LIKE MANY OTHER stubborn tanners who find the habit hard to kick, I still revel in a bronze-y glow. As a 50-something, I remember when tanning equaled glamour. Not only did my childhood babysitter spritz herself with a mix of iodine and baby oil before settling down in our backyard with a foil reflector, all of my Barbies were “Malibu.” To this day, a mere whiff of Coppertone can send my stress levels plummeting.
Now that I’m older, however, I’m paying for all my carefree outdoor time with brown blotches, white blotches,...