The scent of acetone punched me in the nose holes when I walked in.
As I approached the counter, a young woman asked, “What do you need today?”
I replied, “A pedicure and an eyebrow wax, please,” accompanied by an exaggerated hand sweep across my face. It’s obnoxious, but I do it every time as if they won’t understand me unless I’m playing Guesstures and miming “eyebrow” like a moron.
If you’ve ever been in a wax room in a nail salon, you probably know the set up is consistent.
Walls painted in what is supposed to be a soothing color, usually some version of sea-foam green or teal which reminds me of my senior prom and is therefore not soothing. There will generally be a massage table pushed into the corner of the room that barely fits, covered in terry cloth that you know they don’t change after every wax. But, I ignore that, set my purse on a chair or on the floor, lie down, and hope for a minimum standard of cleanliness.
For some reason, I get embarrassed about being a yeti. I probably need a good wax more often than I get them, so once we are back in the privacy of the room, I will then reveal that I need a stache’ wax too.
Like a lady.
Every single time, they will take a closer look at my face under the fluorescent lighting, and nod. A little too enthusiastically.
“Oh, yes, you need wax. You want your chin done too? Hairy.”
And I’ll laugh uncomfortably and reply, “Sure, why not?” God forbid, I step into the light of the midday sun, and someone notices that I have boobs and hair on my body.
How offensive, you…human.
On this day, the woman was more outspoken and she surveyed me like she’d just discovered Big Foot on her table.
“You need wax everywhere. Want me to do your whole face?”
“Ummm…okay, yeah, just get it all off.”
I find waxing a strangely soothing process, and I almost enjoy the pain. I also enjoy not worrying about facial hair for at least two weeks, so I mentally prepare for what I know is coming.
She gets started.
Dip the popsicle stick into the hot wax.
Blow on it.
Smear it on my face.
Double dip the same wax stick into the same pot…gross, gross, gross.
Just relax, germaphobe. You haven’t gotten a staph infection…yet. It’ll be okay.
As she continues waxing, I’m thinking about what I need to do next, and decide I will probably have to postpone everything for at least an hour while the redness, which I expected over my eyes and will now be plastered on my entire ginger skinned face, to subside.
As she works the woman casually asks if I wax my bikini area too.
I say no, and laugh.
Ouch, and no thank you.
She said, “You should try it. We do it here. My husband, he doesn’t like to see any hair down there.”
I consider it for the millionth time, and wonder how my husband feels about hair down there. We’ve actually never discussed it, and I’m about to reply that it’s not a service I’m interested in, ever at a nail salon when…
She started smearing wax on my forehead.
I started laughing and couldn’t stop, even as she scolded me to stay still while she ripped the last of this wax away.
Is my forehead hairy?
I had no idea.
So that’s the story of how I was shamed into getting a full face wax the other day, including my forehead, which honestly I’m already self-conscious about because it is a five-head thanks to my genetic lottery. But to the best of my knowledge, it is not an area of my face that needs waxing above my natural wolf brow line.
It’s also the story of how I decided, on a residual body hair shame spiral, to schedule my first downstairs wax.
I may or may not blog about that experience, hell I may not even go through with it at all because I can’t think of anything I’d rather not do than lay on a table while a stranger inspects, comments on, and rips hair mercilessly from my Beave.
But, what I have discovered about the biscuit wax so far is that it is not an appointment you can make on a whim if you shave and trim the area regularly as I’ve done since I became aware that women did that, circa 1997.
You have to grow your shrubs for 2-3 weeks, apparently, so things have been a little retro in my pants recently.
I may just leave it at that, but I have been struggling for blog content lately, and my salon and beauty treatment stories generally result in complete and utter humiliation that I only feel better about after sharing. This one may be too personal even for me to write about though.
Wish me luck, and please, let me know if it is normal to include the forehead during a full face wax if you have experienced one.
Hooray body hair. Hooray hair shaming. Hooray porn for dictating the way we trim and style our pubes.
If I wasn’t laughing so hard at myself and this ridiculous post, I’d be disgusted with my conformity.
But, whatever, I’ll try anything once.
My reasons are my own, and I’m content with them for now.
Ask me again on Sunday, and I’ll probably feel another way about it entirely.