Because she happily admits she’s never that consistent, she can’t really know whether or not the product is worth it. It’s either radical transparency on the part of its manufacturer or a brilliant marketing tactic.
For those willing to put in the time, the supposed effects can mean a longer window between expensive dermatologist appointments (for the one-time cost of an expensive device). Laurence Newman, the CurrentBody CEO and cofounder, admits that even the most sophisticated tools can’t replace professional help, but contends that they “have their own little space in the beauty industry”. In my apartment, however, they’re occupying considerably more than “their own little space”.
I squeeze the Ziip Halo – a petite microcurrent device, which I enjoy meditatively running along my jawline – into my medicine cabinet. And the Laduora Duo – a vibrating Swiss Army knife of a hairbrush – is discreet enough to keep in a high-traffic area. Unfortunately, bulkier devices are less easily stashed. The LED masks are piled high in a corner of my living room and the helmet sits on a sidetable looking like something out of a hi-tech production of Hamlet. Alas, poor Yorick. He would have loved cell rejuvenation.
I do too. But I can’t keep this up: I’m charging so many gadgets in the kitchen I have to unplug my food processor. Evan Rieder, a New York-based dual board-certified physician in dermatology and psychiatry, gives me permission to let most of them go.
“In general, I say if you have the time and the money, [these tools] are probably not going to hurt,” he says, but most devices “don’t have that much data behind them”. He advises patients to commit to the most rigorously tested, potent and boring anti-ageing protocol around: sunscreen, a prescription retinol and in-office procedures such as Botox and lasers.
After weeks of experimentation, I make an appointment at Ricari Studios, an exclusive, futuristic spa that promises “tech-forward” restoration and specialises in a machine-initiated form of lymphatic drainage massage. Its signature device suctions me until I’m limber and floating, and I find I like tech-augmented self-care better when someone else is manning the controls.
But the best part of the treatment turns out to arrive in the final 45 seconds after the tech has been stashed and the cables disconnected, when Jodi, the serene practitioner, dabs the nape of my neck and the tops of my shoulder blades with a mentholated balm. It feels amazing, as comforting as your mum rubbing Vicks VapoRub on your back when you’re a child. No Bluetooth connection required.
