Does a facial peel appeal?

Rick Nelson and Claude Peck dispense unasked-for advice about clothing, relationships, grooming and more in a weekly dialogue.

RN: So Claude, was it good for you, too?

CP: In a word, not so much. I felt once more like I dragged you to something against your will. On Friday we both visited Jenna, a facialist in Minneapolis with a rubberized apron and a bucket of glycolic acid at the ready. Peel, baby, peel.

RN: Hey, I was all for it. I have to admit that I adored every blissful, indulgent minute. An hour in a salon really brought out my inner princess. ... Wow, this is a bad connection. Where are you?

CP: At home, with the shades drawn. I've had a couple of facials, but this time I wanted to try a chemical peel. I read that the process, which burns off a layer or two of your skin, can improve the face, which in my case recently has resembled a sheet of damp newsprint. Drastic measures needed.

RN: Given your post-peel plight, I think I'm happy -- for once -- to be cursed with rosacea. To sufferers of "Norwegian acne," the two scariest words in the English language are "chemical peel." Which is why, after 30 or so calming minutes of steaming, deep cleansing, moisturizing and gentle facial massage, Jenna gingerly applied a calming oatmeal mask. No petrochemicals for this kisser, thank you.

CP: You emerged with a positively dewy blush. Would that I had gone down that same hot-cereal path. Still, I expect no sympathy. I sought this out, and any downside is my own fault -- and the fault of vanity. O blasted vanity! Thy sting is cruel.

CP: I wish. In the hours following the peel, my face felt smoother and more taut. But then came the morning after.

RN: Given your dating history, I'd think you'd have the whole morning-after thing down to an art form.

CP: Kettle will ignore that, Mr. Pot. They say you should avoid sunlight, post-peel. Of course, after days of dull gray skies, Saturday dawned with achingly bright sunshine bouncing off the snow in every direction. Even smeared with SPF15, I clung to buildings for a narrow slice of shade, and held my Christmas packages aloft as if to screen my tender skin. The Vampire of Nicollet Mall.

RN: Talk about night-and-day outcomes. Here's how I'd shorthand my hour with Jenna. Her: Capable hands. Me: Putty. The only thing that made my face red was embarrassment: Jenna's soothing routine so deep-sixed me that I woke myself up with the sound of my own snoring. I loved it so much that this cheapskate almost bought product (Jenna uses the Dermalogica line).

CP: I think we lucked out with Jenna. Though a recent beauty school grad, she was very mature and well-informed. Still, by the time I went to yoga class on Saturday, my face was pretty well broken out in a pattern of red splotches like you might get by peering into a trash barrel just as a large firecracker exploded inside.

CP: In yoga, the light within me sought oneness with the light within everyone, even though most others, I'm afraid, had serious flaws in their complexions.

RN: And here I thought yoga was about inner, and not outer, beauty. When I wasn't nodding off, I was asking Jenna about men and facials. She said that the majority of her clientele is female, but she's treating more and more men. Apparently, once women drag their men to the salon, the guys become hooked.

CP: Maybe so, but I know very few men who've ever had a facial, much less a peel. I only pioneered on behalf of our readers.

RN: You're such a giver. So I'm guessing you wouldn't repeat the peel. But how 'bout the facial? I loved it, but for the same price -- $55 plus tip -- I think I'd rather have my massage therapist pummel my shoulders for 60 relentless minutes. But I'll certainly give it another shot, maybe for a special occasion.

CP: No more peels, methinks. Botox, on the other hand ...