Hear me out: Fake tan is the OG fuckboy and here’s why
As Rihanna said, I hate that I love you
We've all been there on that Tuesday night, you're avoiding the countless texts from your friends asking whether you'll be at YOLO tomorrow. Out the corner of your eye you see it, your fake tan mitt and and an XL pack of St Moritz 'Darker than Dark.' You know exactly what's about to go down and you hate yourself for it.
These are the reasons why fake tan will fuck you up more than grey joggers and a fresh trim ever will.
Your parents don't approve
You spend your whole evening prepping, moisturising and tanning, only to be greeted with remarks of disdain and disapproval from your parents. You proudly parade around the living-room and show them your new bronze (orange) glow but it's just not enough to get their approval.
But you don't let them hold you back, they 'don't understand' you tell yourself in reassurance, you love your fake tan.
Your friends beg you to not go back
'You've really taken it too far this time' your friends reply in response to the weekly 'just applied a fourth layer lol' Snapchat. They've told you time and time again that you can do so much better but you know deep down no one understands you quite like your trusty St Moriz.
You don't recognise yourself anymore
You step out of that painfully long shower after executing your night-out ritual to perfection: exfoliating, shaving, washing your hair. Only to be greeted by what seems to be a bright glowing presence in the mirror.
Is it a ghost? The sun? My sleep paralysis demon? No – it's just you, smooth as a baby's bum, and as pasty as Snow White herself (has Disney never heard of Dove gradual tanner?).
You're never fully comfortable around them
No tight clothes – can't risk going patchy. Can't relax cause your skin is so sticky. Turning up to your tutor meeting knowing all too well you're being judged on your faux glow. Standing next to your pale friends only highlights the contrast. Can I just go about my life in peace?!
One week your tanning routine is flawless: no streaks, no tiger bread looking hands, no patchy crisis to address. Have you finally done it? After all these years of trials and tribulations you've got your routine to a T.
Only to complete the exact same routine the next week to wake up to a brown stripy mess. Where am I going wrong? Why do I not look like Molly-Mae? Please someone point me in the direction of the nearest exfoliating glove!
They ruin your sheets
Say no more. At least Bondi won't leave me on read.
Does the perfect tanning routine exist? Where is the Holy Grail? How do I get out of my crippling overdraft? Soon fake tan will leave you with as many questions as the local fuck boy does.
Know something? Send tips to [email protected]