Beauty, Uncensored: The Brazilian
Ladies, I have an announcement.
THE EAGLE IS NOW … BALD.
Yes, after years of flirting with the idea of getting a Brazilian wax, I finally did the deed and lived to tell you all about it.
It couldn’t have come soon enough as far as my husband was concerned. When I began writing this column, I mentioned that I’d probably get a Brazilian at some point as part of the job. He’s been badgering me about it ever since.
“What’s your topic for next week?”
“The BUMPIT?! What about the BRAZILIAN?! The women of Nashville want to know about the BRAZILIAN!”
And so on.
Finally, I stopped Hubs in his tracks by saying, “Look, why don’t you get the twig and berries waxed, Hubs?”
“Hell no,” he replied, scowling.
“Yeah,” I said. “When you get your nards waxed, you can tell me to get a Brazilian, mkay?”
From then on, he remained silent, resorting only to a pleading look from time to time. But it wasn’t until this week that the stars aligned and a Brazilian seemed more appropriate than ever.
For one thing, I’m going to the beach next week for the first time in years. The thought of shaving stray pubes and wearing a sandy swimsuit every day just wasn’t very appealing.
For another, Hubs’s birthday is this week.
So, um …
Happy birthday, Hubs.
But you don’t really care about the backstory, do you? You just want to know what happened to my hoo ha.
Okay, okay. Here goes.
I went to Wax Nashville after hearing/reading rave reviews about the owners’ mad Brazilian waxing skills. One piece of advice I have gotten over and over again is that you do not want to get yourself a back-alley Brazilian. This is the type of thing a girl splurges on, and splurge I did, to the tune of $75, plus tip.
As soon as I walked in the door, Brook, one of the owners, put me at ease. She totally looked and acted like one of my girlfriends. We might as well have been meeting for drinks at Tayst, except that instead of heading for a patio table, we went to a closet-sized room and she told me to strip from the waist down.
I did so and sat on a padded table with a towel on my lap, waiting for Brook to return. Nervously, I looked at the walls for claw marks. I found some, whimpered a little, and looked away.
When Brook returned, she assured me it wasn’t going to be that bad. Then she handed me a ball to squeeze for the pain. She told me she could leave a “landing strip” down there, or get rid of the hair altogether.
“I want it all gone,” I told her quickly. “All of it.” Now, I know some of you disagree with that look, but I’ll be honest with you. There is nothing about pubes that I like. Nothing. If I was going to do this, I was going all. the. way.
Brook had me lie down with my legs Indian-style, and then she got to work. She brushed on small strips of wax, let them sit for a moment, and then quickly ripped them off. It was what I had expected, and yet it wasn’t.
For one thing, the ripping didn’t really hurt that bad, although a couple of pulls were worse than others. The hot wax was way more uncomfortable, coupled with the fact that she put wax on the same areas several times in order to get rid of every last hair.
The other thing I wasn’t expecting was that my appointment lasted nearly half an hour, from start to finish. Let’s just say I am not exactly an ape woman, so I didn’t think it would take very long. But it is an involved process, and Brook is extremely thorough, even using a high beam light and tweezers at the end to get any strays.
I knew a Brazilian would be, um, intimate, but now I’m convinced that Brook knows me better than anyone in Nashville besides my husband. Think of all the nooks and crannies where pubes can hide. She found them all. The Brazilian is definitely not for the faint of heart.
On the upside, Brook is chatty and that (along with the four ibuprofen I took before my appointment) really helped me deal with the discomfort.
“How many of these do you do a day?” I asked her.
“Oh, sometimes six or seven. In fact, my co-owner and I counted a few months ago, and we’ve done more than a 1,000 … ”
“ … since we opened a year ago.”
We discussed women who couldn’t deal with the pain.
“I get some crybabies,” she admitted. “But I just talk them through it.”
“Has anyone ever left in the middle of it?”
“Just one. But she was very pregnant, and it was her first wax ever.”
RIPPPPPPPPPPPPP. I squeezed my pain ball.
“We both agreed it would be better for me to stop after a few minutes,” Brook went on. “I didn’t want to send her into labor or anything!” She giggled.
Brook also informed me that they’ve started waxing men. I couldn’t even imagine. Talk about awkward.
At last, she was done. It felt a little sensitive, but no more than if I had shaved my bikini area. Brook handed me a mirror, and that was the most embarrassing part of the appointment.
“You can take a look and tell me what you think,” she said.
I held up a mirror to The Area and looked down. OMG. “Oh, hey! Yeah, there it is! Good job!” I said brightly, handing the mirror back to her. Brook laughed.
And that was that. Right now, three hours later, it doesn’t hurt a bit, but there’s still some redness. You won’t want to do it the same day as your big hoo ha hoedown, but you could probably do it the day before and be fine.
If I can get up the nerve to go back, a maintenance wax costs $65, every four to six weeks.
We’ll see. Or rather, I will. You won’t. Uhhh. You know what I mean.
Nikki Ringenberg does not like needles. As in seriously doesn’t like them — so intensely, she explains, that when she got pregnant last year, she decided to deliver naturally.
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