St Tropez is set to revolutionise the way we fake-tan with a new 3-minute self-tanner, and it's proving popular - 8,000 have already signed up to the waiting list. Which leads me to ask the question, what the fuck is wrong with pale skin anyway?
For as long as I can remember I’ve been made to feel like utter shite about the mega whiteness of my skin. Milk bottle legs. Casper the Friendly Ghost. Albino. Where have I not heard those before? Hands down my personal fave is being branded as the Milky Bar kid. Mate isn’t the MB kid a guy? And for the record Milky Bars are fucking awesome.
Don’t get me wrong, the name-calling did used to get to me. Suggesting girls with tanned skin possess a ‘healthy summer glow’ opened up a whole floodgate of emotions. ‘Do I look like I’m on death’s door right now? But I feel absolutely fine! Wait maybe you’re right I am feeling a little paler than normal’. Feeling like you look like you need to go and visit the doctor all the time doesn't do much for your self esteem.
This was quickly followed by the standard teenage ‘I-want-to-look-sexy-so-I’m-going-to-tan-the-shit-out-of-myself’ phase. Every pale kid’s desperate cry for acceptance; what starts with simple tinted moisturiser can quickly escalate to Primark’s own branded fake tan and, if you’re really desperate, weekly spray tan appointments. Personally, I figured joining my mum for her after-work sunbed sesh was a better way of getting tanned and fabulous. But then something about the leather sofa that doubled up as the woman behind the cash desk suggested that Sunny-Bs were not my thang.
*NB: Sunbeds are evil. Do not use them. Especially if all you do is turn red then fade straight back to PALE again.
Every attempts at matching to a colour other than ‘absolute white’ on the Dulux Colour Chart was both time consuming and emotionally draining. The chances of resembling an Umpa Lumpa are far higher in me than anyone starting off with a naturally tanned base tone. And did I mention going from beyond pale one day to burnt-orange the next is noticeable? Especially in the height of winter. In Manchester.
Inevitably, enough was enough. Like it or not, pale is a fact of my life. Just ask Nicola Roberts.
So as an out-and-proud Anti-Tanner I ditched the bottle for something a little more factor 50 and I’m no longer ashamed to say it. Chicken legs? You can bet I’ll be whipping them out this summer. And yes, my makeup bag is filled with the lightest shade of fucking everything and if you take a picture of me with the flash on then there's a chance that I'll disappear completely, but there's also that small glimmer of hope that my skin won’t age as fast everybody else’s. Which is actually really, really satisfying.
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This article originally appeared on The Debrief.