Face Steam at an Ocean Geothermal Vent

Carl gets facials at boutique spas with cucumber water and soft music. I get mine at 2,500 meters below sea level, hovering in a submersible above a hydrothermal vent that spews water hot enough to cook a lobster in four seconds. The aesthetic is different. The results are comparable, if you define "results" as "looking like you've stared into the abyss and the abyss blinked first."

The pilot was a marine biologist named Dr. Chen who had signed enough waivers to paper a submarine. She lowered us over a vent nicknamed "The Devil's Teapot" and asked if I wanted the full steam or the "gentle mist." I asked what the gentle mist was for. She said tourists. I said full steam. She said she figured.

When the vent erupted, the sub rocked and the viewport fogged instantly. For thirty seconds I couldn't see anything except white heat and my own reflection looking back at me like it had questions. My spines actually relaxed — a sensation I didn't know I had. Dr. Chen said that was probably the minerals. I said it was probably destiny. We agreed to disagree and did it twice more.

On the surface, Carl's fans would ask about pore size. My fans — both of them — ask about survival. The vent water contains sulfur, arsenic, and compounds that don't have names yet. My skin has never looked more alive, which is saying something for a plant that is technically always alive. Would I recommend it? Only if your moisturizer currently contains lava. Otherwise, start small.