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In Defence of the Bikini Wax

June 20, 2017

 

 

I love a Brazilian bikini wax.

 

Not the booking, when I ask for a ‘bikini wax’, praying the receptionist doesn’t ask for a clarification on which exact wax I want, then adding ‘Brazilian’ under my breath when she does.

 

Not the waiting, when you lie naked from the waist down, covered with a towel, wondering whether you should have left on your pants.

 

Not the pain, although I’ve been waxing now for the best part of 20 years so my hair follicles show more weary resignation than resistance.

 

It’s all the other stuff I love.

 

I enjoy the conversation: chatting about business and holidays while pretending that one of you isn’t holding taut the skin of the other one’s outer labia.

 

I always do a sideways glance to catch sight of the discarded wax and the trapped hairs. Some beauticians are too discreet to leave it in eyeshot but, in my opinion, the best leave it there for you to marvel at with sick fascination.

 

I love the confidence of the professional bikini waxer; the plucky ones who get stuck in, clamping down flesh, spreading butt cheeks, and getting you up on to all fours. Ideally they’d be hairier than me too, or at least tell me tales of customers who are.

 

I’ll pay and I’ll tip. Bikini waxers earn their extra beer money, and most of them are independent businesses which we need to keep local enough for us to pop into during lunch breaks or before dinner.

 

There’s talk that bikini waxing is anti-feminist. There’s a movement to rock the retro look, with Gwyneth Paltrow and Caitlin Moran among those in support of the bouffy muff. This is brilliant: we should live and let bush.

 

But I’ve never felt as if a bikini wax has butchered me nor stripped me of my feminist credentials.

 

The skin on a waxed vagina is the smoothest and most sensuous you’ll ever feel. I’d rather feel this than a handful of hair.

 

I think waxing makes more of a feature of the vagina, putting it at centre-stage rather than hiding it behind a curtain.

 

I keep some hair upfront because I like feeling like a grown woman, but round the back it’s as smooth as an ice-hockey pitch and, when you add lube to the game, it’s a score.

 

 

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