Back in high school, I knew several things were true about the world:

• Ugg boots were an abomination to nature, and I would never wear them.
• Tanning was absurd, and the physical symbol of capitalism and industrialization. (Not that there is anything wrong with those.) Only Paris Hilton-wannabes would do such sick, frivolous things to themselves.
• I would never, ever, ever, ever get into Harvard.

Since then, I’ve gotten into Harvard, and as a consequence, realized that sheepskin boots are awfully comfy in snowdrifts.

But I still maintained my belief that tanning was ridiculous.

In Asia, fairness is associated with beauty. Whitening creams are a dime a dozen, and before/after photos turn dusky-skinned outcasts into milk-white, lumiscient beauties. My natural skin is neither rosy-fair, nor particularly tan, and I was fine with whatever color I happened to turn with the coming and going of the seasons.

But if you examine the taut bodies of pageant contestants, you’ll note that they are, without exception, kissed with bronze. That bronze may be natural or Mystic tan; it varies from being baked in the California rays to cooked in the confined space of a tanning bed. But the fact remains that in American beauty, darker hues are seen as the antithesis to wan sickliness, unathleticism, and frigid winters. To be tan is to be wealthy, skinny, and in good health. Bronze carries aspirations of Hamptons beachfront mansions and girls with coltish legs set off by tennis whites. Tan is rich. Tan is beautiful.

Which is how I ended up standing in Darque Tan on Huntington Ave, driven by a Groupon discount deal. The saleswoman really pushed some tanning cream on me (I realized later she was being a good salesperson and that cream is not necessary).

“Have you ever tanned before?” she asked me.

“No, never,” I admitted. I felt like a sickly impostor.

She then tried to sell me a $45 bottle of tanning cream to “accelerate and maintain” my tan.

I finally was suckered into buying a $15 mini bottle.

Tanning is very complex, with five “levels” of tanning based on strength, along with a spray tan option. She started me off on Level 3 at 11 minutes based on my propensity to burn. “The bed will start automatically in five minutes,” she said, pointing at the blinking red light on the wall. “If you want to start sooner, press the button. The radio is over there.”

I fumbled with my cream and affixed my safety eyegear. The bed suddenly turned on with the loud, insistent whir of fans and an eery blue glow. I clambered in and pulled down the top.

I immediately freaked out.

It was like being sucked into an alien space pod. All around me was a flourescent blue light. My depth perception had changed. Mild claustrophobia ensued.

I think most jarring of all was the whirring of the fans – like I was about to be sucked into a separate dimension, wearing my really scary protective mini-goggles. I took some photos and amused myself with how creepy I looked.

beam me up, scotty

After my initial fear subsided, I fiddled with the facial bulbs and fan strength. I relaxed. It was almost … fun.

The results? I noticed my tummy was a shade or two darker, and my face looked a bit irritated. After another day or two, plus another tanning session in a level 5 bed, the redness was replaced by a light coloring.

My stomach, however, really took to this tanning thing. After four sessions of tanning, it’s a dark caramel hue, like the rich roasted skin of a Thanksgiving turkey. After maxing out at 12 minutes in the Level 5 bed my final time tanning, I noticed I had gone a little too hardcore – my back had burned a bit.

What scares me most is that I actually enjoy the entire process now. There’s something relaxing about lying down, tuning out, and feeling the warmth of carcinogenic rays turning your skin into the color of privilege. Plus, the radio is set to Top 40 radio. Katy Perry sings for me.

I never wanted to succumb to Ugg boots. I felt deep unease at first about attending Harvard. Why did I have to enter into tanning?

At least I have a few more brain cells than Paris Hilton. I hope.

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