I Had Never Gotten a Facial — And Then I Got the All-Star Treatment

After years of washing his face with just water, writer Bradford Pearson got his first facial — a sculpt-and-lift skincare treatment — at Rescue Spa in Rittenhouse. / Photo-illustration by Leticia R. Albano

Listen to the audio edition here:

For decades I’ve adhered to a very strict skincare routine. Every night, just before bed, I stand in front of my bathroom sink and fiddle with the hot and cold water until it’s reached a temperature that can best be described as “cooling soup.” I then generously cup that water and splash four or five handfuls of it onto my face. If I’ve had a particularly grimy day, I turn the hot water up a bit, under the probably false assumption that the heat will “help cut through the dirt.” (I absorbed this information at some point in my life from an Ajax commercial.)

After my sloshing routine, I lightly dab my face dry with the closest piece of cloth I can find — a t-shirt will do — and climb into bed.

This routine has served me well; I had no reason to alter it. I’m not against the balms and creams and serums (and cleansers and moisturizers and something called a toner?) that line my spouse’s shelf in the bathroom. I’ve just never seen a reason to use them. My skin is clear and blemish-free for the most part, so why spend time and money on products when my patented Four-to-Five Splashes Method (trademark pending) has always done the trick?

I say all this not to pat myself on the back, but rather to say that when my boss inquired as to whether I’d ever had a facial before, I believe that, deep down, she already knew the answer. Her email summed it up: “I thought it might be fun to send you — a man whom I imagine is somewhat versed in self-care/grooming but (I’m guessing here) maybe not overly so.” Interpretation: “You seem a bit vain, but not aggressively so.” Spot on!

Plus, I recently turned 40. Even though my skin looks fine right now, that probably won’t be the case for much longer; the slow march of crow’s feet has already begun.

So, I made an appointment at Rescue Spa, Danuta Mieloch’s 22-year-old sanctuary of aesthetics in Rittenhouse. When I mentioned this detail to my wife, her lower lip dropped a bit before she responded just, “You? You get to go to Rescue Spa?” With my spouse satisfyingly confused and envious — a combustible combination, as any married person can attest — I was off.

The night before my appointment, I realized I had no idea how to prepare for it. Should I shave? What do I do with my eyes? Can I fall asleep? Will I be shirtless? I decided that the less I knew, the better. I put down my razor and headed to bed.

I arrived at Rescue Spa the next afternoon, and was soon nestled under a warm blanket, shirtless. (One question down.) I was booked for the Danucera Sculpt & Lift facial, a new offering that Mieloch unveiled last September, meant to do exactly what the name says. The treatment, in fact, was being gifted to all of this year’s Oscar nominees. (Mieloch, recognized as one of the world’s foremost skincare experts, has included her products in swag bags distributed at past Academy Award and Grammy festivities.) My last acting gig was in my 11th-grade Spanish play — I got a C for forgetting my lines and making up whole new scenes for La Bella y la Bestia — but knowing that Teyana Taylor or Timothée Chalamet may also soon be experiencing the same facial made me believe that maybe, just maybe, I could still be a star. (Ryan Coogler, my email address is not hard to find.)

“The first thing I notice about a person is their skin,” Mieloch said at the start of my session, as she gently poked and prodded my cheeks and jawline. I told her that my main concern was the few sunspots on my nose from years of broiling in a lifeguard chair under a layer of Hawaiian Tropic tanning oil, the ones that have led me to dodge dermatologists for the past two decades. No worries, she said. The damage looked minimal. Safe in that knowledge, I sunk into the padded table.

Soon her hands were pulling, puckering, rubbing, gliding, and slapping across my face. Her fingers hooked into my eye sockets; I felt like a trout being gently nudged onto a hook. (This was much less unpleasant than my verb choices may suggest.) Unsure of proper spa protocol — is this a silent kind of thing? — we talked. She told me how she can tell what kind of athlete someone is on the street — Swimmers: “Those shoulders!” Dancers: “Those necks!” — and how, compared to New York and L.A., Philadelphia could use a little more glamour.

She accurately guessed part of my ethnicity (Russian Jew) just by my skin tone and then launched into an incredibly informative monologue about skin physiology, oil production, and moisture retention. My skin naturally retains moisture well, she said, which is why it doesn’t dry out as much as other people’s might. I spend a lot of time at the computer, though, so I need to be cognizant of “tech neck,” which — you guessed it — also affects our skin, by hampering blood flow and stifling regeneration.

Next came LED therapy, alternating red and blue lights that, even with my eyes closed, penetrated my lids just enough to make me feel like I was in a laser tag arena. The lights, I’m told, help reduce inflammation and kill bacteria — two worthy causes, if you ask me. After that came a device that, using electrical currents, aimed to tighten and firm my skin; it produced a sensation that I can only describe as “shuffling across a carpet and tapping a metal doorknob.” It felt weird, but not bad, and the sensation has lingered; I can still recall it in my cheeks and forehead a week later.

As our session came to a close, Mieloch handed me a white bag with the balms and creams and tonics I’d so thoroughly eschewed for years. Once outside, I FaceTimed my wife, my face dewy and glowing. She seemed mildly impressed.

Since my session — during which I thought more about my skin over the course of an hour than I collectively had over my entire life — I’ve taken to using the facial balm every night, along with the eye cream. I’m easing into the other products. And maybe it’s a placebo effect, or I’m just spending more time looking at my skin, but I really do feel like my skin looks better. There’s more color, and those sunspots aren’t as prominent.

Time will tell whether I stick with this new routine. But on Sunday, while watching Michael B. Jordan accept his Oscar for Best Actor, my mind drifted from Sinners and his role and Hollywood. Instead, my only thought was, Damn, I wonder what that guy does for his skin?