Like the CBD manicure, I was a bit confused as to how one could integrate CBD into a facial. Would there be some sort of CBD-infused steam component, like a mist-er at an amusement park, only with hemp? Or would the CBD be applied directly to my skin, and could that even be good for your face? Would my face even like CBD?
I flip-flop into the treatment room with my flute of champagne, my robe fluffy and light, my skin equal parts excited and scared. The aesthetician begins by cleaning, steaming, and exfoliating my face, examining my epidermis with the kind of huge light I imagine the government shines over the captured alien bodies at Area 51.
An aside: even if you don’t like facials, you should definitely go to this salon because, honestly, it’s the biggest pep talk of my life. The aesthetician keeps telling me what great skin I have (reader, my skin isn’t that great), and whispering “So beautiful, so beautiful” to herself as she putters around the room. She is so emphatic and effusive it would be weird if she wasn’t so sincere, and she basically brainwashes me into thinking I’m Gwyneth Paltrow. She’s not unlike one of the self-help leaders I’d imagine working on Oprah’s soulful cruise ship excursions, or perhaps a life coach with an uncanny interest in my pores.
weed near me This makes it all the more jarring when she reveals to me that I have broken capillaries under my eyes. I thought I was perfect?! I feel like I’ve let her down by exposing this harrowing detail of my body, this uncomfortable reminder of my humanity. But fear not, she assures me—I am still so beautiful, so beautiful. Plus, CBD helps with discoloration and blemishes, she says, and can be used to treat things like rosacea, broken capillaries, and, yes, just generally possessing a human body.
She then applies two CBD masks (one moisturizing, one not), followed by CBD serum and eye cream, which she massages into my face and chest to make sure the oil gets down into my pores.
I am deeply relaxed (which isn’t really a surprise, as I’m lying in a dark room, a glass of champagne deep, while a woman rubs oil derived from a cousin of marijuana into my pores). But, perhaps even better, I really think it works. I take a look in the mirror afterwards, examining my skin closely for any changes, and I have to say—I look like a freaking cherub, lounging youthfully and rosily on a tiny hempseed plant, as light and fluffy as an otherworldly cloud.