January 1974
Living Off the Fat of the Land
Reducing establishments can make you look better, but their fine print may make you feel worse.
DIET AND EXERCISE HAVE BECOME big business in America, and most major cities, including those in Texas, have at least one "fat" doctor who dispenses shots and pills for weight reduction. The desperately overweight resort to obesity clinics and major surgery. Appetite suppressants and bulk-producing "filler uppers," with such enticing names as Hungerex and Ordinex, are available in most department and drug stores, although many appetite depressants, such as Eskatrol, Dexamyl, and Dexadrine still require a physician's written prescription. And if you enjoy bemoaning your fate with company, a local Weight Watchers group will encourage you to shed your pounds and tell all about it.
Fat is right up there with sex on the best-seller lists. Dr. Robert C. Atkins' The High Calorie Way to Stay Thin Forever and Dr. Irwin Stillman's Quick Weight Loss Diet have stirred up controversy among nutritionists and physicians, while soaring on the sales charts. And other controversial diets encourage you to eat away your fat, drink away your fat, pray away your fat, or hypnotize yourself to thinness.
Even the sociologists have gotten on the ball to tell us that success and slimness go hand-in-hand. No fatties climb the success ladder, according to Dr. Maurice Yaffe of London's Institute of Psychiatry. In an article in New Society, Dr. Yaffe points out that women in higher income groups tend to be thinner. If success is your goal, you shed your pounds as you rise.
If you're fat but with a possibility of a picture spread in Women's Wear Daily, you might want to check into Arlington's prestigious Greenhouse with the likes of Joan Kennedy and Lady Bird Johnson. Although The Greenhouse, a joint venture of Neiman-Marcus, Charles of the Ritz, and the Great Southwest Corporation, does not advertise as a reducing spa, most women attend with the idea of losing pounds in the most lavishly opulent decor in the Southwest.
The Greenhouse advertises "a gently disciplined health and beauty program that rejuvenates both mind and body," and with Helen Corbett's 850-calorie meals and Toni Beck's "swing-and-sway-your-pounds-away" exercises, it's the pampered way to take it off. However, for the ordinary girl who cannot afford the $825 plus 15 per cent gratuity per week for chic slimness, it's join the throngs out at the old health spa. And mark the words of the grande doyenne of the "Beautiful People," the Duchess of Windsor, who once stated, "You can never be too rich or too thin." Flip through the pages of Harper's Bazaar or Vogue, and you know that Wallis has got to be right!
I began my tour of health spas with telephone inquiries. (Two telephone numbers listed under REDUCING SALONS in Austin had been changed and one failed to answer.) The managers I spoke to were vague about fees, but they eagerly invited me to come in for a trial session and figure analysis.
Pat Walker's Figure Perfection International has the smoothest telephone sell. I talked to the state sales representative, who explained the Pat Walker program to me in detail. Each customer is given a complimentary figure analysis, and the sales manager asked me to reserve a one-and-one-half hour block of time for my first session. She carefully explained that Pat Walker sells hours, not courses. There was no disrobing and results were guaranteed. In addition, when I lost weight, I would keep it off forever. When I explained that the time I had to devote to the program was limited, she offered me a gift certificate for 50 hours at $100. If I paid in cash or put the charge for the program on my credit card, I could have a $20 discount.
After fighting fat for years, I thought Pat Walker sounded too good to be true. I checked in with my jolly gynecologist about the possibility of a machine removing the fat for life. "No way," he said. "There's no way to lose weight except by cutting down on food and stepping up exercise." Most physicians look askance at fad dieting and quick-weight loss. Short cuts invariably lead to my inevitable downfall—putting it back on as fast as I take it off. The old gynecologist—a fat boy himself—gave me the ominous word—"Stop eating; start running."
However, with hopes high I arrived for my appointment with Pat Walker on the top level of Highland Mall. I expected the usual YWCA ambience, but I was surprised to find that there is a "new look" in health spas—the plusher the spa, the better. And Pat Walker rates an A + in sumptuousness. The decor is sheer baroque, reminiscent of the Petit Trianon in an off year: swagged blue velvet drapes, French provincial furniture, and an etagere filled with Pat Walker products designed to help you along the road to beauty and slimness.
When you have paid your enrollment fee, you can also purchase such necessities as "Charisma Wrinkle Creme" and "Pink Treasure Moisture Lotion." In case you're having trouble with your individually created diet prepared by the Pat Walker staff, there are wafers and tablets to appease your hunger.
There's not an ounce of fat in sight on the attendants at Pat Walker's. The blondest and blankest of the crew hustled me off to my private, blue-velvet draped cubicle. Jill introduced me to the secret of the Pat Walker method: a blue, padded machine that looked like something out of Flash Gordon. It is aptly titled the "Perfecteron." Jill provided me with a paper shower cap to keep my hair out of the machine and placed tissues on the footrest. She carefully explained the five basic positions that the "Perfecteron" would put me through and showed me how to place my hands on the overhead bar for the first two positions.
The machine rotates and moves various parts of the body: the first position for the upper shoulders and back; the second for the midriff; the third for the waist; the fourth for thighs and hips; and the fifth for the entire body. The entire body position was the kicker. The other four had been mild jiggling and wiggling. The fifth brought all the action into play. It was like being harnessed to two bucking horses, each going in a different direction. However, piped-in music soothed me over the course.
When the timer jangled that my 30-minute "treatment" was complete, Jill helped me down from the machine and onto the scale. The pounds were appallingly clear, although I weighed in at six pounds more than I had on my good doctor's scale. However, my height was a source of some confusion. I measured 66 inches on the rod, and Jill had some difficulty translating the sum into feet. After some figuring, she announced proudly that I was seven feet tall.
Jill led me to one of the small chic offices where one of the Pat Walker managers would diagnose my figure problems. The exceedingly soignee Ms. Morgan introduced herself and began studying my card. She explained that each woman had individual problems concerning her weight and her figure. An individualized computer card would be prepared just for me. I would be I weighed and measured every two weeks, and the results entered on my card.
Ms. Morgan explained the purpose of the "Perfecteron." It had been especially designed to increase my circulation and to stimulate my body to shed unwanted pounds and inches. Each 30-minute treatment would be equal to 18 holes of golf or a 10-mile horseback ride. During the treatment at Pat Walker's, I would be firmed, toned, and my posture corrected.
To determine the cost of my individualized, computerized program, Ms. Morgan began measuring my body and entering the measurements on my card. The grim news was that I measured 1612 inches from neck to navel. However. Ms. Morgan failed to despair. She explained that this measurement was the only one that would increase—I would be stretched and heightened, eliminating my poor posture.
After she entered all my measurements on my chart, Ms. Morgan and I discussed my figure problem areas. She used a "magic formula" to determine exactly how many 30-minute segments I would need to reach "bone structure" (my ideal measurements). Her figuring paid off, and Ms. Morgan stated that Pat Walker guaranteed that I would reach "bone structure" in 294 30-minute segments. By multiplying this number by $2 for each treatment, my program would cost a grand total of $588.
I was astounded at the cost, and Ms. Morgan stated that there were two payment plans that Pat Walker offers the customer. Through the Savings Plan, the customer can take advantage of no interest and no carrying charge. I would be given a discount for cash plus a $20 discount for having seen the coupon in the newspaper (which I had not). The sum total of my program would then be $509. Under the Budget Program, I would pay one-fourth of my program cost as a down payment, or $147. Then I could payout my treatment in installments every six days. However, the salon does require that each customer take at least three treatments each week, so that the minimum weekly payment is $6.
When I explained that the time I had to put into the program was limited, Ms. Morgan offered me the Gift Certificate. I had discussed this program with the state sales representative, who had told me the program would cost $80 if I paid cash. Ms. Morgan offered it to me for $90.
Pat Walker's uses the hard sell. Ms. Morgan stated that if I did not decide at that moment, then my measurement card would be destroyed and we would have to begin all over again. I explained that I had to go to Dallas for the weekend and that my finances were limited as I was enrolling in the university. Quite all right! Ms. Morgan said. If I signed my agreement rig!lt then and there, I could use the Pat Walker facilities in Dallas.
The agreement was never shown to me, and Ms. Morgan was careful to explain that it was not a contract. She did point out, however, that Pat Walker guaranteed I would maintain bone structure for life if I followed their program for the prescribed time. Also, with their maintenance eating program, weight control would never be a problem for me again.
What Ms. Morgan failed to explain was the small print at the bottom of the "agreement." I managed to get a peek, while she was busy measuring my ankles and knees. The "agreement" states that the only recourse the customer has if she fails to reach the desired proportions at the end of the specified time is more of the same—more treatments on the "Perfecteron" free of charge. When I questioned her about the contract, she carefully explained again that it was merely an "agreement" and not a contract at all. I could sign it with my first initial and my last name, and that it would then not be legally binding.
