Raya* and I had been friends for nearly a decade when she asked me to get the Suddenly Slimmer treatment with her. When she and I first met, I immediately disliked her because she was so often ridiculous. But it was her relentless spirit that won me over in the end. Anytime I was annoyed by her behavior, she would chase me down and want to talk about it. Back then, there were few things I loathed more than talking about feelings and Raya used that to her advantage. She knew that to get me to do something I didn’t want to do, you had to badger me into submission. She learned to do this with great efficiency. And to her credit, it takes a bit of tenacity to weasel your way into my heart – but once you’re there, you are there forever.
The Suddenly Slimmer body wrap treatment claims to “take off excess inches, help remove harmful toxins, reduce stretch marks and diminish cellulite – all in as little as one hour.” Raya had seen a segment about it on one of those entertainment gossip shows and was convinced we should try it. When all other attempts to get me to go failed, she whispered, “Giyen, Ellen Degeneres did the treatment before the Academy Awards.” She should have led with that. I am a sucker for celebrity endorsements.
At the time, there were three Suddenly Slimmer locations in the Seattle area. Without hesitation, we picked the one that was furthest away. There is a deep knowing when you are doing something completely idiotic, and this was lunacy. The only thing worse than knowing you’re doing something stupid, is when someone you know witnesses it. Going to the suburbs was our only rational decision in this whole ordeal.
On a Tuesday afternoon, we drove 20 miles north of Seattle for our appointment. Instead of the zen-like medical spa we were hoping for, Suddenly Slimmer was located in a suburban commercial office complex. The kind where you would typically find a temporary location of an H&R Block or the headquarters of a prosthetic limbs company. As we walked toward the suite, we had the type of shame I imagine you get when walking into a strip club on a weekday afternoon. You get out of your car in broad daylight and walk swiftly, but not swiftly enough to garner any attention. And you hang your head low to avoid making eye contact because if you don’t see them, they can’t see you.
Raya and I checked in for our appointment, sat down, and thumbed through old issues of lady magazines. There was nothing luxurious about the space. It was a beige palace of mediocrity. The waiting room had those cheap chairs with lousy upholstery and tubular legs. The blinds were drawn to ensure our privacy, stifling any semblance of life in the space. No one made eye contact. What happens in Suddenly Slimmer, stays in Suddenly Slimmer.
Call me high maintenance, but I typically need a little ambiance before I strip down in front of a stranger. Maybe a little soft music, some tastefully arranged flowers on a console table, an essential oil diffuser. I don’t know. The silence was deafening in there. When Lacey called my name, I was just so happy to hear something other than my interior monologue of shame.
My rudimentary understanding of the Suddenly Slimmer treatment was that a licensed professional wraps you in ace bandages from head to toe like a mummy. Then you’re immersed in a proprietary solution that detoxifies you. Body measurements are taken before and after your session to prove you’ve lost inches. And then the new, slimmer you leaves the facility with joy in your heart.
Lacey escorted me to a dressing room with fluorescent lights, a full-length mirror, and a large pink plastic tub sitting on the floor. She directed me to get undressed down to my bra and underwear and to alert her when I was ready. I pulled the curtain closed, reluctantly undressed, and looked at myself in the mirror for a good 30 seconds, and asked, “What the fuck am I doing?” Even at 48, this happens more than you think.
Admittedly, I wasn’t sure how any of this was going to work, but when Lacey returned, she instructed me to step into the plastic tub and spread my legs. After logging my measurements, she set about her mummification work in silence. It was a huge relief since I’m not fond of small talk, and I’m pretty sure Lacey doesn’t get paid nearly enough to chit chat as she’s wrapping people’s groins and breasts in ace bandages.
After the mummification process was complete, Lacey brought a bucket of their proprietary solution and a turkey baster into the room. There’s no other way to describe what happened next except to say that she basted me like a 25-pound turkey on Thanksgiving. I was drenched from head to toe, with the excess solution making its way into the plastic tub below. She then had me lift my left foot so she could put a clear plastic bag and a rubber band on it to keep me from dripping on the beige industrial carpet. She did the same to the right.
Sadly, there aren’t enough words to describe what I looked like at this point. Perhaps a cross between a mummy, the Michelin man, and someone who recently escaped a padded room in a behavioral facility. You cannot unsee these things. This memory is seared into my brain forever.
Lacey led me to a room down the hall, where I thought I would get to lie down with heated blankets on top of me. This seemed only logical. Instead, she opened the door to reveal another room with closed blinds. On the left side of the room was a flat-screen television, a DVD player, and a selection of DVDs on a shelf. On the right were three Tony Little Gazelles – a type of analog elliptical machine.
“Now, what you need to do is get on one of the machines and exercise for 30 minutes,” Lacey said matter of factly. “That is going to help draw out the toxins.”
“You want me to get on one of those machines? With these plastic bags on my feet?” I replied.
“Yes, exactly. I’ll put a movie on. It helps the time go faster. What do you want to watch?”
I looked at the DVD selection. Forest Gump? The Holiday? Hitch?
“Devil Wears Prada,” I reply.
Lacey let out a disgruntled sigh. “EVERYONE chooses Devil Wears Prada. I don’t know why we have any other DVD. It’s probably still in the player.”
It was. She belted out a sarcastic laugh.
About 10 minutes into my workout, the door opened, and a mummified Raya entered the room. A different technician gave her the same spiel about exercise and detoxification and then made a snarky comment about how she didn’t have a choice but to watch the Devil Wears Prada … again.
When the door closed, I made eye contact with Raya and burst out laughing. She looked just as insane as I did. I nearly peed myself – which wouldn’t have made a difference since I was essentially wrapped in a big wet rag.
“Don’t laugh!” Raya cried out.
“This is ridiculous. I am never doing any of your hair-brained ideas, again,” I said.
“I didn’t force you to do this. You said you wanted to come,” she replied.
“I know, but this idea takes the cake! Take a good look at yourself right now.”
“You don’t look so hot yourself,” Raya quipped back.
At that point, we decided to Gazelle in silence. With each stride, the plastic bags on our feet started to fill up with fluid from the proprietary solution seeping down our legs. Our toes began to look like old gray raisins. Our bandages sagged from the movement. Meanwhile, a willowy Anne Hathaway was about to convince Stanley Tucci to take her to “The Closet” to get a couture makeover. I cannot convey the depths of irony I felt at that moment.
It will be of no surprise to you that Suddenly Slimmer does not actually make you slimmer. Lacey stripped me of my sweaty bandages and then measured me again. Yes, the total inches were down, but I think it was a combination of sleight of hand – holding the measuring tape more tautly during the second round of measurements – and an artifact of the body compression that happens after being wrapped tightly for an hour. Like most quick fixes, none of it was long-lasting.
*Some of the names in this story have been changed for privacy purposes. Not everyone has the desire to be ridiculous.
