Bliss: Worth the buzz?

Forget breakfast burritos

there's a new hangover helper in town

November 10, 2005|By Jennifer Wehunt. Jennifer Wehunt is the metromix print edition producer.

I tried to get drunk; I really did.

A half-bottle of champagne for a Saturday nightcap should have put a cork in my sobriety, but I woke up Sunday feeling fewer tipsy aftereffects than anticipated (maybe it was the 10-hour night's sleep, maybe it was the enormous fried-egg sandwich soaking up the alcohol). Which means I wasn't technically the post-toasty poster girl for a Hangover Herbie Facial, but I was prepared to face the music.

And let me tell you, it wasn't a hard task. Brand-sparkling new Bliss Spa--Chicago's outlet of the notorious New York original, inside the W Hotel-Lake-shore-- offers a buffet of buffed-and-polished services that puts a fresh shine on spa treatments. Options on the cheeky menu range from the Homme Improvement (for grooms-to-be) to the Arm-istice massage, but how could I pass up the made-for-metromixers, hangover-be-hanged facial, designed to do away with any lingering side effects from a seriously sloshy evening?

I couldn't. So I arrived at the hotel with the faintest of alkie afterglows and took the elevator up to the eighth floor. Equal parts serene sanctuary and irreverent retreat (this ain't your momma's beauty parlor), the 9,000-square-foot space boasts one heck of a lake view. Even tourist trap Navy Pier's twinkling lights looked inviting from above. From the bubbly wallpaper and curvaceous entry hall to the porthole-sized windows, the spot's working one downright appealing life-aquatic atmosphere.

After checking in at the front desk, I got dolled up in my robe and signature Bliss-blue flip-flops, and settled in to the waiting room, outfitted with serve-yourself water, hot tea and--score!--brownies. Before long, aesthetician Suzanne arrived: Sweeter than candy and more down-to-earth than a helium-free balloon, she was just the thing to put me, a less-than-frequent spa sister, at ease.

"So, are you really hungover?" she asked as we entered the dimly lit treatment room. Er, no. And I'm not someone who would generally fork over 200 bucks for a few caresses of cold cream, either. But here I was, in the line of duty, so I responded with a vague, "Sort of," and we got the beauty ball rolling. Suzanne rubbed my arms and legs with rosemary oil and bundled me in a snug-as-a-bug Mylar blanket, where I would remain for the duration of the facial. I felt like I should have run a marathon to get this warm-and-fuzzy, foil-wrapped treatment, but as Suzanne began to massage me from temple to brow, I stopped feeling guilty and started to, well, bliss out.

Suzanne, meanwhile, was making my mug feel like a million bucks--which, it turns out, is a bit like being served up as a human seven-layer dip (mmmm, nachos): There was a "complexion-revitalizing" mask, an anti-migraine massage, some slatherings of fragrant and tingly lotions, a few cover-ups with heated towels, a dousing in green-tea concentrate and a cool-as-a-cucumber spray-down with canned oxygen (it's supposed to increase circulation and kill surface bacteria).

My only task? Staying lucid enough to grunt responses to Suzanne's occasional questions. Between the jazz in the background and the soothing smooth-on, smooth-off in the foreground, I was slip-sliding into unconsciousness. Factor in the 15-minute foot and leg massage while the final gel set on my face, and I was a goner.

Too soon, though, Suzanne shut down my pretty party with "Are you ready to face the world?" No, actually, I wasn't. But a chamomile tea and a quick shower-off with the spa's lemon-sage body wash (and, OK, maybe a couple of brownies) eased my reintroduction to the real world.

Would I shell out the equivalent of airfare for another fixer-upper facial? Not likely. But I'd absolutely go back for a more frugal service, like the Hot Cream Manicure ($23).

And if you don't have the cash lying around for a night or two at the swanky W, a stop at the hotel's spa is an awfully glamorous consolation prize. There's something about waltzing into the chi chi space and getting whisked upstairs for an afternoon of beauty that's more exciting than a ho-hum toe dip in the pedi tub at your corner day spa.

Hungover or not, I left with a glow--you could call it a blissful haze--that clung to me like tourists on Navy Pier, and I couldn't stop admiring my cleaned-up complexion. Drunk? Not entirely. Let's just say I got a good buzz.

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Hangover Herbie Facial

85 minutes, $215

Bliss Chicago

Inside the W Hotel-Lakeshore

644 N. Lake Shore Drive, eighth floor; 312-201-9545