The Fake Tan

I’ve just read something a friend has posted about my version of liquid gold and it got me thinking… am I addicted to fake tan?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not perma-tangerine. Instead, I like to think of myself as a nice shade of brown, although some might beg to differ. I’d also like to think that I’ve somewhat ‘got the hang of’ applying it but I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing? Now that I’ve fooled the world into thinking I have a gorgeous olive complexion I have to wonder how I’d cope without my cosmetic drug? I’d genuinely rather starve than give up tanning. Yes, my addiction really does go that far.  Surely that’s not normal and I should learn to be happy in my own skin?

I justify it by saying that it’s better than going on sun beds because it’s not going to give me wrinkles but perhaps it not the outside effects which matter. I am now dependant on tanning, so much so that I won’t go out without it. I’m dependent on it, like an addict to heroine.

Some might think of the term ‘tanorexic’ as funny or melodramatic, but I think it’s a little more serious than that. It’s the same as body dysmorphia, except with skin tone. Even if I have one layer of fake tan on, I feel pale. The more I wear it, the more I feel I need it. It’s an addiction and surely any addiction is a bad thing?

Lent starts tomorrow where I have the opportunity to give it up for 40 days and 40 nights but instead I’ve opted for crisps, something that those of you who don’t know me, shouldn’t take lightly. Those little potato chips mean more to me than life itself. But when faced with a choice of a taste sensation or a tanning session, bronzing always wins.

Despite my anxieties surrounding the tan-demic hitting Britain today, until I find out that it’s going to kill me, I don’t really see the harm in applying it every now and again. Try it. You might not have the memories of a holiday in Greece but you’ll look like you’ve had one after a romantic evening in with a tanning mitt and lotion. Your eyes will look a little brighter and your thighs a little thinner, I promise.

I know what I’ll be drizzling on my pancakes this shrove Tuesday…

… just kidding.

Well, sort of.