The Quick Solar Fix
Why the Jersey Shore is better than a tanning salon: The New York Times, Speaking Personally Column
SPEAKING PERSONALLY; THE QUICK SOLAR FIX IS MAKING SUNBATHERS A RARE SPECIES
By Marcy Darin
June 29, 1986
IF A TROUBLING trend continues, the Jersey Shore beachnik may soon be declared an endangered species by the Department of the Interior.
Where, for decades, parched sun-bathers flocked to beaches from Sandy Hook to Cape May, their sons and daughters may be cruising the state's shopping malls and main streets for a quick solar fix: the tanning salon.
How much longer, I wonder, will Garden State sun worshipers bury their toes in the sand and their heads in a spine-tingling novel on sultry August afternoons?
Flipping through my local Yellow Pages, I was aghast to learn that at least five new bronzing boutiques had switched on their ultraviolet tubes within the last year. A quick call to one such establishment assured me that, for a mere $10, I could snuggle in the privacy of my own tanning bed behind locked doors.
As I understand it, the process works on the same principle as a giant waffle iron: slipping under a ray-emitting blanket assures you of bronzing both sides of your body at the same time. As your sun-thirsty skin soaks in the rays, your nerves can be soothed through a set of headphones that allows you to tan both methodically and melodically.
''It's really quite practical,'' one salon buff assured me. ''No more sandy grains in your scalp, no blotchy freckles, no more unsightly red patches on your thighs.''
As proponents are fond of pointing out to us skeptics, tanning salons offer irrefutable health advantages: the artificial method filters out harmful rays that burn sensitive skin, reducing the risk of cancer. In other words, they let only the good rays in.
Besides the health advantages, there are other incentives.
I know of one fair-skinned couple who visited these salons like clockwork, not wishing to appear like fried tomatoes halfway through their Caribbean honeymoon. A friend confided to me that a string of trips to her neighborhood tanning boutique one winter spared her a precious few moments applying make-up in the morning.
''But what,'' I blurted out, ''will that do to the sunscreen industry?''
A more important question, however, is the result that all these artificial rays will have on our psyches. It seems as if our penchant for instant gratification has gone a step too far in our quest of the golden body. We may, patting our golden bellies, end up with the same result, but skip the process that got us there.
To my mind, the tanning salon is symbolic of our relentless quest for the quick fix. It's like growing old without wrinkles, swimming without getting wet or performing aerobic exercises without sweating.
For those who are even more time-conscious, there is even a newly developed tanning pill. A few doses and a perfect golden physique is virtually assured.
Despite my initial misgivings, my former experience as a reporter told me that a more thorough investigation was in order before I pronounced final judgment on these bronzing bonanzas. And so began my adventure. After getting my hair trimmed last week, I made an appointment to utilize the ''no frills'' tanning booth in my Elizabeth hair salon. After setting the timer for 20 minutes (I have fair skin), my hairdresser locked me into a steel cylinder the size of a telephone booth.
''Have a good trip,'' he said with a sheepish grin.
For one brief moment, I had a glimmer of what Sally Ride must have felt before becoming the first female to spiral into orbit. I deftly stripped down to my pink swimsuit and slipped on the red plastic goggles at my feet.
The process, I was assured, was simple: Stay close to the ultraviolet tubes and rotate at will. The only unpleasant after-effect, I discovered, was dizziness.
The next day, a co-worker said that I looked ''glowing.'' I didn't have the heart or the humility to tell her it was all fake.
After my brief excursion into the world of the tanning salon, you can bet last week's lottery ticket that I am not about to throw away my No. 6 sunscreen and season pass to Sandy Hook.
For this saltwater addict, nothing will ever take the place of wiggling my toes in the sand and fleeing from doughnut-shaped jellyfish on a blanket-strewn beach. Nor will I flinch from stuffing the cooler with iced tea and Twinkies in preparation for a slow burn on an itchy towel.
Even the prospect of gridlock on a blazing Garden State Parkway won't deter me from my Sunday jaunts to the state's sandy recesses.
By the way, I have stumbled upon an unexpected ally in my campaign against the tanning salon: none other than the distinguished playwright Noel Coward. I don't know if Sir Noel ever set foot on the Jersey shore, but he sure knew what he was talking about when it came to beaches. As this English wit aptly put it: ''Sunburn is very becoming, but only when it is even.''
I might even venture to propose that freckles be included in the same category as sunburn, so long as you acquire these charming spots the old-fashioned way. You earn them - on the Jersey shore.
Marcy Darin lives in Elizabeth.
A version of this article appears in print on June 29, 1986, Section NJ, Page 11