Dropping my clothes onto a chair, I pondered my gut, my less-than-taut thighs. Meanwhile, the masseur wrapped an XXL plastic smock onto his XXS frame. He was humorless yet not unfriendly. I had no idea how intimate our relationship was about to become.

It's no secret that spas are on the upswing, in the United States and abroad. Less known is that men are a growing segment of spa-goers. The International Spa Association (ISPA) reports that men now comprise 31 percent of spa patrons, up from 29 percent in 2003.
"In the past, spa has been seen as pampering, lotions and potions that appeal to women," says Jim Root, chairman of ISPA. Root proposes that "spa" stands for salus per aquam, Latin for health through water. "If you look at Russian and Scandinavian cultures, their health came about through bathing. Spa is a lifestyle; it's an umbrella word for all things health-, fitness- and wellness-related."

Yet in India, being bathed in warm oil by another man did not seem like the most obvious path to wellness.

"Sir, please sit on table," said the demure masseur.

Naked, I perched clumsily on the table's edge. It looked like a giant wooden breakfast tray, an upturned lip around its perimeter and a drain at one end. A bucket sat on the floor under the drain.

As I sat upright, the masseur poured sesame oil into his cupped hand and began to knead the liquid vigorously into my scalp. He poured some more oil, rubbing it into my ears. Another handful was slathered onto my face.

"Sir, please lie down."

I rolled face-down onto the wood surface. Handful after handful of oil followed, along with a rub comprised of long, brisk strokes. Little pressure was applied, but there was lots and lots of oil, 30 minutes of lathering in all. What oil didn't adhere to my body dripped off and oozed to the drain and drizzled into the bucket.

"Sir, please sit up."

The rubdown was over, and the masseur helped me onto the floor. The soles of my feet were so heavily lubricated that I clung anxiously to his arm as he guided me to a steam room where I sat and ripened for 15 minutes. Then the masseur collected me, still clad in his smock, and escorted me to the shower where he sprinkled a powder across my skin.

"To remove oil, sir."

I could barely stand without sliding, and I was being supported naked in a shower by a solemn man half my size, adorned in an oversized white plastic smock.

I did not feel rejuvenated. I felt 97 years old.

Stress Reduction

My experiences at spas have not generally been this extreme. Actually, I've learned that a great spa treatment tends to be a reliable way to relieve the ache of jet lag, or to cure the stress I sometimes feel at the end of a grueling travel itinerary. Swedish, lomilomi, reflexology, or even a men's facial: I'm not monogamous about the type of treatment, as long as it's handled by a pro who lures me into switching off physical or mental tension.

"Spa has moved beyond the pampering component and become mainstream," says Root. But the industry has done little to encourage male role models, as evidenced by most spa brochures, which almost always exhibit women undergoing treatments. "The spa world hasn't always made it comfortable for men. Without a guide, it's been an unknown."

Common obstacles for men include a concern over intimacy, anxiety over body parts, or discomfort entering what has traditionally been thought of as a women's environment. "They are concerned about their appearance, maybe they're ashamed of their feet," says Root, who adds that the social aspect in a spa is foreign to many men. "You can put a group of strange women in a room and they wind up being best friends. Men aren't the same way about socialization."
Men want the real deal. They don't want to be pandered to."

Hotel Hampshire

But they do line up for spa treatments at the Four Seasons Hotel Hampshire, a 133-room country retreat 40 minutes west of London's Heathrow airport. Situated on storied grounds where Henry VIII met his first wife Catherine of Aragon, the hotel caters to weekend guests from London as well as day visitors for its much-lauded spa. Actor Ewan McGregor and family were in residence during my visit.

At the risk of gliding into a cross-pond cultural fender-bender, I'll posit that the English tend to be a tad more prudish than Americans. Where better than the English countryside to find experts who might know how to coddle an uneasy clientele?
Ian Mackie, the hotel's senior spa director, confirmed that English men can be a bit reserved about spa treatments but also that his business is on the upswing, with men comprising about 40 percent of the spa's guests on weekends. He also notes that men are more likely than women to buy spa products after their treatment.

"Spa has been perceived as very feminine," says Mackie. "But we are working to make men feel more welcome."

This means designing the hotel's 27,000-square-foot spa — which occupies an 18th-century stable block — with a masculine color scheme and lots of wood accents, installing a proper gym, adding a 66-foot lap pool within an airy conservatory, and stocking the men's relaxation area with business and sports magazines. It also means instituting a line of treatments for men, including a golfer's massage and a sports massage, and day packages utilizing men's products created by the British skin care line ESPA.

"For massage, we've had to train therapists to give men the pressure they want," said Mackie. "And our men's facial is devised specifically for them. For instance, men like hotter towels on their face. Golfers complain they have terrible feet, but they love having a foot massage or pedicure."

Excess love handles, a trio of corns on the sole of my left foot: I wish I were completely comfortable with the state of my own body.

At the Four Seasons, I am prepared to disclose my defects to spa therapist Charlotte Ansell before she starts my hot stone massage. Perhaps sensing my anxiety, she addresses the intimacy she confronts at work as I settle onto the padded massage bed.

"Like a doctor, we see lots and lots of bodies every day," Ansell says. "But as a therapist, you learn to look beneath the skin, to the muscles and what you're working with."

And with that, a heated basalt stone is placed at the top of my spine, where it immediately transmits warmth below the skin. Charlotte uses the rounded volcanic rock to massage my shoulder blades, to smooth muscles, to provide rigid force where needed. And as the stone starts to cool and my jet lag begins to melt away, Charlotte slides the stone down one arm and into my open palm. It feels like I have been delivered a secret gift. The idle stone is a gentle weight that anchors my body to the table while my mind floats away.

This time, when I leave the massage table an hour later, I feel a decade younger.