MASSAGE ETIQUETTE.
I have enough awkward anecdotes to write this column five times over, but I’ll keep it to the most important issues because massage decorum, if nothing else, is important. For example, paper knickers: should you wear them?
More to the point, why would you want to? Is it because you don’t want massage oil on your silky delicates?
Out of politeness, I once wore the paper panties provided at a French spa. They’re not a snug fit. They linger somewhere near where they need to be, like Saturn’s rings linger near Saturn. Once I was lying on my front, my massage therapist flipped up the towel to my waist, so my entire bottom half was exposed. Then she grabbed an ankle in each hand, yanked them apart and massaged my legs right up to the, well, the business end. It was the most relaxing experience I’ve ever had. I’m kidding! My bum did not unclench until late the next day. Take my advice: don’t wear your nice pants to a massage, but, for the love of God, wear your own pants.
What about pressure? On a scale of irritating fingertip-stroking (stop touching me) to a pain level that requires Lamaze breathing (in, one two three, out, one two threeoww), the perfect pressure is the pressure you like, so let the therapist know if it’s not good enough. Don’t take the pain or walk out, like I did, halfway through 90 minutes of forearm stroking. And consider this: the point of a massage is to relax. You know what isn’t relaxing? Someone putting their mouth next to your ear and whispering, like a child in a horror film, ‘Is the pressure OK?’
Talking of feeling relaxed, during a recent massage in Morocco, my female therapist told me how beautiful my body was the entire time. Being naked, the compliment felt a bit unnerving. You can request silence in your massage, so exercise that right. Equally, if someone positions a towel under your neck in such a way that it sweeps actual, terrifying paralysis from your toes to your fingers, along with an instant migraine, don’t be afraid to pipe up – a good massage should not paralyse you. (Sensation returned once the towel was removed.)
And finally, sex. No, not that kind of massage. As a woman, is it OK to be massaged by a man? Hell, yes – I’ve had some amazing male therapists, and a good one should be thought of like a doctor: they’re not looking at your body in that way. That said, in Italy I had a couples massage, where they paired us with therapists of the opposit sex. As my man stroked me, my husband had the best deep-tissue of his life from his woman. I should have asked for her. The moral of the story is this: massages are marvellous, but they can be expensive, so you have to make sure you get the best experience possible. You wouldn’t eat a Michelin-starred meal if the waiter coughed into your kohlrabi, right? So repeat after me: no paper panties.
lovingly
‘DON’T WEAR NICE PANTS TO A MASSAGE, BUT, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WEAR YOUR OWN PANTS’