Slimming

Hong Kong Consumer Council warned last week about sharp business practices by slimming salons. There had been complaints of slimming centres offering free sessions, endorsement contracts to lure the woman hopeful of shedding a few pounds in an effortless and costless way. To get something for nothing has an obvious appeal. We are told that endorsement contracts had too many unfair strings attached...

In Hong Kong's famously free-wheeling economy (once described as "positive non-intervention"), consumer protection is not up to European levels. People conduct their everyday lives in a rather naive belief (perpetuated by the government, in my view) that the level of transparency of our economic system is sufficient protection. What is more, concepts like 'false advertising' do not seem to exist. When incidents like this come to light, it becomes apparent where the balance of economic power in Hong Kong lies. The prevailing [sympathetic] view in the city is that the government is fearful of upsetting the powerful cartel of property developers, who are incidentally the biggest deceptive advertisers of them all; the unsympathetic view is that the government is actually in cahoots with big business – "官商鉤結" (collusion) is a very commonly used term. Unsatisfied customers are often simply reminded of the caveat emptor principle. If they make enough fuss, complainants may get a refund from the offending company subject to no admission of guilt and total confidentiality.

The director of a digital-imaging agency I met once told me that most of his revenues are generated from the beauty and property sectors. Celebrity endorsement is considered highly effective in Asia, and the public is quite accustomed to seeing Miss Universe and French chateaux marketing the latest condominiums repeatedly on prime time. The pervasive advertising featuring glamour girls, singers and film stars corroborates the 'bigness' of the "beauty" business in Hong Kong. All salons' advertising jostle for the public's attention. Ubiquitous posters featuring images of a busty Chrissie Chau offer bust enhancements, those of a svelte forty-something actress Carina Lau clad in bikini offer slimming solutions all around town. The website for Lau's boutique even streams a video of the bikini-babe writhing about like some soft porn actress. Another chain has a cross-promotion deal with The Miss Hong Kong Pageant, which offers paid endorsement contracts to pageant winners as one of its prizes. There is also one targeted at recent mothers, proposing treatment which will shed them 20 pounds (compared with their gestating weight)!

I understand that those seduced into becoming "spokeswomen" must put down a deposit of tens of thousands of HK dollars that can only be reclaimed after sustained weight loss of the agreed order is demonstrated. My wife went for a free session a while back, and discovered some of the practices which were also mirrored in the complaints: once the punter is secreted away in a treatment booth, and the "therapist" has hooked up the treatment apparatus, sales staff go to work on the [often naked] victim. During the 60-90 minutes of therapy, in which the client more or less immobilised on the apparatus (肉在針板), they have your undivided attention. Here, if asked, she may disclose the carrot-stick nature of her remuneration. In general, the carrot is the strong variable component in her package; the stick is that she has ambitious performance targets each month, which she fails to meet at her peril. If warning bells in your head start ringing at that stage, you may raise your guard in time. For the immobilised client, committing to a course of treatment worth HK$10,000 (US$1,300) might seem an acceptable ransom for your freedom, your clothes and other belongings; the contract may bring the sales girl up to $4,000.

I googled these two testimonials which pre-dated the Consumer Council warnings:

"At first, they said I need 80 treatments which would cost HK$ 38,000 but I could pay it in installment of $ 1000 which is fine. So they immediately got my bank card and input that amount which I didnt have and which I didnt know. Then I said I have no money, then after negotiating for such a long time, $ 8000 so I gave in and they deduct the money, after getting a free trial, they said Sorry the manager does not allow so I felt so frustrated and I said I cannot afford it, lets cancell it and then she said ok ok $ 16000. Then yesterday, the messager said I need lymp drainage and I was convinced so I paid $1000. I ask how many times I shud do it, she said 20 times which I said I cannot afford it, she said its ok have cheaper plan and the story goes that all they talk about is Money. I did not get the plan."

"I had the same story but i usually reply harshly to them and tell them to get out of my way and stop selling these things to me again and again. They are disgusting, 2 woman will enter your treatment room and start to tell you that you're fat here and there and you need so and so. I had about 6 treatments and i quitted. But i only paid about HK$5000."

The testimonials strongly suggest that the hungry money-grabbing tactics are common within the beautician profession. I had suspicions that other service sector professions had similar cultures, which my visit to a yoga studio in Tsim Sha Tsui confirmed. The staff were obviously on commission. There, I endured very highly pressured sell which lasted from 8:30 p.m. (after the free class) until 11 p.m, during which they insisted I signed up on the spot. The negotiations reminded me of the expression - "marchand de tapis" (carpet trader). The positive outcome from my not succumbing to their hard sell, was finding out actually how much below their first offer the merchant was prepared to sell his carpet to me for. When the sales rep finds you too difficult, and you start negotiating face-to-face with the head carpet-seller, that's when it starts to feel like you are riding on a magic carpet.