night dome washes them clean.

One trouble with such high-end spas is that Eve might have a better chance of getting back into Eden than you do of getting an appointment for next week. There's a two-month wait for a signature rubdown at Houston's tony Brea spa. Eliza Petrescu, Avon's eyebrow-waxing czarina, whose customers include celebrities like Natasha Richardson, says her next open 10-min. appointment is not until March 2000. Ann Marie Gardner, beauty director and spa reviewer for the fashionista bible W, gripes, "I had my whole office calling. We couldn't get in anywhere on three days' notice, not even little no-name places."

And the quality of day spas can vary widely. While some are luxe, full-service retreats, others are tacky, glorified nail or hair salons with a wax room. Some discreetly mention products for sale, while others harangue customers to buy expensive wares. Many cannot live up to their extravagant come-ons, promising renewed energy and eternal youth. Yet they may do some good. A 1996 survey at the University of Miami found that 26 adults given 15-min. back rubs twice a week for five weeks showed signs of less stress, were less depressed and performed better on math tests. "Something's working," says Marcia Kilgore, the founder of Bliss. "Or this is the biggest hoax since The Blair Witch Project."

--With reporting by Laird Harrison/San Francisco

With reporting by LAIRD HARRISON/SAN FRANCISCO