My Posh Day at The St. Regis Bal Harbour Remede Spa and Prive Salon

{What the inside of a crystal ball must look like. At The St. Regis Bal Harbour.)

{Spa time. At Remede Spa.}

I was recently invited to give Remede Spa at the The St. Regis, where I brought WuGate full circle at its grand opening, a go. A custom-massage for 60 minutes. Yes, please, sign me up. Not only is the spa gorg (What else would you expect from a hotel whose lobby looks like the most elegant disco ball you’ve ever seen?), the treatment itself was delish. I started off in the women’s lounge, where, if you weigh yourself wearing the robe they give you, you’ll tip the scales three pounds heavier. Yup, it’s a three-pound robe. Hello, soft. Next, it was off to the treatment room. My therapist asked me what hurts, and I gave him the sob story about my neck pain. Then, it was time to get to work. I’ve had a zillion massages in my lifetime, but this one started off different than the rest, with a paraffin treatment on my feet. My girls were put in a plastic bag with warm wax. It felt like stepping in hot pudding—which is a good thing. Then, it was straight to my aches and pains, followed by a scalp massage. Head to toe happiness. Having to pry myself off the table was the worst part of the experience. I literally could have stayed there all day. Treatment room 3, home to Ginger Harris. I’ll forward my mail stat.

{Manis/pedis at Prive.}

I did, however, manage to get off the table and back into my street clothes. Bummer, but it was worth it as I was whisked off to Prive Salon. If the name sounds familiar, it’s because there’s a Prive at The Shore Club, as well as The St. Regis and one will be opening at SLS soon.

{Did I seriously just post a pic of me with plastic wrap on my head? My god, I’m a dedicated blogger.}

The salon is quaint, with a long mani table, a room for pedis and a small two-chair room for hair. The two chairs belong to Jordan, who started in the salon biz in France at age 19, and Eduardo, recently voted best bridal hair stylist and my mane man for the day. We opted for a keratin treatment, of the chem-free variety, because it’s hot as hell and I have no desire to spent time under the dryer unless someone else is holding it up. I let the keratin work its magic for about 30 minutes, flat ironed my locks and then the rest was up to fate. It would be three days before I was allowed to wash my hair, tuck it behind my ears or get sweaty.

{The quasi-finished product with the ever adorbs Eduardo Bravo and Jordan Charron-Foucher of Prive.}

Eduardo instructed me it’s best to wash your hair with a sulfate-free shampoo to get the most out of your Keratin treatment and to wash as infrequently as you can stand to make it last, which should be around the three-month mark. Making it through three days was definitely a challenge, but I’m happy to report, I actually made it through four. I was so busy running around town on Saturday, I actually didn’t have time to wash my hair. And I cheated by loading my hair up with baby powder to suck up the oil slick I was sporting on Friday night. On Sunday, I gave my mop a wash with my sulfate-free Shea Moisture shampoo and conditioner. And, just as promised, my hair dried straight and lovely sans hairdryer. Emotions of joy bubbled up from deep inside of me. I get three whole months vacation from my hairdryer. Be still my beating heart, be straight my wavy hair.

{My sulfate-free shampoo and condition from Shea Moisture I found at Target. It’s free of everything scary, according to its label on the side.}