Down on Foot-Massage Row
An intrepid reporter investigates the Village’s hottest export since frozen yogurt—and finds its polar opposite.
This year’s edition of “[259] Things Every New Yorker Should Know” included a peculiar shoutout: “West 8th Street, between Sixth Avenue and Macdougal, is foot-massage row with three perpetually bustling spots (ShunFa, All Seasons Body Work, and Renew) for speedy, thorough foot massages.”
I work nearby and pass those always-busy (indeed) parlors on the regular, but I’d never paid much attention. The scene was evidently “IYKYK,” and businesses don’t advertise aside from the ubiquitous sandwich board signs touting dollar-per-minute rates. I’d need to get my hands dirty and my feet rubbed to understand the appeal— because it wasn’t coming to me naturally.
For the uninitiated: Reflexology is an alternative, drug-free therapy with ancient origins in Egypt and Asia. Similar to acupuncture, gentle force is applied to hyper-localized areas to ease tension and stimulate regeneration. Practitioners utilize a “map” of the foot to pinpoint where to apply pressure, as every square centimeter is said to connect to a separate area of the body. The webbing between the second and third toes, for instance, has a direct line to the inner ear; ergo pressing here relieves congestion. Disciples swear its efficacy in minimizing the symptoms of chronic conditions ranging from migraines to back pain to a leaky gut.
Distribution and cumulative volume of foot reflexology papers published over the years. Cai, Deng-Chuan et al. “Foot Reflexology: Recent Research Trends and Prospects.” Healthcare (Basel, Switzerland)
As is often the case with alternative medicine, there’s scant literature supporting or debunking the claims. But amid rising distrust in the scientific establishment and the emergence of self-care as an ethos, reflexology has caught the same heated tailwinds of health and wellness, which McKinsey estimates represents a $500 billion spend for millennials and Gen Z that’s poised to grow by 4-5% each year. The high concentration of universities in and around the Village undoubtedly factors into business’ success.
Still, I couldn’t shake a feeling of squeamishness as my own appointment neared. The most foot action I’d received up until then was a polite pedicure pat down. Come to think of it—should I get a pedicure? It was the middle of summer and my feet were usually rough and sweaty. I feared the judgment of my massage therapist and hip-to-it peers. Silly as it sounds, there’s something intimate about bearing one’s sole(s) in public when there’s no pretense of primp or polish.
When I walked into All Seasons at 4 o’clock on a Wednesday, the parlor was packed with nine massage therapists and as many customers. But despite the close quarters, it was a hushed space. Patrons sunk into big leather chairs under the influence of deep tissue massage, with only the occasional grunt breaking the silence.
My nervousness began to subside as a pro wiped my feet and calves with a warm towel. An unlabeled tub of lotion appeared just as I was dissolving into a state of bliss. 30 minutes of tender kneading later, I floated home. Now I understood the appeal for deskbound as well as on-the-move city dwellers—especially at these rates (I paid $29 plus tip).
All Seasons Spa.
Intrigued by Google Maps’ “busiest times” I scoped out the weekend scene. Groups congregated inside Shun Fa and All Seasons, spilling into the street. The silence of the 9-5 crowd was replaced by a pleasant hum of chit-chat. I asked a mother-daughter duo what brought them here. Mom answered, “Oh, I feel invigorated.” She noted she was hopping on a flight later that evening, and the foot rub was a reliable pre-flight ritual. Another young woman, dazed in post-massage euphoria told me, “They’re amazing, but it will hurt like a bitch!” I laughed; she continued: “I’ve recommended them to friends. It will be good, but it’s no joke.”
Photography is verboten at these salons—and who’d want to take a picture anyway? In contrast to the Village’s other buzzworthy export, a foot massage isn’t good for sharing. That seems key to the appeal.
The invitation to be imperfect, pennywise, and focused solely on the present is well-received just a few blocks from the content creators’ paradise of Washington Square Park. Speaking as a convert, I can attest that “come as you are” is meant in earnest on Foot-Massage Row.™ Everyone is welcome, and no one cares what your feet look like.