Body by Mail Order
The editors of
Slate
have, in their wisdom, decided to improve my life at
(minimal) expense to them by giving me a budget to test health products
available in catalogs. Even though I pose as a cynic, I harbor a belief in the
transformative power of consumer goods, despite the documented failure of any
product with "slim" or "anti" in its name. I looked for items that required no
effort to use yet promised dramatic effects. I also chose items that were
either ubiquitous (suggesting they had something going for them) or
unique (the company must have locked up rights to a magical object). I judged
them not only on whether they delivered on their claims but also on whether I
would buy one for myself or send one as a gift.
Feet
I decided to work from the
bottom up. My first purchase was an odd-looking shoe called the Arcopedico,
with a flat PVC sole and a knitted nylon upper. Normally, the first thing I do
when I get home is kick off my shoes, but these were so comfortable that I'd
realize, late into the evening, that I'd forgotten to take them off. After a
few weeks of wearing my Arcopedicos almost exclusively, what I thought was a
permanently throbbing bunion has virtually disappeared. There's one drawback to
the Arcopedico. When you wear them people will say things like "Look at your
shoes!" This is not a compliment. They don't have the "I've never shaved my
armpit hair" aura of the Birkenstock, but they are strangely elfin in
appearance.
Would I buy a pair with my
own money? I already have.
Would I buy them as a
gift? Shoes are a peculiar gift, but I've recommended them to many
people.
Purchasing
information: The Arcopedico is sold at many prices under various names. I
ordered them from the Norm Thompson catalog, where they are called Mile Mates
and sell for $54, plus $7.25 shipping. They arrived in two days. (800) 547-1160
or www.normthompson.com.
Tush
Moving up, I settled on the
Tush-Cush. Almost every catalog dealing with health or comfort carries this
item. It's a wedge-shaped foam cushion with a U-shaped piece cut out of the
thicker end. Sitting with your spine aligned over the hole is supposed to
reduce pressure on your disks. It has definitely made sitting in front of the
computer easier and is far more comfortable than the throw pillows I previously
used. At $40, it's a pretty pricey piece of foam, but it is a lot cheaper than
an ergonomically correct chair. It does not, unfortunately, firm your tush as
you sit.
Would I buy one for
myself? Yes, although I think all editors should, in their own
self-interest, give them to writers.
Would I buy one as a
gift? Yes.
Purchasing
information: I ordered the Tush-Cush from the Harmony catalog for $40, plus
$6.95 shipping. It arrived in 10 days. (800) 869-3446; no Web site.
Wrists
If you've ever spent an
evening plunging your wrists into ice water, you are an easy mark for devices
that promise to relieve carpal tunnel syndrome. The wrist supporters sold in
the Real Goods catalog feature the antibiotic of the New Age world: magnets.
The Food and Drug Administration is skeptical of magnets' ability to relieve
pain, but last December the New York Times published a story about a
researcher at Baylor's Institute for Rehabilitation Research who found that
magnets significantly reduced pain from post-polio syndrome. The wrist
supporters I ordered were black neoprene with a metal brace and a flexible
magnetic band. I found them bulky, and their primary benefit seemed to come
from the heat retention qualities of the neoprene. They were certainly no more
effective than the nonmagnetic wrist stabilizers I'd picked up at the
drugstore. At $35.95 each (who would order just one?), they seem
overpriced.
Would I order a set for
myself? No.
Would I buy one as a gift?
No.
Purchasing
information: $79.90 for the pair, plus $10.95 shipping, from Real Goods.
Because it takes up to two weeks for delivery, I paid an extra $7 to have them
in five days. (800) 762-7325 or www.realgoods.com.
Back
Another widely touted
panacea is a foam bedding material developed by NASA. It is a thick,
heat-sensitive material that molds to your body. Catalogs extol its ability to
induce an almost vegetative-state depth of sleep. The full mattress runs about
$1,000, but
Slate
doesn't want its contributors to be that
relaxed, so I got the pillow from Brookstone for $95. On the box is a small
sticker that states the pillow may have a "particular smell" that is
"completely harmless" and "will disappear after some time," which sounds like
something the proprietor of the Bates Motel might say. The smell is sort of a
cross between mildew and a petrochemical plant. A salesman at a Brookstone
store gave me this hint: Roll the pillow up tightly several times a day to
squeeze out the trapped air. After about a week of doing this, the odor had
dissipated enough for me--in the interest of my investigative duties--to take a
nap. The pillow does let you sink into it while also giving support. It didn't
change the quality of my sleep as all the hype promised. But it is really
comfortable.
Would I buy one for
myself? Yes, if I were feeling extravagant.
Would I buy one as a
gift? I've already had to. After letting my husband sleep on it one night,
he insisted on one of his own.
Purchasing
information: The pillow is available under a variety of names (Pressure
Relaxation Latex Foam, BetterNeck Visco-Elastic Pillows, etc.). I bought the
Tempur-Pedic standard Swedish pillow from Brookstone for $95, plus $12
shipping. Delivery is promised in five to seven days (I picked mine up at their
retail store). (800) 926-7000 or www.brookstoneonline.com.
Hair
The Ionic Hair Wand,
exclusively from the Sharper Image, is one of the most maddening products I've
used. If it didn't actually work, it would be a disaster. The wand is a
battery-powered hairbrush that, through "ion conditioning," claims to make the
hair lustrous, add body, and remove odors and dandruff. (Along with magnets and
Swedish foam, ions make up the holy trinity of self-improvement.) The first
problem was that before I used it, I rinsed it off and turned it back
on--apparently before it was completely dry. It burned up in my hand. The free
replacement I got didn't shut off properly and melted the batteries in the
base. The third one has been working fine--but you have to double-check to make
sure it's really off, or it will exhaust its batteries in a matter of hours. I
have dry hair, and with the Ionic Hair Wand I thought I could follow my
hairdresser's advice to shampoo less often. So I faithfully brushed my hair
with the wand for the recommended two minutes a day, day after day.
Miraculously, eight days later, my hair looked good and smelled clean. How long
could I go? I'm not French, so I finally hit the shower.
Then I discovered one of the
secrets to the wand is that it produces minute amounts of ozone, which acts as
a germicide. However, ozone is an air pollutant. I decided I'd rather just
shampoo.
Would I buy one for
myself? No.
Would I buy it as a
gift? Only for people who refuse to wash their hair.
Purchasing
information: The Ionic Hair Wand is available from the Sharper Image for
$39, plus $8.95 shipping. It arrived in five days. (800) 344-4444 or www.sharperimage.com.
Skin
My final stop was my crow's
feet. Even though I work at home, alone, the W.H. Auden look I've been
developing around my eyes has begun to bother me. How could I pass up the
Wrinkle Patch--which promised "noticeable" improvement? You leave these small,
expensive wing-shaped patches on your worst furrows overnight, and the same
technology that makes nicotine patches work is supposed to deliver vitamin C
(it's not just for colds, it's for wrinkles, too!) to them. In the interest of
science I patched only one eye, never thinking the thing would actually work.
By the fourth patch I realized I had to start catching up with the other side
if I didn't want to wear a Phantom of the Opera mask on my wrinkled side. I
spoke to Dr. Daniel Shrager, a cutaneous pharmacology fellow at Jefferson
Medical College in Philadelphia, who did a six-month study of the patches. He
said the 10 subjects who used them had a 30 percent to 40 percent decrease in
wrinkle depth. Yes, I still have crow's feet. But now I look only like Auden's
younger sister.
Would I buy them for
myself? I'm already on my third box.
Would I buy them as a
gift? You just can't give someone the "Wrinkle Patch" as a gift.
Purchasing
information: I ordered a box of 12 double patches from the SelfCare catalog
for $50, plus $4.25 shipping. They arrived in five days. (800) 345-3371; no Web
site.
