IDS Aesthetics Pep. Blu Deep review, as recounted by a guy who’s never been for a professional facial
Whole new world
There are a specific set of challenges that come with having an oblivious male as your best friend. They never deter you from making life-altering aesthetical decisions on the basis that they have no idea what you're talking about; you can't count on them to have tissues on hand; and there's a startling lack of awareness as to why coordinated bathroom trips are a thing. Pros: I now have a 24-hour IT help-desk at my beck-and-call. Cons: he probably thinks an epilator is some type of exercise equipment (David, if you're reading this — no, you're thinking of an elliptical).
But I digress. The point of this piece is not to spotlight antiquated gender norms, but rather, to talk about a rite of passage (of sorts) that some of us can never recapture: our first facial. Call me sentimental, but it's been years and I still get dewy-eyed over my virgin expedition to a neighbourhood salon; the naïve optimism that good skin was underway despite, uh, seedy extraction practices and persistent package pedaling.
And so — as an altruistic being determined to let my friend enjoy a variety of life experiences — I decided that it was paramount for David to venture into the world of facial treatments. IDS Aesthetics, thankfully, was game when I pitched the idea. Their recommendation: the Pep. Blu Deep facial, which utilises newfangled electropration technology to lift and rejuvenate skin.
For the sake of quality control, I asked to try the treatment for myself so I'd be able to judge it accordingly (and accurately). As it was, I found that there were no eccentricities in the beginning. My face was cleansed of makeup before my therapist requested she conduct a light extraction. While this normally isn't a part of standard procedure, I'm told that this is to ensure more potent results. An
excruciating 10 minutes later, we got to the good stuff: the aforementioned non-invasive electropation waves.
Liberal amounts of their proprietary Pep.Blu Serum was first applied to my mien. It was then spread around using a device that emitted rapid static shocks; a sensation that while discomfiting, was definitely tolerable for seasoned facial goers. A hydrating mask was applied on after to bring down any residual redness. Results were apparent almost instantaneously, where the contours of my face appeared a tad sharper while also sporting a discernable glow.
Positive as my experience was, I couldn't help but worry. It felt as if I had decided to throw an untried, novice swimmer to the sharks. I figured that there were informed dudes out there who were probably aware that facials, at times, did involve some level of pain, but I wasn't sure if that applied to David — whose complexion has always resembled a smooth, varnished Fillet O' Fish bun that he attributes to "washing his face with soap." Has the man ever had to suffer the indignity of getting a particularly stubborn blackhead pushed free from his nose? Debatable. It was likely that he was very much in for a rude awakening.
The day arrived, and I braced myself for a bevy of complaints after the facial — but was, instead, treated to live updates via text. In all of five minutes, David had opted to break the Sacred Rule of Facials and brought his phone in with him rather than storing it in the provided lockers. Sacrilegious. This was then followed by chipper line of messages that made me question my entire existence built upon the certainty of having elevated pain tolerance.
"My therapist said I had really good skin," he wrote, of which was quickly followed by, "she extracted some blackheads around my nose" with no fanfare whatsoever. Absolutely no complaints of pain, despite the fact that I spent my extraction session expelling what felt like two litres worth of tears. I briefly entertained the notion that he could be faking nonchalance to impress me (unlikely) or the general female population (likely). But then the kicker arrived: "There's an electrocution thing. It's nice." Then, as if he wasn't, y'know, shattering my entire belief system or something, "I like the way it makes my face twitch."
Is it possible that my best friend has granite skin? Absolutely. There's also the chance that a new addition to my skincare routine had heightened my pain receptors, somehow. Either way, he emerged with brighter, more-radiant skin — something he actually managed to pick up on, after. "I felt nothing," he wrote. Then, in a single sentence that turns the whole men-are-seriously-inattentive trope on its head, "But I noticed there's a really big difference to my face." Huh - perhaps there's hope for a certain faction of the male population yet. Or maybe the facial is just that good. I'll leave it to you to find out.