Takin’ it off; or how I abandoned feminist sentiment…

and got my first Brazilian wax. I’d been curious about it for a while. I’d heard things. Things of a sexual nature. I was intrigued. Yet I felt conflicted. In the back of my mind was a scene from Female Perversions (a must-see for Tilda Swinton fans). A character talks about pubic hair as a sign of feminine power. It affected me deeply. But I was already toeing the line since I believed in modification.

I was a shaver, you see. I experimented with various configurations and boundaries, and had come up with my particular style; functional but, according to my old roommate, comical. I’d never experienced wax below my neck (except for a few “candle” incidents), and I was ready to go for the gusto. Besides, I’ll try anything three times.

My aesthetician, Meredith, on the other hand had a plan. “Let’s just do bikini, and if you can’t take it…” Sounded good. I was lying on the exact same type of paper as the doctor’s office, I thought to myself.

She started, and I was hanging tough; pain similar to eyebrows, actually. She kept up a good patter, and I started to concentrate on the conversation. All too quickly, she was prepared to move on. As Meredith bent one of my legs, foot to opposite knee (tree pose for you yoga enthusiasts) she posits “Are you ready for me to pour piping hot wax on your vagina?”

There are a few questions that you think you’ll never hear, but the trick of them is you don’t realize you’re hearing one of them until you’re, well, hearing one of them. Apparently that’s one of them.

I’ll try anything three times, I reminded myself. I’m a soldier! I started this process, and by all that’s good in the world, I’m going to finish it!

“Yup” I said weakly.

Holy shit. She was not kidding. She had told me the wax would be “incredibly hot”, but would not actually be burning the skin. And it was. It also was not the wax-and-strip kind used for the bikini. This motherfucka had to cool, and be ripped off in three quick jerking motions. Sweet Lord.

By the time she was finished, there was sweat on my upper lip and I desperately wanted a cigarette. It reminded me of when I had to have my nose ring put back in by some meth heads on Sunset. Or getting my nose pierced initially. Adrenaline rush. All that and weeks without shaving? Sure there were some compromising positions, but I was hooked.

Today I upped the ante. I had my armpits done. “Hurts worse than bikini” Meredith said, cooling the wax on the spatula.

And it does. But I’ll try anything three times.