You know it’s bad when the U.S. Department of State rejects your passport photo. It happened to me not too long ago, and the sad thing is: they were right. The photo was a clunker. There’s a better way, as I discovered at Rimowa’s Passport Studio, in their SoHo boutique, in New York. It’s a whole lot nicer than my local CVS. And it’s free, has comfortable seating, and offers lighting that rivals that of a 90s Glamour Shot. The only thing missing is a wind machine. Physical passport photos are printed on the spot and can be shared digitally for safekeeping. I’ve never looked better in a government-issued ID, and the officials happily agreed. (rimowa.com) —Christina Grasso

In its past life, the 11th floor of the Hotel Chelsea hosted artist lofts that bottled Manhattan’s natural light. This month, those bottles have been re-envisioned as six treatment rooms outfitted with heated beds, Barbara Sturm skin care, and a facialist known only as “Magic Hands,” overheard from reverent whispers in the lobby. The treatment menu is short enough to approach unguided. Those looking to unwind—or, rather, be unwound—should opt for the Sana Sana massage, which combines multiple schools of touch thought with a trove of tenderizing tools, including suction cups and a Theragun. Hot stones practically sizzle. It’s not a want but a knead. (from $205, hotelchelsea.com) —Brennan Kilbane

We don’t need to tell you that Korean beauty products reign supreme for innovation and graceful, smooth-gliding formulas. Sulwhasoo makes some of the most elegant, centering its blends around ginseng, which, in various small studies, is proving to be a promising anti-inflammatory that stimulates elastin and collagen in the skin. Sulwhasoo’s new The Ultimate S Serum is a stunner. Lightweight and remarkably moisturizing, it calmed my redness and made me feel supremely pampered, even after slapping it on haphazardly. In a clinical study, subjects who used the product thoughtfully and carefully for eight weeks (warming it in their hands, per instructions) showed improvements in fine lines, wrinkles, and texture. I’m a convert. ($390, nordstrom.com) —Linda Wells

I overdid it on the glutes. Training session after training session of hip thrusts, squats, dead lifts, and bridges made it so I could barely last 15 minutes in an airplane seat before squirming uncomfortably. Foam-rolling my entire backside helped up to a point. Then my trainer at Workshop Gymnasium in London turned me on to the Hyperice Hypervolt Pro 2, a high-powered massage gun with three speeds of percussion, five head attachments, and three hours of battery life. At just 1.8 pounds and quiet, as far as these tools go, it’s light enough to take on the plane. When it hammers away at sore areas all over my body while I watch television, I can even sit upright without wincing. Most surprising is my increased range of motion after following one of the many routines on the Hyperice app. I haven’t felt this flexible since I was a high-school cheerleader. Siss, boom, bang! ($329, hyperice.com) —Ashley Baker

It’s hard to get excited about a deodorant when all you really want is something unexciting. But Nez, a line of stick deodorants, puts a little pep into the snoozy experience. Close your eyes and the scents could be confused with an indie perfume. Open them and you’ll see different formulas for different types of sweat. Board Meeting has the calming scents of pear, jasmine, and amber, with bentonite clay and extra magnesium for stress sweat. Workout Sesh smells of cucumber and leafy greens and contains zinc ricinoleate and bamboo powder. Date Ready is a bergamot-and-vanilla blend, with charcoal powder for nervous sweat. None have aluminum salts, parabens, or baking soda. Nez, French for “nose,” is “zen” spelled backward. Zingy. ($15, nezcare.com) —Linda Wells

Want to feel more organized and stylish in one fell swoop? Allow me to introduce you to Diptyque’s new bathroom accessories, picking up where your empty Baies candle jar left off. The all-white pieces have an Astier de Villatte flair. Some are decorated with a raised Diptyque seal, and some are shaped to look like a seashell. The soap dish is a little oval pedestal that holds a small round bar as if it’s a Brâncuși sculpture. There are entirely unnecessary and yet completely desirable stands for a mini candle and a liquid-soap-and-lotion set. To tie your scented candle into the theme, Diptyque offers a ridged, tiered dome that looks as if it might be hiding a cake safely beneath. And, in a way, it is. (from $40, diptyqueparis.com) —Linda Wells