The Truth About Brazilian Bikini Waxes

Ladies, I am here before you today to report back on the EVIL SIDE of bikini waxing!! Lately, there has been so much talk about waxing and how great it was that finally, in a moment of weakness I bit the bullet and made an appointment at Sisters Salon in Chicago. They fit me in the next day before I could lose my nerve.

by Smoove

Now let me preface this review by saying that my hair down there is thick, strong, and curly. If left un-checked, I'm sure it could grow into a Mohawk that even Mr. T would be proud of. I normally use a combination of razors or Nair to keep in a tight little upside down V. But even that is notwithstanding razor bumps and occasional chaffing. TMI I know, but just so you understand. Chocolatcity girls, I know most of you can relate. I also didn't take any Tylenol before I went. Not on purpose, I just forgot rushing out to get back to Nordstom's before my appt.

So there I was naked on the table. Next came the powder, followed by the hot wax. I distinctly remember tensing up as if this must be the calm before the storm. While she pressed down and smoothed out the cloth strip, I took a deep breath……RIIIIIIIIPPPPP!!! "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?", was the message my sensory nervous system sent like a runaway freight train to my brain. As the technician rolled me from the fetal position back onto my back, all I could muster was "OH MY GOD, ARE YOU FOR REAL?" I can't remember ever in my life a time where I voluntarily subjected myself to a more EXCRUCIATING pain! Even with the birth of my child, I had nine months to prepare and the nurses kept the Petocin and Demerol cocktails coming. No, this was a different kind of pain! This was an evil, obnoxious, and unnecessary pain. The kind of pain that makes you wonder, "What DOES really happen after you die?" After two more rips, I told her that I was definitely going to kill myself and she swore I was doing just fine. After about five more rips, I sat up and announced I need a 20-second break. I looked down and started to panic when I saw the BLOOD. Another thing I wasn't prepared for! She assured me that it was very common and tried soothing me with more talk about how it will be soooo much better next time and that this was happening because my pores were closed and used to the Nair. I wanted so desperately to believe her but I couldn't concentrate on anything other than the fact that she was only about 20% done!

For the next 40 minutes, yes I said forty, I became drenched in sweat as I held the squeeze ball in a death grip while I focused on breathing techniques, suppressing the knee-jerk reaction to kick her at every rip, and thinking of all the reasons I loved my husband enough to be there in the first place. Poor Thing! She was the sweetest girl, really! I don't hold her personally responsible for my pain. However, at that point she was beginning to resemble the Anti-Christ. My original plan was to go for the whole enchilada and take off everything. But I am sure you can guess by now that my plans had changed. I even mustered up a genuine belly laugh when she asked me if I wanted to TURN OVER!!! I knew she understood when I told her that it would be in neither one of our best interests to pursue that course of action. So I settled for the crooked landing strip in the front with the hairy back. I guess it is sort of like a pelvic mullet. When it was time to leave, she gave me a tube of A&D ointment and urged me to come again with more promises of a better subsequent experience. I told her if my husband was only lukewarm or barely even noticed the difference, I could not see subjecting myself to that torture again. One hour and six minutes later, I emerge into the cool, crisp night on Michigan Avenue. I searched the faces of strangers to see if they noticed any telltale signs of the raging fire in my pants. I barely made it home, because just as I thought, it wasn't safe to turn a person in my condition loose on the expressway.

When I finally unveiled my "surprise" for my hubby, he didn't realize that it was NOT my normal Nair job! When I told him the deal, he tried to act excited for all of 2 minutes before he took a good look and grimaced. He said that any pleasure that he could have gotten out of it was taken away when he saw me struggling with the cotton balls, peroxide, ointment and gauze. He felt so bad for me. I must have looked like a burn victim. The only good part of the whole experience: As I was going to sleep, my hubby held me close and told me that I didn't have to go back unless I wanted to for myself. He couldn't bear the thought of me going through that again. He said he likes it just the way it is and no matter what it used to look like, he still married me. He reminded me to stop trying to be like other people, when I am so great just the way that I am. That's just one more reason why I love him.

Any hoo, as far as me going back, the jury is still out. I am waiting to see what the results are once I heal. I will keep you posted of course. Right now I am somewhat nauseated by the faint smell of A & D ointment wafting from under my desk. I am not sure I could recommend that someone else do this. I am definitely not flaming the salon. They were great. It's just that the waxing experience is not the same for everyone. People need to be aware that there is a flipside to it that isn't always told beforehand.

*Addendum*- Many months later...

I don't know how or why, but I must truthfully report that the experience did eventually get better. I have since gone at least 5 more times (Different Salon), and I do plan on continuing. My DH still thinks its unnecessary torture, that is until the lights go out...