A bikini wax. Never the most dignifying of treatments to have to go through. It is probably one of the most personal treatments to have done. I mean the only other people who get that close to your nether regions except for your husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend/lover is the doctor and nurse when a) you have a smear test or b) you’re giving birth. The bikini wax can actually be likened to both of these. In some instances, it is more like a smear, mostly covered, a little uncomfortable and a bit of pain that is over in seconds. Then there are the others, where it is very much like giving birth, legs akimbo and screaming in agony as you are either burned by wax that is too hot or being tortured as the beautician seems to be having a gym work out to the hardened wax that is stuck to your groin.
Each salon is different and for those that are settled, the bikini wax can be an enjoyable experience with the same regular person, such a personal treatment on a regular basis creating a bond on a par with a friendship. I had a salon like this in Birmingham, for those of you that are based there, Nicky’s salon is above Christos hairdressers on Erdington High Street, my favourite place to this day. But since I have flown the nest, travelling around, the search for an affordable salon that will tend to my lady garden with love has been an agonising experience. Literally.
I have had my fair share of horror stories as I trial salons wherever I lay my hat. Most have been great as they’ve cost £50/£60 but when you’re on a budget, things can get a little sticky. Pun very much intended. My bottom three rated salons to date are all in London. There was the Bangladeshi salon in Clapham, where the woman grunted at you to make your way into a tiny room, she spoke hardly any English and every time she came close, she pulled a funny face as if she was repulsed. It made me a little paranoid but I soon realised it was her problem, not mine. Then there was the Turkish woman on Holloway Road, who kept answering her mobile phone throughout the treatment and I’m sure she took the frustration that she was feeling towards whoever she was arguing with on the phone, out on me, leaving clumps of wax for me to wrestle with in the shower later. But the worst, ever, to date, was a salon in West Kensington, when the blond, heavily tanned stereotypical ‘Essex Girl’ OWNER literally ripped me to shreds. I have never ever had agony like that before. I swear I had chicken skin for three days!
A spell of feminism was self-imposed due to the fact that a) I could not afford it as my London apartment was eating all the money I had, b) I found it to be a great method of contraception (unless a pair of garden shears was magically at hand at the crucial moment, this fairy patch was a no-go area), and c) I was shit scared! There is something truly liberating in not having to put yourself through the indignity and agony of a bikini wax on a monthly basis, 30 minutes of torture whilst constantly worrying whether they are gonna make you get on all fours or spread your butt cheeks. Why should we have to go through pain and humiliation all of the time? Just for the pleasure of men? I was making a stand for woman-kind! But…. as we all know…. this can’t last forever.
Once, a few years back, sick and tired of having to cringe at the thought of finding yet another new salon, I decided to get myself on-line to check out the DIY kits. Photographs of immensely tanned and smooth muscle men and women stared at me from the computer screen. ‘Pain Free Hot Wax’ ‘Removes every hair in one’, the advertisements visually screamed. When it finally arrived three days later, I couldn’t wait to see whether I had found the solution to my bushy botheration. I won’t go into too much embarrassing detail but lets just say I realised I was in trouble when I had to tug at every individual hair that was encased in the solidified green grunge on my pelvis around 10 times before the wax would let loose. An excruciating 20 minutes later, I had removed the two-inch of wax, leaving every hair still firmly in place. Needless to say, that went straight in the bin.
The only other option, after taking away waxing and doing the feminist thing, is shaving which taking into account, the rash, ingrown hairs and stubble, isn’t really an option at all. Thankfully, I have found a decent salon in Barcelona. The Pink Peony in Gracia. They were professional, quick and relatively pain-free. My only grumble would be the fact that I wasn’t covered at all but to date, that many human hedge trimmers have seen my furry foo foo fun box, she will be signing autographs soon…. maybe she’ll be a celebrity blogger after this?
‘No pain, no gain’ as the old cliché goes and I can now rest for a short while in the knowledge that I have found somewhere for my wax and it was only 15 minutes of slight pain, I’ll be smooth as a Barbie doll all month and ready to hit the beach when the weather allows it! My only conundrum now is which design to go for next……..