How we made over a mountain man and turned him into a stud for spring.

Sometimes an editorial meeting can be a vast wasteland of ideas. Every now and then, lightning strikes. It did when freelance writer Ilan Baril walked into Denver Magazine's Spring editorial meeting. I took one look at him and declared, "Listen Sasquatch, it's time for a shave!" Being the brave man he is, Ilan agreed – albeit reluctantly at first – to model for a man makeover. Don't get me wrong. I can appreciate a beard, a mustache or a sexy goatee, but the Grizzly Adams, slept-in-a-cave-all-winter look has got to go! (Pay attention Scott Parker!) See Ilan's transformation from "hairy-scary" to super-sexy after a day of primping and pampering at Gentleman's Quarters and The Oxford Spa. Add some sweet threads from Neiman Marcus and watch the metrosexual makeover work its magic!
– Dahlia Jean Weinstein

Everyone's got a secret dream they'd like to see played out, think about something you want to do, but don't feel like you should, can or have the time. I got to have a day I'd never really thought about, but which, by its end, had crept onto my list of things all men should do at least once. I had a spa day.
I think I was chosen almost entirely because I was in the conference room when the idea came up, casually dressed in jeans with my shaggy hair and beard standing out considerably from the trim folks surrounding me. I was a perfect example of what many Denver men look like as spring rolls around, that we've let ourselves go and look like a sasquatch.

I know I'm gonna get grief for this. With the friends I have, there's no avoiding it. I'm sure none of them are going to be surprised that I enjoyed the ego stroke of being chosen to become the "stud." Although it honestly seems that calling me a stud is a questionable use of the English language, I didn't really have a choice. My editor, as some of you may know, is a force of nature. At the end of the meeting, I joked that I hoped everyone would think that I was like the ugly duckling in the teen movies, beautiful but for the chunky black glasses and dirty overalls.

I arrived at Gentleman's Quarters almost 15 minutes late to a hum of activity and an annoyed editor (only partially my fault) which did not put me in a relaxed state of being for what was going to be my first spa day.
All images aside, I was ready to put on a robe and be given wine and cheese and have everything scrubbed. I'd been thinking about the day for about a week and a half, since it was "suggested" in the editorial meeting. Before we got started with the transformation, they had to take the "before pictures." Dahlia had me wear my normal casual clothes and put me in my "natural" element, an alley in LoDo.
I met Deidra, who was going to do my shave and haircut, and we talked a little about what I'd gotten myself into. I told her I knew I needed a haircut, but that I liked the idea that I looked pretty good before my makeover, sort of a rakish movie star type – albeit one who was getting into character for a project about a mountain man.

While Deidra gave me a straight razor shave, Dahlia asked if I was taking notes, and I said yes, I was, I was busy writing the great American novel. While I was being snarky I noticed Deidra was shaving me with both hands, and I asked her, stupidly but hopefully, if she was ambidextrous. She smiled and stared as if to say … "you hope so." (She is, by the way.)

As I was kicked back in the chair with the hot towel on my face the talk turned to a Clint Eastwood filmography discussion as we tried to remember how many of his movies had a barbershop scene (we think three, all Sergio Leone spaghetti Westerns). I thought about how fast I might be able to get out of the chair if the James Gang busted through the door …

Across the street from Gentleman's Quarters, and next to its parent hotel, sits The Oxford Spa in a building which was formerly the brothel for the upscale establishment, a fact they are very open about and one which helped me understand why I felt comfortable getting naked there. This is where my spa day was to begin in earnest.

The first step was the massage, during which the guys with the video equipment (as they did all day) hovered around me, peeling away a layer of calm that all of you will get to experience – unless of course you decide to take your own crew. Just saying, I don't suggest it. I wove between incredible relaxation and exquisite joyous pain as Audra worked out knots I didn't know I had.

Next was a mud bath, which wasn't at all like I thought it was going to be, there were no marble rooms and big stone tubs; no heavy mud and full body immersion. In this case, it was a claw-foot cast-iron tub, filled halfway with what looked like muddy water. I was to get naked and into this thing, there were only four or five people in the room, no sweat. They did give me a hot second to get "changed" and into the tub, then they were back with all the equipment and their ideas. I didn't know how to situate myself for the best shot – remember, I'm naked in a tub of brown water, with cameras on me – so I just sat there and let them direct me.

After a quick shower in the spa's locker room, it was time for lunch, a facial (good, but not my favorite thing ever), a manicure (fantastic – with a glass of wine) and a pedicure (maybe the crowning achievement of the entire day). If you take nothing else from this piece, go out, right now, and get a pedicure. I tried to get them to paint my toenails black, you know, to be rebellious, but Dahlia nixed it. Ah well.

Before the day started, I'd really wanted to look good with and without the sasquatch tag – man, I'm in deep. But I enjoyed the whole day; the pampering, the products, the knowledge, the staff, all of it, not the least of which was the head-to-toe John Varvatos outfit for my "after" pictures. The only thing I didn't dig was the camera crew. But the world needed to know how much trouble I went through, the struggle I put up with for my art. I'm a GIVER!