MAKING COMPLEXIONS.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume IX, Issue 19, 7 May 1892, Page 467

MAKING COMPLEXIONS.

PARBOILING THE FACE, THE LATEST FAD. American newspaper reporters get hold of some queer stories. A representative of one of the most important San Francisco papers gives the following account ot a visit to a ‘complexion factory.’ ’Tis strange—’tis passing strange—but of course as it comes from a Yankee paper it must be true :— ‘1 have come to see how the beautiful are made more beautiful,’ said the reporter to Miss Bleacher, quoting from the language of a circular that he had hastily picked up from the tables in the room. ‘ Well, be seated. You can see the process of bleaching, and-then I will explain it to you. No, it is quite different from bleaching cloth,’ said the lady, laughing as she left the reporter to welcome a bevy of ladies who wished to be made beautiful. There were now about twenty-five ladies in the curiously arranged parlours. The journalist was the only black sheep, or rather the only man in the crowd. The ladies seemed at home and not at all disconcerted by his presence, however, which made him feel as though he wanted to go home, yet wished to stay to see the fun. The masculine idea that ladies do not know how to transact business certainly proved erroneous in this instance. * I wish my freckles removed ; can you do it ? And how long will it take ? One month ? Can’t you do it sooner ?’ said a mezzo-soprano blonde. * I tan dreadfully ; what shall I do for it ?’ said a blonde who was tanning into a brunette. ‘ Can you do anything for these horrid crow’s feet ?’ asked a middle-aged lady. Another, who was ‘5O if she was a day,’ had a double chin that she wished removed. A young lady, apparently not more than 19 years of age, had wrinkles across her forehead like those on the head of a railroad director, and next came a lady about 70 years of age who, instead of thinking about preparing herself for the next world, wished her faded beauty restored for this. The unanimity with which the ladies asked outright for what they wanted and acknowledged their facial defects and blemishes indicated that they meant business. The male intruder now felt somewhat reassured, and mentally asked himself if his own girl possessed any of these little defects.

The first one to take her hat off and seat herself in one of the richly upholstered easy chairs was the blonde with freckles. She looked around when the bleaching apparatus was placed before her, as if she wished to bid farewell to somebody. When she spied the curiosity seeker closely watching her she screamed, ‘ Oh, a man !’ ‘ Only a reporter !’ replied the assistant in an indifferent, reassuring manner. The freckled faced subject then resigned herself to the ordeal, and the assistant took a peculiar-looking silver-plated apparatus, ‘ which was loaded,’ and placed it in front of the blonde. It —the machine—is constructed somewhat on the style of an ice cream freezer, and is about one foot in height and some six or seven inches in diameter. From the top of this ‘ cooler ’ extends a crooked silver tube, with an end something like that of a watering pot sprinkler, and like it perforated with many small holes. A crystal fluid of an unknown character is put into this apparatus with some sweet herbs and perfumes. In an under compartment is a wick and enough alcohol to keep it burning for about five minutes. The assistant strikes a match on the sole of her little shoe—and sets fire to the alcohol. The blonde screamed —from the force of habit. The assistant understood this, but continued as if nothing was going to happen. Immediately there issued from the focus of the apparatus a clear white thin smoke, which permeated the parlour with the sweetest of perfumes. The assistant placed the apparatus within a foot of the subject’s face, then threw a Turkish towel over the two, leaving just a little breathing space. In about three minutes the subject screamed—more naturally this time—and came out from underneath the towel. It was getting too hot for her. ‘This makes you feel it more acutely,’ said the assistant putting the towel over the blonde’s head again. In about five minutes she reappeared. Her face was as red as a cooked tomato and dripping with perspiration. The powder that she had put on was cooked, and as she took a look in the mirror her face was a study, literally parboiled as it was.

With a towel the assistant washed the blonde's face, gave the massage treatment for a few moments, applied a cooling lotion, and then her complexion looked as smooth and as clear as porcelain, the freckles already being a shade lighter, or of a deader colour, showing the effect of the tieatment. The blonde suggested that • a little powder as a finishing touch would be better, don’t you think’.' ‘No,’ replied the assistant; ‘ that is jurt what brought on these freckles. The powder has closed the pores and checked perspiration. Consequently, the bl< od cagul ites in spots and causes freckles, blackheads and pimple 9. You snould also quit using fancy soaps—they ruin the complexion. Next ! ’