Some like their pubes shaved, others trimmed, and then there are those that just want them all off. Our writer Yvette Tan took a dive off the deep end into the world of the Brazilian, and ended up dealing with more than just hot wax…
It’s not everyday you find yourself stark naked and spread-eagle in front of a woman wearing latex gloves and a waist apron.
To take you back to the beginning of how this all began, I was getting it on with my boyfriend one night when he made a one off ‘joke’ about my prickly pubes (it was either that or shaving rash). Being a strong independent woman, comfortable with my own body, I did what any self-respecting female would do. I stormed off- into the next room- where I then hurriedly turned on my phone and googled ‘Full Brazilian wax- all hair off’.
Which led me to where I was now.
My waxist, a middle aged lady named Cheryl, first handed me a towel and I was told to ‘take everything off’.
“Even my knickers!?” I asked in mild panic. She shot me a pointed look.
I’m told to lie down on the bed and contort my legs into a position reminiscent of my last game of Twister. Cheryl then proceeds to slather wax all over my vajayjay. “It’s raspberry flavor today, you’re in luck!” Looks like my pubes are in for a treat.
Alternating between ripping small sections of hair off my vagina and filling me in on what I’ve missed out in last week’s episode of Poldark (“Ross helps Verity elope with Andrew!”), Cheryl is blissfully unaware of the full blown conversation I’m having in my head.
“Ouch that wax is hot!! Why am I paying to torture myself? I’m never doing this again.” “Did she seriously just ask me to turn around and spread apart my butt? What does my butt look like from the back??”
“Please don’t fart, please don’t fart, please don’t fart….”
Just when I feel like I’m about to faint and I’m about to give up and tell her I’ve had quite enough, I see a bright light at the end of the tunnel.
Ah wait, that’s just the light from the cosmetic mirror she’s just brought to magnify my pubes. At this point, I’m told the waxing is done but that there are some unruly hairs that only the tweezers would be able to get out. I try to pull off a casual laugh and tell her that it’s probably clean enough and that I’ll call it a day.
However, Cheryl being the perfectionist that she is, insists on plucking out each and every single leaf off this bush.
“It’s really not that bad”, she says chirpily. “You won’t regret it!”
Not so sure about that.
I didn’t think the pain could get much worse, but I was wrong. The trick at this stage is to close your eyes and tell yourself that life can only go up from this point on. Lying in a tiny room and having your bush tweezed out hair-by-hair really does put your life into perspective.
“And that’s it, you’re done!”
I sit up and try to stagger to the wardrobe to put on my clothes with the last ounce of dignity that I have. Though considering how waxed, plucked and magnified I’ve been in the last 45 minutes, there isn’t any point really.
I walked out the door (albeit rather weirdly – there was still wax residue stuck on the sides of my legs) feeling strangely empowered. Something about knowing you have a clean, hairless crotch, ready to take on the world can sometimes have that effect.
Was it worth it? I would say it is, considering you get none of that gross rash afterwards, and your pubes do come out a lot finer and smoother (score!).
As I lay in bed with my boyfriend that night, I asked him what he thought. “It’s a bit odd isn’t it? Feels a bit unnatural,” he said.
Whilst I cursed him internally, the breeze disconcertingly cold on my newly bald vagina, it dawned on me that no male living was worth the wrath of latex gloves and hot wax, much less this one.
Four out of five Stars: ****
But what do the guys think? The S Word asks whether they prefer it au naturel or all off…
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