Brenna has been having facials regularly since right after college, averaging about four per year. She is emphatic on one point. “If a facial doesn't hurt,” she says, “then it's not a good facial.”

Between visits to the spa, she maintains a religious home skin-care regimen using a seasonal variety of spa-branded products. She recently had a vacation in Paris, during which she had a facial and bought a toner blended especially for her. Now that, my friends, is girlishness.

One night after work, Brenna told me in no uncertain terms, “I know where to get the best facial in Chicago.” She described a simple storefront in the posh environs of Oak Street, where a magical Russian woman decongests the faces of the rich and fabulous using a mysterious device called “the machine.”

It stands to reason that any facial powerful enough to impress Brenna would probably kill me. Instead of going to investigate the machine in person, I went for lunch with Brenna and asked for the low-down. She told me that “the Russian” is all about facials, and really nothing but. There's no relaxation involved. “You come in, she tells you how horrible your skin looks and how she must fix it.”

After this warm assessment, you are given one of those ubiquitous terry cloth tube-smocks in a fetching shade of hot pink. The Russian, clad in a lab coat, examines a medical chart and makes notes on the condition of your skin that day. This will help determine the type of masque she prepares for you. There are the standard steps of cleansing – only with a natural sea sponge to eliminate pore-clogging lint – exfoliating and masque application. And then, behold: the machine.

The machine has been imported from Europe. Apparently, it resembles an aspirator. The primary function of the machine – and therefore the thing that really sets the Russian apart from all the other facialists – is to suck all of the deeply-buried oil and dirt to the surface. This skin-hoovering does not actually remove the grunge, so extractions are conducted with the use of several mysterious metal instruments.

After both vacuuming and extracting, you might expect to see some skin discoloration. The Russian has an answer for this as well: the zapper. It only takes a minute to properly zap the face, but that minute makes all the difference. “I have no redness,” Brenna says. “[It] takes care of that.”

So can a suspicious-looking machine with a face vacuum attached really make that much of a difference? As Brenna puts it, “the Russian has spoiled me for other facials.”