Ye Old Art Of Waxing

sq_carell_chest_wax_300x300I’m about to embark on a week filled with sun, sand, and cocktails … lots and lots of cocktails … at odd hours of the day … when you are properly at work … mwahahaha! (Sorry, I had to).

But as I’ve been making mental lists and starting to pile up things I would like to bring with me (#overpacker), it also has brought something to my attention that not a lot of people feel comfortable talking about … but oh yeah, we’re going there. That would be waxing, kids … waxing.

When you go on a beach vacation, you basically have it all out there for a week, as bathing suits leave little the imagination. Even if you’ve moved to the one-piece (which, for the most part, I have), there is a lot of skin you’re showing … a lot of skin that if you’re a lady, shouldn’t be covered in hair. Hair is gross … woof.

I’m a waxing neophyte. The only thing I’ve ever gotten waxed is my eyebrows … and that took me years to commit to. I was so scared of the pain I walked around like bushy mcbusherson … it was hot, let me tell ya (I was also 13, give me a break, that is what those awkward years are for, right?)

But now, it is all about getting your bikini area waxed. And to that I say … bitch please. I’ve heard horrific stories about a thing called a “Brazilian wax.” Perhaps they are urban myths, but I would rather not pay a total stranger to make me get on all fours, ALL-FOURS, naked, and have them take a burning hot substance to my lady parts. It just doesn’t sound pleasant … to be completely honest it sounds nuts. Call me a Granny all you want, I’m here eating Werthers Originals and clutching my handbag for dear life. I keep it real. The stories I’ve been told and the screams I’ve heard at salons from women enduring the Brazilian are something made from nightmares.

I realize the “Brazilian” is the extreme end of waxing. But the PG-rated wax, the ones where I hear you put your legs in stir-ups and still have a stranger get all up in your bid-niss whilst being half naked … hmm yeah, still not my cup of tea. I’m not a prude. I’m just not down for paying for embarrassing torture. At least give a girl a shot of vodka before getting that personal with her, my God.

Sure, dealing with your “bikini area” yourself isn’t pleasant either, but at least you are alone in your shower. Sure, the end result usually looks like you have tiny red spider bites all around your woo haa or a weird rash … but quite frankly I would rather that than, again, paying a stranger to be all up in my bid-niss making me turn and twist in weird positions for the sake of removing ever stitch of hair. And if anyone questions my weird rash or wonders if I have an STD, I will be HAPPY to explain to them my theory on waxes. Yep. That is sure to bring all the boys to the yard.

You know what, your gyno should give you a free wax after your annual. I would be okay with that. He/she, a trained professional, has already been down there exploring, poking and prodding … why not get a complimentary wax after it all. I mean the whole visit is rather unpleasant to begin with, why not get a little “spa-like” treatment afterwards to heal your wounds of being completely violated for the sake of lady health. Just a thought, gynos of the world, just a thought.

I know, I know … hundred and thousands of women get waxes every year. I bet if you’re reading this and you’re into bikini waxes you think I’m the biggest wuss in the world. And to that I say … you are correct, sir. Unless I’m going to go live in a nudist colony on planet “that would never in blazing hell happen” I will most likely never get a Brazilian. I may try a regular wax just for funsies, though. But someone better get me drunk before hand. That is an order.

Brow Talk

A dear friend of mine send me a really great article about eyebrows throughout the ages, and it made me think about the concept of eyebrows and how strange they are. I mean they are just two thin lines of hair above your eye lids, yet we would look like aliens without them. It is always all about your eyes, your lips, a beauty mark … even your eye lashes. I’ve never once heard a guy utter, “yo dude, look at them brows … I gotta get me some of that.”

I tell everyone that my eyebrows have a mind of their own, because they do. People forget, and actually I sometimes forget too, that my hair is naturally ridiculously curly … henceforth my eyebrows are curly, making them extremely temperamental. Weird, right? If I go too long without getting them waxed, I will wake up with bed head AND bed brows … how heinous is that?

Yes, so I suppose I was in the 6th grade when it got to the point of me needing to get my eyebrows waxed for the first time. Did I? Nope. I let them grow to the point of freakdom until I think the beginning of the 8th grade. My sister would beg me to get them waxed … even my hair dresser would plead with me to let one of her friends in the salon do them because they were such a hot, disastrous mess. I didn’t have a unibrow or anything, but I did have like a wall of thick, long hair above my lids. My reasoning for not wanting to get them waxed was me being afraid that I would look totally different and people would actually give me the type of attention that made a wallflower like myself want to wilt. And quite frankly, I was terrified that it was going to hurt. I mean hot wax ripping hair off your face? As a 13-year-old girl, it sounded like slow torture that I wanted nothing to do with.

My Nana was probably the only one who was on my side. She thought my eyebrows were reminiscent of Brooke Shields (a hot mess 13-year-old , less model-ly version of Brooke Shields perhaps), and since I was so tall like her she didn’t want me to fiddle with them. “Get the girl braces, but don’t touch those eyebrows,” she would say. But by the end of 7th grade I had made friends, felt a little more confident, starting liking boys … a.k.a. starting giving a shit about my appearance. So one day I secretly took a tweezer to my brows and took care of business myself before 8th grade started. I don’t remember how they came out, all I know is that they had shape for once and my mom quietly asked me if I had done something to my face, and I awkwardly said, “NO, WHY?!” I was a freak, what can I say.

Now I’m that girl who pays $12 to get her eyebrows done by a professional at a fancy salon. It’s not because I’m a snob, it is because no one really knows how to deal with my brows properly because they are so wild. Only a true professional knows tricks like rubbing conditioner on curly brows to make them straighter and less insane (a fun tip from me to you). If I go to a hole in the wall nail salon, they will just make them pencil thin and call it a day. But always, before laying down on the table, I preface the visit by saying, “they are crazed, beware,” regardless of where I go.

I now find getting my eyebrows waxed relaxing. You lay down in this spa-esque room with relaxing music, they put the hot wax on, rip it off (ouch), shape them up, cut them a little, rub fabulous cream over them, which sometimes entails a little temple massageĀ (heaven) and boom you are done. Okay maybe I’m just in it for the temple massage. As long as they don’t come near me with a tweezer, than we are good. Unless I’m doing it and can take breaks and curse freely … I want nothing to do with it. It feel like little needles jabbing at you and you can’t stop it. Awful, awful, awful.

I’ve never tried eyebrow threading or laser hair removal, I just do good ol’ fashion waxing. I’ve recently been keeping my brows on the thicker side. I’m just over the pencil thin looking brows. Obviously I’m not going for a Bert and Ernie look, but just a little more luscious looking, ya know? Thicker eyebrows are definitely in vogue, but then again Lady Gaga has bleached eyebrows that you can barely see … so perhaps anything is fair game.

I’ve come along way from the girl with the wall of eyebrows … which reminds me, I need to make a waxing appointment ASAP!