The evil health industry

Different methods work on different people, I understand that. Some people respond well to a bit of reverse psychology (mainly boys), some people respond well to rewards. It seems the health and beauty industry assume that people respond well to abuse.

When I worked as a beauty writer, I was sent to trial lots of health and beauty treatments. I have had my fat lasered, my blackheads squeezed and been wrapped head to toe in seaweed — and almost every single experience I have had has involved some form of criticism or needless pain.

I always thought I was a reasonably attractive person until I started going to salons. Now I have been assured I am ageing fast, have bad skin pigmentation, a fat stomach, oversized pores, wrinkles and dry, damaged hair. And I wondered why I was single.

I suppose the thinking behind therapists telling you you are fat and ugly is so that you invest more money fixing yourself and purchasing armfuls of their brand. For me, it has the opposite effect. It makes me want to live in a cave and hide. I haven't done that yet but I have gone to the lengths of avoiding manicures and pedicures for the past year or so, which, in Dubai terms, is social suicide, of course.

It started when I was 22. I was an eager young journalist working in my first proper job when I was sent to do a facial on London's Harley Street. Very exciting. You would have thought a fresh-faced young girl straight out of university might be in her prime — but apparently not. Apparently, I could do with some fillers for those furrows on my forehead.

Of course, it's not all beauty therapists. My hairdresser is brilliant and always complements the way I look and sometimes even makes me do a twirl. Now that's the kind of sales tactic I like. As a result, I rave about him to all my friends and spend stupid amounts of money getting him to change my hair colour and style every few months. I'm not tarring everyone with the same brush but I do think it seems to be a startlingly popular tactic.

If I've taken the time to book a facial and am prepared to part with my hard-earned cash, then chances are I know my skin isn't perfect. I look in the mirror every day — I know where my lines and spots are better than anyone — so I would like to think I could be given a break for making the first step to self-improvement. Apparently not. Apparently, I need a stern talking to.

Some of my favourite moments have been when a personal trainer lifted up my weedy arms and said "very little arm strength" in distressed tones before dropping the offending limbs back to my side. I've also been photographed from the front, back and sides in nothing but my knickers so I can see my "before" and "after" muffin top during a fat-reducing treatment. I later learnt she had uploaded the photos to show clients how dramatic the results would be. I wouldn't mind but mine was labelled "Gaby, journalist". I've had people laugh at my tummy and say "this is the problem area, yes?" and been told that the therapist "didn't have time" to work on reducing the fat in my substantial derriere during a slimming treatment.

Despite this, a beauty treatment still seems like a treat and my bathroom cabinet is stocked higher than anybody else's I've ever met. I am a sucker for lotions and potions. I guess the old adage "treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen" really does ring true. All I ask is that the truth be a little sugar-coated next time.