Tooth spa. It sounds at once so wholesome and luxurious, doesn’t it? You can just imagine the sort of delights it might have in store.
There’d probably be a mouthwash of invisible Japanese fish that swim around your teeth, pecking off the bits of decay. And there’d almost certainly be some kind of obscure shiatsu or acupuncture technique that fools the tooth-pain receptors in your brain into thinking that each stab of the dentist’s drill is in fact an orgasm. Not, of course, that this technique would be at all necessary because you’d be far too busy being distracted by the whale music transmitted live from the Southern Seas, the asses’-milk Jacuzzi, the Swedish masseuses caressing your forehead, and the isotonic health drinks which mimic the effects of the drug Ecstasy but in a totally healthy organic way that doubles your IQ and adds ten years to your life.
No wonder then that when offered the chance to visit Britain’s first self-proclaimed “tooth spa”, the Bloomsbury Dental Group in Hertfordshire, I leapt at the opportunity. Not only would I be able to experience the latest, super-comfortable, ultra-sophisticated dental pampering techniques being brought over from America — aromatherapy oils; warm, scented neck pillows; paraffin wax hand treatments; hot or cold eye masks; warm bootees and blankets — but I might even get thousands of quids worth of cosmetic work done for free on my scary-looking gnashers.
Look at me smiling in the picture and you’ll see why the idea might have appealed. I suppose it is quite nice that I smile so broadly and so often: it must surely mean that I’m a warm, funny, generous, open kind of person. At the same time, though, the smile does rather worry me. If I do the mouth-closed version, I look all simpering and self-conscious. And if I do the full-on lips-open version, I look like The Joker out of Batman. Or maybe a great white shark on the verge of chomping a baby seal. Suppose you had a smile like that and someone offered you the chance to make it as perfect as a Hollywood star’s: how could you say no? And I’m not the only person finding it difficult to ignore my nasty gnashers. The Dental-spa in London’s Fitzrovia is proving popular with local media types, attracted to the mix of fillings and facials. The combination of Botox, teeth whitening, manicures and massage has been on offer since 1993 but their popularity has soared recently.
When I arrive at Bloomsbury’s clean, modern practice my consultant is David Bloom who, like his partner Jay Padayachy, is one of the few British dentists to have trained under the world-renowned American cosmetic dentist Dr Larry Rosenthal. Rosenthal’s clients include Catherine Zeta-Jones, Matt Dillon and the singer Michael Bolton. I get the impression that, rather like cosmetic surgeons with celebrity boob jobs, there is nothing cosmetic dentists like better than bitching about the work done by their rivals. It’s a world away from NHS dentistry. “Just look at her smile, it doesn’t look natural,” says Bloom, showing me a close-up of a well known TV presenter whom I’d better not name lest her dentist tries to sue. Bloom points out the giveaway details: too even, too rounded. Real teeth have tiny indentations. If this effect isn’t recreated on your dental veneers, your smile is going to look fake and plasticky.
Afterwards, he shows me a series of before and after photos of his personal success stories. Eventually I have to beg him to stop because some of the before pictures are so revolting they make me want to gag; and also because, as a non-dentist, I find that my tolerance for staring at teeth, even pretty cosmetically readjusted teeth, is severely limited.
Still, they are jolly impressive. One person has teeth that are stumpy and worn away; another, ones that are so menacingly overcrowded it’s like staring into the jaws of Alien. The most stunning transformation is the one on a woman called Lenka. In the before picture, her uneven, yellowing teeth make her look a careworn 50. In the after one, she has been changed into the 34-year-old beauty she secretly was all along.
So why is everyone suddenly becoming so obsessed with smiles? Partly, says Bloom, it’s because they’ve been watching extreme makeover programmes on TV, partly because they want to look like celebrities, but mainly it’s the influence of the US, where the cosmetic dentistry industry is worth $3.4 billion (£2 billion). In America, a perfect smile has for years been seen not as an optional extra but as an essential asset to doing well in business and pulling sexual partners. Those attitudes are creeping across the Atlantic.
Bloom shows me a computer mock-up of how my smile would look if it were worked on a bit and explains that it wouldn’t require a brace or any surgery, my teeth could be perfect within a month. So what’s the catch? Well the process would involve filing down my teeth (“preparation” as the euphemism has it) and sticking porcelain veneers on which a) don’t last for ever — about 20 years max b) have a one-in-ten failure rate — and if I was paying c) cost £850 per tooth.
While I mull over the issue, Bloom takes me up to his surgery for a check-up and books me in with his hygienist for a clean-up (cost: £124). The practice prides itself on its state-of-the-art equipment and relaxing atmosphere. For example, besides high-speed drills they can remove decay using air abrasion, which supposedly means less pain and the preservation of more healthy tooth structure (though my excellent Harley Street dentist Grace says it’ s a bit of gimmick because it’s so slow you die of boredom). Then there’s all that New Agey stuff: aromatherapy oils, etc.
Does it make a difference? Well yes, obviously, anything that distracts you from the horrors of having someone probe in your mouth with scary metal pointy things is a bonus. But I have to stay that for all its fluffy accoutrements, Bloomsbury’s practice still looks very much to me like a dental surgery: it’s in a small, modern, brick building in the suburbs, with poky, clinical-looking rooms which in no way fool you into thinking that you’ ve accidentally wandered into some ritzy Notting Hill yoga centre.
What I appreciated about Bloomsbury far more than its New Age gimmickry was its thorough professionalism. I like the videos explaining what, say, gum recession entails; I like the way they show you exactly how you should brush your teeth (much more demanding than you think) and the way they introduce you to new equipment, such as the tiny Scandinavian interdental brushes, which are so much more effective than floss. But what didn’t tempt me, in the end, were any of their cosmetic procedures. Tooth-whitening (cost: £594) seems a bit pointless if your teeth aren’t necessarily the sort to which you want to draw attention. As for the veneers, well, do I want to sacrifice the mildly misshapen but fairly healthy teeth I’ve had all my life for fake coverings that make me look like an American movie star? I’m not sure I do.
One thing that unsettled me about my visit to Bloomsbury was what nice teeth everyone had. Bloom had them. My delightful hygienist had them. The lovely, welcoming receptionists had them. And though it looked great, it also looked ever so slightly Stepford Wives and suspiciously un-British. So while I’m considering having some orthodontal work done — at least the teeth involved will still be recognisably mine — I ’ve ruled out any other form of smile reconstruction. There is such a thing as a smile that’s too perfect.
Bloomsbury Dental Group: 0870 1123602 www.bloomsburydental.com
Divided by dentistry
There’s a huge industry growing up around cosmetic tooth improvement, but there’s a good reason why a dazzling smile is becoming the new status symbol. It costs. In teeth terms we’re a nation divided.
Family dentist If you can find one who does NHS work, it can be cheap. NHS means there’s a subsidy for anything that addresses your clinical — but not aesthetic — dental needs. You can have a check-up, scale and polish (to prevent decay by getting rid of plaque and bacteria), a couple of fillings, a root canal and still get change from £100.
Cosmetic industry Based around hundreds of specialist centres that have sprung up in the UK over the past decade, this is a market reputed to be worth £1 billion. As well as simple veneers (£300 to £900 a tooth), you can book in for bracing to straighten your teeth (£1,000 to £6,000), or in-surgery bleaching (£300 to £1,300), contouring to remove chips or lengthen short teeth (from £150), or inlays, which are tooth-coloured ceramics that are chemically bonded into your teeth (about £400 a tooth). All this sometimes is done in tasteful surgeries, with music, DVDs and aromatherapy.
Number crunch Will these worlds ever meet? There’s virtually no chance that the NHS will ever cover anything on the basis of vanity. The closest it gets to covering “cosmetic” is permitting white fillings for the front teeth (that dark amalgam could make you look like Shane MacGowan) but white anywhere else in your mouth means paying the private rate. The reforms of NHS dentistry, introduced next year, will change the charging system for treatment but not types of treatment, so don’t expect miracles. What we are seeing is more private dentists deciding to provide cosmetic work. So while the bad news is that more of us are paying private rates for treatment (non-NHS, a filling can cost £100; on the NHS, £16), cosmetic treatments are becoming more accessible.
Mind the gap This year, some orthodontists — dentists who also have training in repositioning teeth — said they were concerned that some dentists keen to take on cosmetic work were straightening teeth without appropriate qualifications. The British Dental Association rejected this and emphasised the safety of all cosmetic procedures if conducted at a dental surgery. “Anything that gets people to get their mouth s checked by a dentist has to be a good thing,” said Jo Tanner, the BDA spokeswoman.
SIMON CROMPTON
