Being a beauty editor isn’t all frills and glamour. No. In fact it can be downright damn scary. Not the horror-movie kind – more that sinking feeling you get when you realise you accidently picked a thriller 10 minutes into what you though was the latest romcom.

Yesterday was such a day. After a stressful start trying to get into work when the weather’s gone all monsoonal on me, I was looking forward to a bit of R and R at a newly opened spa in the city. It took me about two milliseconds to realise this wasn’t your usual Enya-playing, incense-burning place – instead I had a strange hunch this is what Schapelle Corby felt like being led into her Thai prison. Admittedly, the place had much nicer decor and service and did nothing to warrant such a suspicion (and I’m sure Schapelle didn’t get tea on arrival, either). However, let’s just call it beauty intuition – its level of accuracy tends to hover between the general female one and your mother’s highly developed ability to see your mistakes before you’ve even thought of making them.

Yet question I do not – and what proceeded as a result was an agonising 90 minutes of utter pain. How this tiny Thai lady who came up to my hip could inflict so much weight and force upon my body I will never know – do they perhaps go to some kind of masseuse body-building school? Now admittedly I did ask for a ‘deep tissue’ massage and you get what you ask for in life – but ‘deep’ apparently equates to what it must feel like to have a steamroller slowly press over you – followed by a knife extracting each of your knots, one by one. I’ve had dentist appointments that hurt less.

Then last week there was the ‘dye in the eye’ situation. I was feeling like a bad beauty editor as I had never gotten around to having my eyelashes tinted – which is stupid and just plain lazy, really, as my bottom lashes are blonde and thus almost undetectable to the naked eye meaning I ALWAYS wear mascara. Even at the beach. So there I was feeling all smug and organised one Saturday morning, having even made an appointment instead of being a hopeful ‘drop in’. The technician applied the dye and I closed my eyes for 10 minutes of quiet time. Then it started to sting – really sting. “Get it off!” I scream. Dye ran into my eye and it took much flushing out until it stopped hurting. However, like a goldfish, 30 seconds later pain was all forgotten and I walked out a very happy lass with luscious black lashes.
 
Or there was the time I got hair extensions – sure they looked fab and my hair was glorious and all Victoria’s Secret-like for months, but it turns out I have a genetic disposition for psoriasis which the extensions flared up and caused my scalp to bleed (thanks for the warning, Mum). I ignored the pain for months but eventually they had to come out.

Now don’t take this the wrong way. I’m not complaining. In fact, I even have an appointment to have my lashes retinted next week. I’m just saying sometimes beauty hurts.
 
Disclaimer: These beauty treatments may cause no pain whatsoever. I’ve been known to cry over a blister.