You Better Believe It

Some people will believe anything. The lipstick on his collar came from his mother’s mouth. The weapons of mass destruction could pop up any day. Santa Claus gets his wrapping paper from the same store Mom does.

Ear candling — a technique that claims to remove wax from the ear canal via smoke — was invented for these people.

Offered in few doctor’s offices and spas, the practice’s exact origins are unclear. Some cite the Native American Hopi tribe for conceiving the concept. Others give ancient Tibet credit. Wherever it comes from, I suspect the ear candling creators also dabbled in personal loans and politics.

The process itself, placing cones in your ears and lighting the ends, sounds like a stunt the "Jack Ass" crew would pull or the introduction to a bad joke: "So, a guy sticks a cone in his ear and lights it on fire…" But it’s a legitimate service. At least the skin-care spa and fitness boutique, Micro Spa, thinks so. The $30 ear candling service enjoys a spot on the spa’s menu of services right between Cranial Rebalancing and a Honey Sugar Butter Scrub.

Although such lofty claims as hearing improvement, mind purification and ear infection remedies have been linked with the treatment, my aesthetician at Micro Spa, Dorian Martin, only suggested it would clear up sinuses, relieve clogging and give an overall sense of clarity. I showed up for all three. I left with clarity — I think.

The process began with Martin telling me what not to worry about. Hair catching on fire and crackling noises topped the list. A towel would protect my hair and the noises wouldn’t get louder than a bowl of Rice Krispies, she said, while showing me the two 11-inch paraffin cones covered in bee’s wax that would soon occupy my ear canal.

I laid down and scooted into a comfortable position on Martin’s massage table; then, as instructed, turned my head to the right. Martin wiggled the first cone into my ear and flicked the lighter.

"Are there any dangers with this?" I asked at perhaps the single least sensible time. She assured me I had nothing to worry about. She does it all the time and loves it, and so would I.

Then the crackling started. Not so much Snap, Crackle and Pop as it was chestnuts roasting on an open fire. It sounded like wood burning. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the flame glowing in Martin’s face as if she just sat down to a candlelight dinner. The sight must have resembled the kind of dream a psychiatrist would have a hey-day interpreting.

As the cone burned, Martin massaged the corner of my jawline closest to my ear. The crackling grew louder. As Martin tells it, the manipulation allows the smoke to reach inside the canal and vacuum out the wax. About 10 minutes later, she removed the cone and asked me to remain in position. After eagerly splitting the cone open to reveal the insides, the aesthetician frowned in disappointment. "That’s no fun. Maybe we’ll get more out of your other ear," she said of the short, clumpy yellowish trail.

I didn’t know which was more disturbing: the wax or Martin’s fascination with it. I couldn’t tell whether the "wax" actually came from my ear or dripped down from the cone since it emerged from the top, not the bottom, which was closest to my ear. I couldn’t help but think the same "wax" would magically appear if Martin lit the cones without inserting them into anything.

I turned my head and she repeated the process on my right ear. This time she marveled at the results that doubled in size and grossness. "See! Isn’t that fun?" she asked, smiling at the guck. I gave my most convincing laugh.

Rather than join the "fun" Martin was having, I tried my best to detect a clarity I didn’t have before my appointment. Nothing. I left the Micro Spa, unusually located in a Summerlin commercial center, and made the 15-minute drive home with more of nothing. I’m not sure exactly what I thought would happen but I do know that my hearing, sinuses and "sense of clarity" all felt the exact same two, three, four days after the appointment as they did before it.

I imagine the results would have been astounding, however, for the folks who buy lame excuses for lipstick-soiled collars, await the big WMD discovery and wonder if Mom’s ever run into Santa at the wrapping paper store.

Micro Spa is located at 5568 S. Apache Rd., 876-5647, www.microspalv.com