It’s worth stating for the record that I’m really rather white. Tanning is something of a foreign concept for me and my skin that burns to a flaky red crisp rather than opting for that delicious golden brown (or am I thinking of pastry?). Of course, this disinclination my body has for fashionable trends in tanning has to be coupled with my own private fear of skin cancer.
I had regular UV treatments a few years ago and prior to each of these sessions I sat opposite a pretty stark poster of recognising the signs of melanoma. And now I minutely examine each new freckle and mole for these worrying symptoms. So it would be a little reckless to invite needless risk for the sake of a lovely tan.
Thanks to the magic of capitalism, there are plenty of ways to make tanning happen without sitting about in direct sunlight slathered in cooking oil or whatever. There are tanning beds that will cram sunbathing sessions into a fraction of the time (but do nothing to alleviate the adverse effects so probably wouldn’t meet my exacting requirements).
Then there are creams and potions and maybe even pills for all I know that are supposed to bring about the state of a glorious tan. But, you know, those require effort. It’s been hard enough to get into a skincare regime (moisturiser and bio-oil if anyone’s interested. We won’t dig into the unhealthy reasons behind your sudden fascination with my skin. If you start threatening me with lotion we might stop being friends though).
Essentially, I would very much like a lovely tan but I don’t want to buy anything to make that happen or sit about in the cancer-inducing rays. You can see where the impossible transformation stuff is coming from. Also, I’d like to drop a couple of stone without exercising or eating healthily. Please.
Song choices courtesy of: Lifehouse, Murray Gold and Mark Mothersbaugh
The Ros Martin Archive 