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"  If, like me, you were simultaneously romanced by the safari-themed rah-rah skirts at Proenza Schouler, beguiled by the thigh-skimming chiffonery at Chlo\u00E9, and seduced by the shredded, Kurt Cobain\u2013worthy jean shorts at Alexander Wang, you are (a) possibly a bit of a fashion whore, and (b) already keenly aware of the current prominence of one particular bodily feature: legs. Perhaps, even as you read this, you&amp;#039;re shrugging. Maybe you&amp;#039;re muttering something along the lines of Yeah, so? No biggie. If this is the case, God bless you and your scrawny little limbs, too. The rest of us, on the other hand, have cause for concern. Or causes; mine start with a little extra padding in the inner knee, end with corpselike pallor, and have plenty of other rah-rah-raging horrors in between. I was weighing various leg-perfecting options\u2014three months of Powerstrike classes! Carb control! Leg transplants!\u2014when I got a rather interesting phone call: Celeb photographer Marc Baptiste is planning a legs-only photo shoot, and one of his &amp;quot;real women&amp;quot; subjects has fallen sick (i.e., chickened out). Would I care to fill in? Like, tomorrow? Besides my eyebrows (naturally arched and situated reliably north of my neckline), there isn&amp;#039;t a single part of my anatomy I&amp;#039;d submit to that kind of scrutiny without reservations. But my legs? After an entire winter hidden beneath either titanium-strength denim or control-top microfiber, they&amp;#039;re like newborn pups, unaccustomed to light, noise, or\u2014heaven forbid\u2014photography. On the other hand, what are the chances I&amp;#039;d ever actually enact that long-term improvement plan? Twenty-four hours of gung-ho perfecting (18, if you subtract sleep) might be a safer bet.  T-minus 22 hours: Feed It &amp;quot;You&amp;#039;re obviously an optimist,&amp;quot; says New York City diet doctor Stephen Gullo, PhD, when I outline my mission. Clearly, Gullo counts himself in the same club: While he says 72 to 96 hours would be preferable for short-term slimming, even 24 could help. Mind you, the goal here isn&amp;#039;t weight loss. It&amp;#039;s water loss and bloat reduction. &amp;quot;You know when you take off a pair of socks and see the indentation they leave?&amp;quot; Gullo says. &amp;quot;Certain foods\u2014like asparagus, which may help flush water out of your system\u2014work like that to reduce bloat. Just losing that can make you look and feel trimmer.&amp;quot; Start by cutting salt and pumping in water, he advises. Two or three cups of caffeinated tea, a natural diuretic, over the next day could help. And ixnay the Diet Cokes. &amp;quot;Most carbonated drinks contain salt, which makes tissues retain fluid,&amp;quot; Gullo says. At Whole Foods, I follow a Gullo-approved shopping list, eschewing starches, sugars, and simple carbs (&amp;quot;each gram may retain up to three grams of water,&amp;quot; he says) and loading up on foods that cause minimal water retention and also keep insulin levels from spiking: low- or no-fat dairy (Gullo likes FAGE Total Greek yogurt); lean protein, such as white poultry; and what he calls &amp;quot;the Concorde to thin&amp;quot;\u2014seafood. Even veggies have to be vetted; I&amp;#039;m allowed only fiber-rich, nonstarchy green and white specimens such as cucumber, green beans, broccoli, cauliflower, and lettuce. You know that rule about never grocery shopping while you&amp;#039;re hungry? So true. Two blocks from the store, I collapse under the weight of my organics-laden, post-recycling paper bags, landing\u2014oops!\u2014right on the doorstep of my favorite Mexican establishment.  T-minus 19 hours: Wrap It One chicken quesadilla (lean protein) and two margaritas (no salt) later, I head home, where I lay out my product arsenal like a bulge-blasting La Femme Nikita: a deceptively girly-looking (but lethally five-bladed) Gillette Venus Embrace razor; a natural-bristle body brush that, according to a long tradition of Eastern European cellulite-pummelers, will rev up circulation and increase lymph flow to reduce swelling; and a jar of Bliss fatgirlsleep\u2014a purplish nighttime cream that contains lotus extract to reduce water retention and firm skin and has the sort of name that makes me want to drop a troop of taut-bottomed skinnies into a very large meat grinder. Oh, and a roll of Saran Wrap.  This last was per Nina Curtis, the proprietor of L.A.&amp;#039;s Nile Institute spa. Her rapid weight-loss regimen\u2014bouncing on a mini-trampoline while trussed in plastic\u2014works on the same principle as the pre-meet ritual of most high school wrestling teams: water loss. This rigmarole sounds foolish and looks worse, but it works. &amp;quot;If you were here, you could lose three to five inches head to toe,&amp;quot; Curtis says. &amp;quot;In 24 hours, I could get you to sweat.&amp;quot; But since I&amp;#039;m an East Coaster who doesn&amp;#039;t own gravity boots (thigh-high, blow-up compression footwear), she says I have to wrap myself. &amp;quot;Take a shower to get really warm. Apply a cellulite-toning product, and then, starting at the ankles, wrap your legs\u2014but don&amp;#039;t strangle them, and don&amp;#039;t squeeze so tightly that you cut off circulation of the lymph nodes at the back of the knee,&amp;quot; Curtis \u00B0\u00A9advises. &amp;quot;Then cocoon yourself in sweatpants and blankets.&amp;quot; Technically, she says, I could sleep in the wrap and sweat\u2014and, presumably, shrink\u2014all night. At the very least, I have to &amp;quot;wait until I can feel the sweat running under the Saran.&amp;quot; Curtis also advises elevation to &amp;quot;reduce swelling and help defatigue legs\u2014like a yogic headstand, to relax and relieve anxiety.&amp;quot; Obediently, I lie on the floor and inch my bound, swaddled extremities up a wall, like a fallen L. At 35 minutes, I begin to feel a bit panicky. At 36, I&amp;#039;m screeching at full volume, lurching around the apartment while my boyfriend\u2014seized, for some reason, with sidesplitting guffaws\u2014attempts to cut my flailing limbs out of the wrap. Turns out a superclose shave, plus enthusiastic body-brushing, plus the other shower scrub I&amp;#039;d added for good measure, might be excessive exfoliation. My whole body is red and rashy; if there is a difference in my silhouette, it&amp;#039;s subtle.  T-minus 6 hours: Work It By 10:30 the next morning, Kacy Duke\u2014the woman who booty-fies Tyra and Denzel, a cofounder of the Equinox Fitness Club and author of The Show It Love Workout (McGraw-Hill)\u2014is pointing her &amp;quot;love&amp;quot; straight into what she informs me are my &amp;quot;saddlebags.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Look, what&amp;#039;s the point in a single workout?&amp;quot; I wheeze, swooping my leg back into a superdeep curtsy. &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s not like we&amp;#039;re going to perform some kind of miracle in an hour.&amp;quot; True, she says, the weight is not going to fly off my bod. But several sets of &amp;quot;Warrior 1&amp;quot; (as opposed to the yogic variety, hers is a back-lunge/knee-lift combo done while balancing on a body bar) could do for my stems what last-minute push-ups do for male models&amp;#039; pecs before a shoot. &amp;quot;Ever notice how skinny jeans feel a little extra-tight after a workout? Getting the lactic acid going and revving up blood flow to the quads, hamstrings, and calves produces a slight swelling and a feeling of firmness,&amp;quot; Duke says. &amp;quot;Did I say stop?&amp;quot; Umpteen thousand lunges, squats, kicks, and pli\u00E9s later, I ease my loosey-goosey limbs toward the door, as Duke&amp;#039;s voice singsongs after me: &amp;quot;We just worked muscles you never knew you had. Don&amp;#039;t forget the Aaaadvil!&amp;quot;  T-minus 4 hours: Zap It If I were prepping for a normal, neck-up portrait, I would head directly to the lower Fifth Avenue aerie of Tracie Martyn, facialist to too many stars to bother listing here. During her mysterious Resculpting Facial, a handheld wand shoots mild galvanic current into skin, which she says eliminates excess fluids and speeds microcirculation. It sounds far-fetched, but let me tell you, I&amp;#039;ve seen that magic wand suck in jowls and unpack undereye bags lickety-split. Just imagine what it could do for the junk in my trunk! When Martyn does a face, she starts by making her subject examine it in the mirror to demonstrate exactly why the poor woman needs to be there in the first place. Unfortunately, Martyn does the same thing with backsides\u2014which is a lot tougher to take, especially when your bum is clad in nothing but disposable paper spa undies. I had envisioned head-to-toe tightening, but since a single hourlong session is only time enough to zap a specific region, Martyn focuses on my buns and upper thighs. Afterward, the situation is slightly improved: Dimples are downsized, and stubborn side baggage appears a little deflated. Unlike Cinderella, though, I know this is strictly temporary. How long will it take my ass to turn back into a pumpkin?  T-minus 2 hours: Smooth It With the upper half of my target zone Martyn\u2013ized, the lower bits look slightly bereft: flaky, dry. I head to TriBeCa MedSpa, the kind of place where exceedingly discerning women\u2014who apparently have a lot of time on their hands\u2014get foot &amp;quot;facials.&amp;quot; (Seriously. Including sweat-zapping Botox, plumping Restylane injections, laser vein removal, and sun-damage-reducing laser sessions...all on les pieds.) After a glycolic peel and vibradermabrasion\u2014in which vibrating paddles exfoliate with low risk of irritation or broken capillaries\u2014my legs look so young, smooth, and glowy that my face is a little bit pissed off.  Showtime: Shoot It At the studio, wind machines are blasting, Beyonc\u00E9 is purring, and Baptiste\u2014who has clearly seen Blow-Up more than once\u2014is cackling, crowing, hooting, hollering, and madly snapping his previous subject. Later, he tells me this is his method of &amp;quot;trying to bring out that sexy, confident alter ego that every woman has in there somewhere.&amp;quot; I&amp;#039;m a reddish-haired, albino-skinned English-blooded lass. If there&amp;#039;s one thing that brings out my alter ego, it&amp;#039;s a tan. It may seem that I&amp;#039;ve forgotten the most critical leg-slimming, cellulite-camouflaging trick in the book\u2014the spray tan. I have not. But, while those take time to develop and precision to apply, body makeup creates the same illusion in a fraction of the time (and is not just photo shoot appropriate, I swear). I prop my legs\u2014buttery, silken, but still deathly pale\u2014up on a chair, and L.A. makeup artist Sharon Gault gets down to business, adding even more moisturizer and coating them in glimmery, makeup-artist-beloved Make Up For Ever Face &amp;amp;amp; Body Liquid Make Up. (FYI: My own at-home insta-tan regimen consists of M.A.C leg spray and a perfectly gleamy, under-the-radar moisturizer called, appropriately enough, GKay Shiny Legs.) Baptiste surveys this process with approval. &amp;quot;Skin&amp;#039;s important. When it&amp;#039;s moisturized with a little sheen, light hits it and makes more of a contrast, picks up more tones,&amp;quot; he says.  &amp;quot;Ready?&amp;quot; Looking down, I see another woman&amp;#039;s appendages: beachy-tan and almost worthy of the penultimate body adjective, defined. I don&amp;#039;t know who these honeyed limbs belong to, exactly, but they&amp;#039;re as ready as they&amp;#039;ll ever be. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.elle.com/beauty/health-fitness/advice/a9261/hot-to-trot-19666/>