Nowadays it is perfectly acceptable for a man to have had a spa treatment or two, but a few individuals stubbornly cling to the notion that if Jack Bauer didn't need a manicure to save the world, then neither do they. We are quite certain, however, that if Bauer had more than 24 hours to stop a terrorist bombing plot, he wouldn't object to a calming facial that would sort out a few of his stress lines. Determined to prove that a real man would be able to handle what women go through on a regular basis, we sent our resident neanderthal Richard Watt (pictured) to undergo a series of beautifying rituals that would challenge his inner manliness. Monday Melo Spa, Hyatt Regency, Sha Tin For a spa virgin like me the weirdest thing about going to get a chest and stomach wax is that they make you wear a pair of disposable blue underpants for it. I only have two questions for my therapist: 'Why the disposable underpants? How bad can this be?' She reassures me that everything is OK and that the waxing should be fun. The mellow music, sea view and my own private jacuzzi in the new treatment room set my mind at ease. But let me tell you an obvious fact about man waxing - it isn't fun. I don't know much about the physics or chemistry behind it, but what I can tell you is that as soon as the wax leaves its hot tub it starts to harden, and it's this hardening that causes the most distress. It means that as the therapist slowly begins to spatula the goo on to my chest some individual hairs seem to get caught up in it as it hardens, and so even before the real waxing starts some of the hair is slowly plucked out, one by one, as the little wooden spatula scrapes across my nipples. It's a horrible feeling, and my eyes start to water and the sweat begins to collect in the small of my back, but I hardly have time to dwell on it before the first piece of papery stuff is patted on to my chest and there is the first, unnatural, Thwack! For a split second there is no pain while my brain furiously tries to figure out what that sound was and why my eyes are looking at a piece of paper covered in man hair. But in no time at all it has put two and two together and the pain sets in, my eyes start to water and I begin to really grip hard on the sides of the treatment table. The good news is that my therapist knows what she's doing and Thwack! follows Thwack! faster than I can really register what's going on and, before I know it, it's all over I've managed to do it with at least some of my dignity left intact. And there's more good news: the treatment is followed by up by a one-hour signature body massage. An excellently delivered and very well earned hour of peace which leaves my raw torso smooth, cool and really shiny. Tuesday Wellness Centre, The Excelsior A word of advice: don't look in the mirror the day after you've had a chest and stomach wax. It looks like my head has been transplanted on to the body of a 12 year old boy. And don't touch your chest or stomach - it feels all fresh and babyish, and ... girly. I don't feel like a man anymore. I feel like a girl. And I look like a 12-year-old boy. I want my hair back. And just to rub it in I'm now off to Causeway Bay for a facial. My therapist is trained by the Mandarin Oriental Hotel Group and knows a thing or two about oils and other smelly stuff. She takes me through a selection of bottles and asks me some personal questions ('What do you normally wash your face with?' 'Shampoo') to find out what will best suit my skin type. The Balance Men's Facial kicks off with a lush foot-and-back massage, and I'm put into a state of total relaxation and only wake up midway through the facial, with soothing hot steam being blown on to my cheeks. After only an hour the results are amazing. I find a mirror that will only reveal my face and I look totally different. Really, I've never seen myself looking this healthy. Years of nicotine, booze and age have been scraped off my face revealing a shinier, healthier, happier me. Wednesday Plateau Spa, Grand Hyatt I have woken up covered in tiny little spots all over my bald torso. In-grown hairs I am told. By all accounts the only solution is a body exfoliation, which is perfect because this is what I have waiting for me in Wan Chai today. I'm feeling more relaxed about spas now and step into the peaceful and stunningly designed Plateau Spa with my shiny head held high. The exfoliation promises 'semi-precious balm with Hematites Extract and Fine Grain Marine Crystal' which will 'promote cell regeneration and increase circulation for a revitalised and smooth skin'. I have no idea what any of this means, but what the treatment actually feels like is someone rubbing a load of wet sand across my body for 45 minutes. But it's not a bad thing and the constant rubbing does have a very relaxing effect, and the results are also as promised. My skin certainly does feel smoother and it looks fresher than it did. Thursday The Spa, Four Seasons Hotel I have woken up this morning totally spa'd out. I've been rubbed and plucked and moulded and sandpapered down and I know I might look a bit fresher but the last thing I want to do today is to go to another spa. One thing on my side today is that the treatment in store for me is nice and simple - a manicure and pedicure at one of the city's best hotels. The Spa at the Four Seasons really is something special, and I have a peek around the place first and suss out the massive jacuzzi that you could almost do laps in. In fact, the only nasty things in the place are my fingernails (bitten down to the quick) and my toenails (never been clipped - only picked). But while giving me a pre-pedicure foot massage my therapist compliments on how great my toenails look. At first I'm quietly surprised but then realise that it's just the way they say things in hotels like this. And, for the first time, I'm really quite embarrassed by the state of my nails. She works a few small miracles and by the time my cuticles have been delicately cut back, my nails clipped, shaped and buffed, my toenails are actually looking very distinguished indeed. One surprising thing about the manicure is how relaxing it is. You can kick back in your comfy chair and have a bit of a snooze while someone plays around with your nails - it doesn't just sort your nails out, it also provides an opportunity to unwind in a peaceful environment, and by the end your nails are sparkling and shiny like never before. Friday Bliss, W Hotel 'How long will it take my chest hair to grow back?' Is a question I hope never to type into google again. And the site it leads me to, crossdressers.com, may have ruined my day but it does give me the relatively good news that in about a month's time I should be back to normal. Bliss is on the 72nd floor above W Hotel and immediately I know it's my favourite spa so far and a good one to end on. It offers a different take on the usual spa ambience: Where you expect to hear mellow lift muzak accompanied by the sound of flowing water and birdsong, you instead hear jazz and blues and the odd bit of Lenny Kravitz. Where you expect to be greeted by a therapist speaking in hushed tones and wearing a perfect white tunic, you instead are greeted by chatty, friendly staff who seem to be having a laugh. It's perfect, and I'd suggest that any man heading to a spa for the first time heads here. There are no pretensions and you'll feel at ease as soon as you walk in. And, just in case you have been feeling a bit too healthy, you can begin your treatment by stuffing your face in the brownie buffet and then floating around in the jacuzzi that offers a bird's eye view across Kowloon. My final treatment is called The Lovehandler, a slimming treatment designed to reduce the fat around the gut. It involves the therapist using a kind of hoover with a big mouth on the end of it that she rubs across my lower back, love handles and all over my stomach. After about 20 minutes of this my torso is wrapped in a seaweed paste and I lie back to enjoy the head and foot massage as the paste goes to work on my fat. Finally, the whole lot is peeled off and some fat-fighting cream is generously applied. I head back to the changing room and sadly find that my jeans are just as tight as they were - but I have been told that it takes a few more Lovehandler treatments for the effects to really show. With my final treatment over I head home to reflect on the week. Have I maintained my manhood through all of this? Well, I have no chest hair, my skin is soft, smooth and girly, my nails have lost the manly mangled look, my face looks buffed and I have paid a visit to a website set up for transvestites - so in short, no. Jack Bauer would never have saved the world looking like this, but he would have felt cleaner and fresher as the world exploded around him.