I'll put myself in a lot of uncomfortable and potentially embarrassing situations in the name of vanity. I'll lie face-down on a table for a 60-minute butt facial (and I'll do it a second time with an electric-muscle-stimulation add-on). I'll get Botox on Facebook Live as thousands of trolls comment (and tell me that my skin is oily and that I'm ruining my life). I'll power through filler injections in-between fainting spells, because cheekbones. I'll even write about my weird skin-care habit and deal with the awkwardness that arises after a first date says, "Did you know the first thing that comes up when someone googles you is that story about masking your vagina?"
But we all draw a line somewhere — and mine is at the Brazilian wax. I've never gotten a professional one, and I never plan to. (I've never gotten a bikini wax, either, if we're getting into specifics here.) It has nothing to do with not wanting to be hairless or a fear of pain (in fact, I've semi-mastered the at-home wax on myself), and absolutely everything to do with anxiety.
The thing is, I'm not a naked person. I admire women who take off their tops in the locker room without facing the wall, but I will never be one of them. When I think about going into a salon, taking off my underwear, spreading my legs, and letting someone rip hairs off my labia — under fluorescent lights! — I actually start to feel lightheaded and panicky. Gah, I need a drink of water just typing it...
People say the same thing about aestheticians as they do about gynecologists: "They've seen a million vaginas — they don't care about yours!" Which, of course, I know. But just because the waxer — and millions of other women — don't think it's the most intimate thing in the world doesn't change the fact that I do. The detail that really puts the nail in the coffin? The between-the-cheeks portion of the event. Call me a prude: I'm staunchly against showing that part of my body if there's not a parole officer forcing me to. For me, that's an after-marriage move. "But that's the best thing about a Brazilian!" says one R29 beauty editor. "OMG, I live for that!" says another friend.
Look, I envy you people, I really do. Do you think I don't want one of the perfectly waxed assholes Maya Rudolph yells about in Bridesmaids? Of course I do! Do you think it's fun chafing my hands as I frantically rub wax strip after wax strip trying to do it at home? It is not. Sitting butterfly-style on a towel in front of the mirror isn't my ideal Saturday night, but it's the price I'm willing to pay to keep my dignity intact.
Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?
You're Definitely Not Throwing Away Your Tools Often Enough
I Tried L.A.'s $1,100 Facial — & This Is What Happened
Lush Just Released The Cutest Holiday Collection — & You'll Want It ALL