Markets 
It’s the Friday before the Met Gala and I’m wedged on a J train at 7 a.m., completely bare faced, under-eye circles on show, en route to the Upper East Side for a date with the hottest celebrity facialist in town.
His name? Iván Pol — a skincare god with over a million instagram followers and a client roster that reads like an Oscars seating chart: Emma Stone, Ana de Armas, Sabrina Carpenter, Kendall Jenner and Bella Hadid, to name a few.
He’s moved into The Mark Hotel on East 77th Street — ground zero for pre–Met Gala glam — where he’s going to be seeing many of the above stars ahead of the Gala on Monday to give the his signature $2.2k “snatched” facial.
Fans call it a facelift without surgery. And I’m first through the door, before any of the A-listers, to see if it’s really worth the high priced hype.
“Drink two to three liters of water before, darling,” he had told me the night prior. “The snatching process loves hydration.”
When I land at The Mark, metal barricades already line the sidewalk, and I slip into the lobby and ride up to the fifth floor, where Pol has set up a temporary studio that feels less spa, more sci-fi facial lab.
For context: my usual facial involves a no-frills Chinatown setup, a skilled pair of hands and maybe an ox horn if I’m lucky.
This? This is The Beauty Sandwich facial — Pol’s cult-favorite, tech-forward “lunchtime lift” designed to sculpt cheekbones, chisel jawlines and tighten everything north of the collarbone without a single needle, drop of filler or second of downtime.
The Met Gala–ready version of the treatment — which rings in at $2,200 and promises a lifted, sculpted look lasting roughly two to four weeks — combines high-tech tools with hands-on artistry to reduce inflammation through lymphatic drainage, a gentle massage that helps flush excess fluid and toxins, while carving out sharper facial angles.
Pol starts with the EVRL laser, which uses red and violet wavelengths to calm puffiness and redness, before moving into radiofrequency via the Candela Sublime to stimulate collagen and tighten skin from within.
He then incorporates the Erchonia CLX device to target submental fat under the chin — aka the key to that razor-sharp jawline — before finishing with his signature manual sculpting technique, using a combination of CHANEL Sublimage L’Extrait de Nuit Serum ($995) and his own Beauty Sandwich Snatching Sauce ($250) to leave skin firm, lifted and red-carpet radiant.
“A sculpted face and snatched jawline come from layering techniques — it’s never just one thing,” Pol told me. “You’re tightening, lifting and feeding the skin all in one treatment. That’s why it’s a ‘sandwich.’”
At over $2K a pop, the treatment isn’t exactly your average self-care splurge.
But in the high-stakes, high-definition world of “Fashion’s Biggest Night,” where every angle is photographed and every pore is practically public record, Pol’s promise is simple: sharper structure, less makeup — and a whole lot more confidence.
“My clients are going to have the sharpest jawlines on the red carpet,” he said. “This is about creating structure under the skin — not just on the surface.”
At 27, I’ve never flirted with Botox or fillers, so handing my face over to a celebrity aesthetician hours before the biggest sartorial event of the year feels… bold. Or unhinged. Or both.
And yet, within minutes, I’m horizontal, Chanel headband and under-eye patches on, as Pol works with a mix of precision, confidence and what can only be described as facial choreography.
There are a few sharp zaps near my hairline, some strategic pokes and prods — but pain? Surprisingly absent.
What’s not absent is Pol’s running commentary, delivered with the ease of someone who’s seen every face imaginable and still finds something to celebrate.
He clocks my “naturally defined” cheekbones. Compliments my big eyes. Assures me my features are already there — he’s just turning up the volume.
It’s equal parts treatment and TED Talk for your self-esteem.
“Tell yourself you’re beautiful all day long, and see how snatched you feel,” he tells me before he begins.
And when it’s over? Let’s just say: something has shifted — and not only externally.
My jawline looks tighter. My cheekbones pop like they’ve had their own espresso.
Even my eyebrows appear to have quietly migrated north.
Pol instructs me to press my fingers under my chin — “really feel it” — and I do, only to realize the usual softness has… vanished.
The double chin I could summon on command? Suddenly harder to produce on cue (thank god).
“To be truly ‘snatched,’ you need to be lifted, sculpted and defined,” Pol emphasized. “You need all three.”
Consider me convinced.
“Met Gala is one of my favorite times of year,” he added. “I’m there to support my clients and make them feel like their best selves.”
And while I may not be heading up those famous museum steps anytime soon, for one fleeting, lifted, tightly contoured moment — I get it.
“It’s not just skin deep,” Pol stressed. “When you feel ‘snatched’ within, you carry yourself differently.”
Call it confidence. Call it delusion. Call it a very expensive sandwich.
Either way — I’m walking out of the Mark feeling like I could take the carpet myself.
“You want to enhance that architecture with your makeup, not camouflage it,” he said, pointing to subtle techniques like strategic highlighting to amplify cheekbones and define angles.
Now that he’s “set the stage” and “primed my canvas,” I reach for my makeup bag — very carefully.
A little eyeliner. Mascara. Under-eye concealer. A soft swipe of blush, placed higher than usual. No heavy contour. No aggressive carving. And… that’s it.
The irony? All the tricks I used to rely on to look “snatched” — the contour sticks, the over-blending, the fake angles — now feel like overkill.
I snap a few photos, turning my face side to side like I’m mid–red carpet rehearsal, half expecting the effect to disappear under makeup. It doesn’t.
Pol told me the real magic hasn’t even peaked yet — that the “snatching” builds over the next few days, which is why his clients book him right before major events.
If this is day one, I’m almost scared of day seven (when Pol says I might feel the “snatchiest” as my muscles reap the benefits of the devices and lasers).
I may not be en route to mingle at The Met tonight — but as I head downtown to the Angelika Film Center to see “The Devil Wears Prada 2” with my sister, I catch my reflection in a passing window and pause.
I look a little sharper. A little more lifted. A little like I’ve been lightly edited. Call it confidence. Call it placebo. Call it a $2,200 sandwich.
Either way — I’m not mad about the next two to four weeks.
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