My Relationship With… Fake Tan

Spray Tan

It’s pretty obvious that I’m not a tanned person, my Irish roots mean that I’m pretty pale and proud of it. Many a childhood holiday was spent under a sun parasol and layering on the factor 50, so I usually always came back the same colour that I left.

It was never an issue when I was younger, but when my friends and I turned 16 and started going out clubbing, it became apparent that I was practically a ghost. Photos would be put on Facebook, and the comments would all point out the fact that I was the only one without a tan.

I tried it of course, like with all trends when you are at the impressionable age of 16, and I thought I looked amazing. But my love affair with the brown stuff would always be shortlived. I would wake up the next morning, and my golden tan would be streaky and orange, and there would be suspicious looking stains on my favourite clothing.

I then made a decision to bin the bottles, as I realised that my milky-white skin is what made me stand out. It now takes me half the time to get ready and I’m pretty sure I’ve saved a small fortune. However, recently I suffered a relapse in my tan ban. I was on a girly holiday and my two friends were both a gorgeous shade of brown within a day of sunbathing, whereas I was bright red and resembled a lobster that had been boiling slightly too long.

My friends managed to coax me into applying fake tan a few days into the holiday, and I instantly regretted when a trip to the pool made me look like streaky bacon. I also ruined a perfectly nice bikini.

After the streaky tan incident on holiday I have recently resigned myself to be pale forever and I’m determined to be proud of it. If I’m the only girl on a night out who isn’t sporting a tan, then I’ll stand out for the right reasons.

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