After two decades of globetrotting pamper quests, from vampire facials in Spain to topless pedis in Soho, Jess Baldwin dives headfirst into the latest spa treatments that promise more than just a cucumber slice and a scented candle. Expect mud caves, lava shells and the occasional sea shanty…
I love a good pamper, but if my years as a spa reviewer have taught me anything, it’s to approach these mysterious establishments with caution. Having spent almost 20 years spa-trekking, I’ve been pummelled and polished in some of the globe’s most flamboyant zen dens, but along the way I’ve found myself in some particularly peculiar predicaments…
There was the vampire facial in Costa Blanca – loosely translated it involved having around 1,000 injections of my own blood unceremoniously rammed back into my terrified face, drop by bloody drop. Or, the gold facial in Tuscany – I looked like a well-polished bust by the time they were through gilding me, my visage decorated with sheet upon sheet of 24-carat gold – truth be told, watching them wash it down the sink, fleck by fleck was more painful than the vampire facial!
Yet, the most ridiculous treatment of them all? Why, that took place back in Blighty – in a seedy Soho basement, to be precise. It’s all a bit of a blur now (PTSD, perhaps), but it’s safe to say that when I skipped in for a pedi, I never expected to end up topless in a dank dungeon, head clamped into a disconcertingly sticky massage chair, clinging to it for modesty whilst attempting to divert my gaze from my Romanian masseuse’s crotch.
Thankfully, the ravenous garra rufa fish fled London long ago – leaving behind a shoal of traumatized spa-goers – and enough zoonotic diseases to keep Harley Street busy for a while- streptococcus agalactiae, anyone?
But around the world, you’ll still find some fascinating beauty rituals; from Japanese geishas frantically slathering their faces with nightingale droppings and oiled-up Russian men rejoicing in whipping each other with birch branches, to boozy beer baths – currently all the rage in the good ol’ US of A.
Don’t paying through the nose to get spanked with a stick? Fear not, consider this your go-to treatment menu for those days when a mediocre massages or a forgettable facial just won’t do. Whether you’re after relaxation or validation, we have the perfect treatment for you – and there isn’t an avian excretion in sight.
Get stroked to sleep at Pennyhill Park
Ah, the elusive eight hours. Sought by many, achieved by… well, basically nobody. If like me you’re an earplug-wearing, pillow-flipping, eye mask-donning, toilet-dashing kind of (non) sleeper, it’s time to stop popping magnesium like it’s going out of fashion and check yourself into world-famous Pennyhill Park. Just over an hour from London, this lush 5-star Surrey retreat, set within 120 acres of flora-filled gardens, comes complete with its very own Michelin-starred restaurant – oh, and one of the UK’s most decadent spas. Spanning a mind-boggling 45,000 square feet, the enormous spa offers everything from a mud room to an ice igloo! Guests here can choose from a tempting tableau of steaming pools and bubbling Canadian hot tubs – there’s even a colonnaded ballroom pool, which pipes classical music through its underwater speakers – well, why the heck not, hey!
However, once you’ve bathed with Beethoven, poor sleepers should hot foot it to their treatment rooms for their immensely effective Pro-Sleep Retreat. This snooze-worthy overnight escape is centred around the Tranquillity Pro-Sleep Treatment. Inspired by Indonesian Sea Malay massage, this featherlight, hour-long stroke-athon sees your therapist slowly slather you in [comfort zone]’s signature cedarwood and sweet orange oil, through the lightest of touch and the gentlest of brush strokes. The result? Well, the short version is you fall asleep almost instantly. The longer version is that it lulls your nervous system into complete submission. It’s soothing, sensorial and—whisper it—slightly maternal. Add in an equally dreamy dinner at Michelin-starred Latymer and you’ll be snoozing like royalty in no time.
For more information on Pennyhill Park’s Pro-Sleep Retreat, please visit www.exclusive.co.uk.
Be validated at Lush
You can smell this dazzling, eco-friendly, Covent Garden pamper palace long before you see it. Renowned for its pungent pyramids of kaleidoscopic bath bombs, Lush has been spicing up the nation’s bathtime since the 80s- dutifully offsetting the era’s hairspray-heavy carbon footprint, one edible facemask at a time. Beyond the olfactory assault course-cum- shop floor hides a serene subterranean spa. Fancy a little manifestation with your moisturisation? Book the Validation Facial; part beauty treatment, part therapy session and frankly, part trip. Having selected my favourite products from the deli-style counter (the facemasks sit on ice, poised like Belon oysters), I’m invited to hop in a deliciously warm bed, engulfed in fruit-laced dry ice.
“This is your time now,” my therapist uttered, in a melty, milky voice, as the sounds of the great British seaside kicked in; all crashing waves and soaring gulls. A few squawks in and the inhouse band took the helm, “rowing me out to sea” with their hypnotic sea shanties and skin-loving, confidence-boosting affirmations. To call this a facial undersells it somewhat, my feet were ‘cleansed’, my listless limbs were massaged with lotions as thick as Cornwall’s finest clotted cream and hot stones danced around my decolletage, neck and shoulders, leaving my tension somewhere in the Celtic Sea. Gulls squawked once again, announcing our return to dry land, just as ‘oh, we do like to be beside the seaside’ burst out of the speakers, causing me to stifle a giggle. This is one treatment I shall rebook, after all, “I do deserve it”.
Lush’s 60-minute Validation Facial is priced at £120pp and is available for one or two people. For more information or to book see www.lush.com.
Dive hair first into the world of trichology at Philip Kingsley
Upon telling the school mums I had an appointment with a trichologist, I was met with an army of blank stares. Dermatologists? Sure. Endocrinologist? Tick. But a trichologist? Nada. Ironic, really — considering we’re cartwheeling toward perimenopause, one rebellious peri-piercing at a time.
In layman’s terms, a trichologist is a hair and scalp specialist — your go-to for everything from flaky scalps to thinning tresses. Think of them as follicular detectives, using blood tests, probing questions, and super-charged magnifying glasses to get to the root (pun very much intended) of your hair woes.
The best in the business? Philip Kingsley — the man behind the cult Elasticizer treatment (originally his personalised creation for nonother than Audrey Hepburn). Before his passing, everyone from Victoria Beckham to Sienna Miller had him on speed dial for “bad hair days” – after all, he did coin the term!
Thankfully, his legacy lives on — not just in bestselling products, but in his swishy Mayfair clinic, where world-class trichologists take a refreshingly holistic approach to hair health: analysing genetics, diet and lifestyle before even inspecting your barnet.
At my consultation, I learned I had enough hair to open a small wig shop — but was still shedding more than usual. Cue private blood tests (your hair, it turns out, is a solid barometer of your health). Based on the results, my trichologist prescribed a tailored mix of Philip Kingsley products — some from the shop floor, others from a hush-hush, prescription-only stash. Then it was off to the salon for an incredibly satisfying bespoke 60-minute hair and scalp treatment – it left me wondering why I had never had my scalp steamed before. The result? Baby-soft, weightless hair — and zero bad hair days since – it seems Miss Hepburn was right, “nothing is impossible”.
An initial consultation and clinical treatment at Philip Kingsley takes 2 hours and is priced at £345. For more information or to book visit www.philipkingsley.co.uk.
Get massaged with hot lava shells at Champneys
Think hot stones have become a little pedestrian? We hear you – and luckily, so do Champneys. Yes, the OG of British wellness has given the traditional hot stone massage a welcome glow up with its pretty pink, super smooth, wonderfully wars tiger clam shells. Its Lava Shell Massage sees your therapist glide the toasty shells in long, sweeping strokes across your back, neck and shoulders, targeting knots with the precision of a Russian ballerina.
The result? An Ariel-worthy 50-minute treatment that melts muscle tension without the wince-inducing elbow jabbing. It’s deeply soothing, surprisingly effective, and just about exotic enough to brag about at brunch. The only downside? I give you an hour before you’re Googling “can I buy those magical self-heating super smooth tiger clam shell thingies?”. I will save you the embarrassing addition to your search history: yes – but please don’t bother, there are plenty of Champneys within a hot stone’s throw of the capital. Picking one sent you into decision paralysis? Go for their award-winning flagship resort in handsome Tring. Located in leafy Hertfordshire, the extensive resort is set within 170 acres of rolling parkland. Now that’s one massage worth shelling out on – sorry.
Champney’s lava shell massage is priced at £115. For more information or to book visit www.champneys.com.
Bathe in wine at AIRE
A pebble’s toss from Covent Garden, with its knife-wielding street performers and awe-struck tourists, hides the ultimate homage to Greco-Roman bathing: AIRE Ancient Baths. It’s apt that this subterranean aquatic spa is concealed in the cavernous 18th-century vaults of the former abode of author J.M. Barrie, of Peter Pan fame, as descending into this candle-lit watery wellness warren feels a little like stumbling into a fantastical world. In it, one can float weightlessly in the trippy floatation chamber, get turned to ice in the frosty frigidarium or get pummelled to smithereens in the ‘pool of a thousand jets’. The hush-hush hideaway sees steaming pools ripple beneath burly stone arches, with blissed out folk hedonistically collapsed in various candle-lit nooks.
Feeling chatty? Expect a Tibetan bell or two – your subtle reminder to politely shut up – this is a silent affair. So far, so quirky but for those wanting to crank it up a notch, a private wine soak awaits. Less of a spa treatment, more of an oenophile’s wellness ritual, it invites you to wallow in skin-loving, antioxidant-rich Spanish Ribera del Duero whilst you clink a glass of the good stuff – to good health indeed. For weary Londoners in need of serious escapism, this is liquid therapy at its most intoxicating.
Accessing AIRE starts from £105. Their infamous two-hour wine soak experience is prices at £480. For more information, see www.beaire.com.
Get dirty with Damu’s mud cave experience
With edgy artworks and a tropical taxidermy collection that could give the Natural History Museum a run for its money, The Mandrake — a curious 5-star boutique hotel-cum-treasure trove — instantly woos. But for a real thrill, sniff out its delightfully offbeat spa. As the capital’s most spiritual wellness warren, candlelit Damu goes far beyond the token joss sticks and ginseng, offering everything from full moon ceremonies and chakra healing to full on shamanic sound journeys.
It’s also home to London’s dirtiest spa experience: the Mud Cave. Its otherworldly subterranean detox chamber invites you to cocoon yourself in mineral-rich mud while revelling in hypnotic lighting and low-frequency soundscapes. Sourced from the Austrian Alps, the mud itself is packed with skin-loving goodies like quartz and mica, known to draw out toxins, boost circulation and leave your skin feeling cool, calm and silky soft. The warmth of the cave opens pores and soothes muscles, while the ambient frequencies are said to help rebalance energy and promote deep relaxation. Optional add-ons include crystal therapy and sound baths for those feeling extra cosmic. You’ll emerge slick, soft and frankly, just a little smug.
Damu’s mud cave experience is priced at £130. Form more information, please visit www.damu.uk.
