The extra dark shades, Playboy Bunny stickers and computerized voices of Sunless Tanning Co.

PHOTO by ROSHEILA ROBLES

A decade ago I moved to Long Beach from New Hampshire, home to some of the coldest, fiercest winds ever recorded, a place where the insides of your nostrils freeze solid the instant you step outside—and where shorts are okay in July, not November. So it’s always burned me that anyone would fake ‘n bake in a city as sun-drenched as ours. Why swap real rays—conveniently ubiquitous and free—for a 60-second chemical imitation?

Curious, last month I drove to Sunless Tanning Co. on a cloudless, 88-degree day (New England skepticism and pale skin in tow) for my first spray-on tan. I imagined it would go something like this: inside a dimly lit chamber, you lunge like a naked yogi and take direction from the computerized voice of HAL 9000; afterward, you emerge looking as deep-fried and DayGlo-ed as George Hamilton.

In reality, the process begins by choosing a shade—regular dark for $32 or extra dark for $35, decent prices compared with Los Angeles salons that charge $40 and up (full disclosure: Sunless is owned by a friend of a friend). I went all-out with extra dark. Next, you select a free quarter-sized cover-up sticker for easy before-and-after comparison. Since I was already opting to absorb the vainest of California culture clichés at the pore level, I decided on a Playboy bunny.

Then, it’s off to a private tanning/changing room with tropical décor, where you strip down and shed some skin—dead skin, that is, via exfoliation. There are complimentary exfoliating wipes available, but I found them only slightly more pleasant than sandpaper. Instead, spring for the $5 Jell-O shot-sized dollop of “Appletini”-scented Sugar Whip exfoliant, a thick, buttery blend that looks creamy enough to smear on a bagel. (Or just shave and remove your makeup and deodorant beforehand. It prepares your skin just as well.)

Now, on with the disposable hairnet—leave the edge of your hairline just barely exposed or risk a sloppy swath of non-bronzed skin on your forehead. Also, lather as much of the provided “barrier cream” as you can stand (it’s chilly) wherever you don’t want a tan—fingernails and toenails, the palms and the soles of your feet.

Finally, press the green button on the MagicTan machine and proceed boldly into the talking tanning apparatus. Close the glass door and remain standing. Obey the digitized whisky-and-cigarettes female voice (is that you, Kathleen Turner?) as she instructs you to close your eyes and assume the position(s). Annnnd brace yourself: you’re about to be the target of 27 high-volume, low-pressure turbine technology spray jets.

Once the tan-blast started, I held my breath for as long I could, about half of 60 intense seconds—even though MagicTan claims DHA, the active tanning ingredient, isn’t carcinogenic or otherwise harmful. Overall, it felt as though I was hovering in a damp brown cloud, saturated with a fine mist of aloe vera, collagen and vitamin E, anti-aging moisturizers and a surprisingly even splash of sunless bronzing solution.

In the time it takes to apply a decent coat of SPF (or Solarcaine to a sunburn), I emerged clammy and a little disoriented but perfectly golden brown (not orange). And when I noticed a spray of coffee-colored droplets clinging to my arm hair, I recalled the post-mist instructions: towel off right away to avoid streaking and don’t shower for seven to eight hours. All I had left to do was “peak”—in two to three hours, my skin would darken slightly more, then reach maximum tan in 24 hours.

In the end, I was amazed—both at the extremes people go to for vanity, and that I’d attained a tan without the usual cancer gamble burn-and-blister routine or sand in places it doesn’t belong. A final note, however: one week later, my tan—and the white spot left behind by Hef’s trademarked leporid—faded into what looked like a miniature Rorschach inkblot. My husband joked that I’d sprouted a suspicious birthmark on my ass—not exactly the effect I was going for, though it’s rumored the same can be achieved by taking a dip at one of our beaches.

SUNLESS TANNING CO. THE PIKE AT RAINBOW HARBOR | 24 AQUARIUM WAY | LONG BEACH 90802 | 562.491.3436

Tags: fake tans, playboy bunny, sunless tanning, the pike