Image source: crazypoplock.com
The following has been reprinted with permission from Girlfriend Grapevine (www.girlfriendgrapevine.com), a site created by women for women to promote not only friendship, entertainment, and great places to shop, but also business opportunities and community involvement.
Being a woman today means that all manner of silly and/or painful things are expected of us. We are expected to be able to walk a reasonable, cobblestoned distance in sky high heels without yelping in pain, faceplanting, or looking like Bambi on ice. We are expected to keep our nails and toes immaculately painted at all times, even if the other things that are expected of us, like cooking or working, are in direct conflict with us remaining chip free. And finally, we are expected to keep our downstairs in order. And when I say keep our downstairs in order, I mean that we are expected to lay down on an uncomfortable table every 3-4 weeks and have a stranger rip out our pubic hairs. One excruciating rip at a time.
Now, there is always the option of not giving a fuck about expectations, an option that I encourage women to exercise on a regular base. But that option is not without consequences. Everyone has seen the Sex and the City movie, in which Miranda is berated by Samantha for bringing her unkempt firecrotch to a beach vacation. How can anyone enjoy these delicious, authentic Mexican tacos when your taco is so hairy? Indeed, even if one is not inlined toward the masochism that seems to be indicated by paying someone top dollar to rip out your pubes, social pressure is a bitch– and so are your friends.
I opt into giving a fuck about select things. One of those things is waxing. But I love a bargain, so instead of doing what makes sense (picking a single wax technician and sticking with her), I do what is cheap. I go on a daily deals website and find the cheapest wax available that passes my sanitary standards (no double dipping, no documented rat droppings, etc.). On this occasion, I had scored a brazillian wax for $13, which is low, even for a bargain hunter like myself. So after work on a Friday night, I trekked over to the upper east side, all the while patting myself on the back for having scored such a great deal.
When I arrived at the spa and checked in, the woman behind the desk could not have been nicer. “Have a seat,” she said. “He will be right with you.” Swerve. Come again? He???
I explained to the woman that I was there for a brazillian wax, so the person I was waiting for could not possibly be a man. She in turn explained that the wax technician at this spa was indeed a man. I smiled, turned on my heel, and walked directly the fuck out of there.
I consider myself I progressive person. I mean, some of my best friends are male. I voted for a male president. But I have to draw the line at male-administered bikini waxes. There is simply no fucking way that I am going to bare my every crevace to a man I’ve never met. I don’t care if he’s gay, or old, or if he’s a blind vagina savant who can read pubic hair like braille. It is simply not happening.
Other women may feel differently. After all, some women choose male gynocologists, vajazzle artists, etc. But the key is choice. Male bikini waxers are non-standard to say the least, so customers should be informed of the situation before they show up.
After this incident, I wondered how this information had evaded me. After all, this spa had only positive reviews on the deal site. So I took to Yelp for more information. I was shocked to see the number of women who had gone through with the wax, despite having been uncomfortable with the circumstances. The reviews were absolutely terrible. Women complained of burned vaginas, double dipping, and inappropriate conduct on the part of the waxer. He allegedly asked a woman to get completely naked even though he was waxing only the bikini area, and then watched as she was getting dressed.
But the complaints were not limited to waxing clients. Several women complained about his massage techniques. One woman complained that he poured oil in her hair and spent a troubling amount of time touching her feet. Another said that he threw off the towel that she had placed across her naked rear end, and that he proceeded to massage her buttocks for ten minutes, at which point she complained and said that she does not like to be touched there. He continued on to other body parts, but did not replace her towel for the remainder of the massage. The woman said that she found the experience traumatic, and that she would try to block out the memory. These comments come in addition to complaints of him not actually removing the hair.
In a world full of expectations, women are meant to be polite and compliant at all times. Break the rules. Whether for you that means walking around with chipped nails and disco bush, or simply walking away when a strange man asks to see your vagina.