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One man tackles online hair and beauty website Treatwell to discover if “treating yourself” is fit for the female world alone (and other uses for cucumbers).

It’s hard to believe, but that warm kiss on the nape of your neck is spring. It’s time (or almost) to shed your literal and metaphorical coat in exchange for sleeveless shirts, late sunsets and fuck-off expensive beach holidays. In the parlance of our age, it’s time to treat yo’self, and treat yo’self well.

Sensing this, Treatwell, an online hair and beauty website, extended a digital hand to help rid the chill from my bones and get me spring-ready. Feeling particularly grizzly after emerging from the frigid Berlin winter, I was hardly in the position to decline. One look in the mirror was confirmation enough that mere soap wouldn’t be enough to facilitate a transformation fit for Persephone’s judgement. And so began my first foray into the glamorous world of beauty therapy.

Disclaimer: I know little to nothing about pampering. I cut my hair once a year, have worn a face mask only as a joke and have never used cucumber slices for anything else other than as an addition to a salad. I was a complete amateur going into this and was unsure what to make of it.

Luckily Treatwell is prepared for uncouth deplorables like myself. It brings together a vast selection of different treatments from various participating salons and parlours in Berlin. The website is divided into different categories based on the treatment you’re looking for, including massages, nails, spa breaks and hair removal (which may be just your thing when Pornceptual rolls around again). The booking process is beautifully simple. It’s easy and intuitive, and exactly what you want when you’re paying other people money to trim body hair from dubious areas while making you feel good.

Therefore, the only thing I had to worry about was my choice of treatment. Do I get a fresh cut at one of the finest barbers this side of Spree? Maybe give my feet some much-needed attention with a pedicure? Inject more volume than a Tolstoy novel into my eyebrows with some microblading? After much deliberation I decided to indulge my inner hedonist and booked a hot stone massage at the Radisson Blu in Mitte.

Treatwell: Ecstasy, Hot Oils, and Nothing Weird About It At All

Not knowing what to expect, I headed to the Radisson with the objective of dispelling my aches and pains at the feathery hands of a Swedish massage angel. That angel turned out to be a Romanian man in his ’50s. Not one to turn down the services of a professional, I stripped to undergarments and let him work his magic. And magic it was. Through some mystic combination of light hands, hot oil and stones organised strategically along my spine, arms and legs, and light piano music accompanied by the sounds of gentle rain, I felt the stress pouring out of me as though through a spigot.

Ecstasy is too grand a word to describe the feeling, but it was close. When the massage was done I rolled limply out of the hotel, unable to believe how I had never felt this relaxed before, already planning what I was going to indulge in next.

A day at the spa drinking triple-distilled mineral water? A gym session with a personal trainer? A platinum dye job that could land me a role in the next Pepsi ad? It’s hard to decide, but I’m glad Treatwell’s there when I do.

Treatwell, Berlin Loves You.

Check out Treatwell’s website here.

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About Author

Martin Stokes hails from Johannesburg, South Africa. He digs writing about all manner of things and can quote lines from films like nobody's business. He moved to Berlin in 2015 and is working assiduously at broadening his repertoire of bad jokes. [email protected]

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