Monday, March 17, 2008
Waxing Philosophic, Part Two: A Hair Ahead of Her Time
I was about twenty-one before I let anyone, self included, get wax anywhere near my panty line. Back then, Brazilians were not something that were part of the cultural psyche, let alone my psyche. In fact, I had been told by one waxer, whom I had no reason to disbelieve, that getting wax on the actual lips of the vagina was dangerous and could cause skin removal.
At this point in my life, I had no regular waxer. I was shopping around for a keeper, my main criterion being low price. This was also before the Internet was really hopping with mom and pop businesses. I remember using the yellow pages and calling around to find the cheapest quote.
Ultimately, I found a woman who agreed to wax me cheaply and soon. I am always nervous when I meet a new waxer, and this time was no exception. As Rosa of Magic Hair Cut led me back to her small “room” separated from the rest of the salon with a faded curtain, my feet stuck to the dirty white linoleum, and my palms gathered sweat.
I noticed that instead of sheets of white muslin, to which I was accustomed, she had colorful sheets of cloth set-up next to the vat of wax. Ever the cost cutter, Rosa had torn up old bed sheets in lieu of paying for waxing strips. I suppose I ought to have thanked her for her frugality – clearly she was passing her savings on to her customers – but instead I pondered whether the sheets had been washed first.
Before I started getting Brazilians, I always made sure to wear the perfect undies to the salon. They had to be cute enough that I wouldn’t be embarrassed when the esthetician saw them, and not so cute that I would be forever grumpy if they got some wax on them. After stripping down to my plain black skivvies in the privacy of the curtained room, Rosa reentered ready to go.
She got right to work, and despite my concern about the cleanliness of the bed sheet strips, they seemed to work pretty well. Rosa was cheap and fast – my kind of woman. Before I knew it, she had finished removing the hair from what I called, at the time, my sideburns – the strips of hair on either side of my panty line that didn’t exactly make it into my swimsuit. She then began to pull my conservative underwear to one side. “What are you doing?” I managed to mumble.
“Oh honey, we get a little bit more. It look better. Trust me.”
“Is that safe? I don’t know if I want that.”
“Honey, ‘course it’s safe. You need it. Trust me.”
What can you say to that? Now, Rosa certainly didn’t do a full Brazilian by today’s standards, but she definitely pushed my boundaries, and my panty line to the limit. She never stopped telling me how much I would like it, and how much I should also get my brows done, too. “You need it, honey. It is too much… Too much hair.”
Growing up in a house with a fair-haired mom who didn’t even shave her light leg hair for most of my life, the thought of removing hair from my brows had not occurred to me. Rosa found my soft spot, though, and kept pushing. “You will look so much better… We just do a little bit… I can’t believe you no do before… You need so much.”
I left Magic Hair Cut with bare lips and thin brows. I thought I looked ridiculous, and was shocked when no one seemed to notice my new brow line. I mocked Rosa openly and explained how I was lucky to have any skin on my vagina after what she had done. It would be five years before I had my first intentional Brazilian wax, and ten before I paid anyone to wax my brows again. I never went back to Rosa.
As I sit here now, with my well-groomed brows and hairless vagina, I think back on Rosa with fondness. She Knew what I needed before I knew what I needed. She was fast and cheap and honest… I really did need it so much. Thanks, Rosa.Labels: rant, wax
tidbit posted by Mosa @ 4:30 PM
