I Don - Ministry of Waxing

Polly Vernon – wax junkie | The Times
03/05/2011 21:29
Brazilian bikini wax (the one where almost everything but a small strip is removed; MoW
has coded it Triple XXX so that women can book one from their desks without terrifying
their male co-workers). It costs 40 quid and will take about 25 minutes. I’ve been getting
Brazilians for 14 years, since a journalistic assignment won me an early visit to Otylia
Roberts, the woman credited with bringing the extreme wax to the UK in the first place.
The Brazilian holds no fear or embarrassment for me any more: I strip off completely; I
adopt the porny positions that allow the waxer the best possible access; I barely flinch in
pain (my follicles and nerve endings have adjusted over time) and certainly not in the
shame of close-up scrutiny of my body. Brazilian waxes are no big shakes to me.
What is intriguing, however, is the other hair-removal procedure I’ve signed up for today:
the nostril wax. It’s a relatively new addition to the modern woman’s repertoire of hair
removal.
I am a devoted depilator. I have spent the past 27 years (!) of my life engaged in some
kind of hair-removal process: shaving, epilating, tweezing and waxing. My pursuit of
hairlessness has consumed hours, days and weeks of my time and has cost me tens of
thousands of pounds. Those costs are spiralling as I get older and hairier and as new hairremoval
possibilities enter the market.
Depilation is practically a hobby for me. The nostril wax, therefore, is now part of my
routine. Jasmine rolls a globule of hot wax around the tip of an orange stick and pops it up
my left nostril, where I feel it ooze and settle, the wax bonding with the hairs inside my
nose. I tense in thrilled anticipation of the imminent yanking and then… Jasmine yanks.
Where are you currently in your cycle of hair removal? What’s freshly done, borderline
not-done-enough, as wild and overgrown and luxuriant as a spring meadow? What’s OK
if you don’t look too closely, fine if you’re out of direct sunlight, get-away-able-with
because your body is under wraps? What’s acceptable in the confines of a long-term
relationship, but absolutely not if you’re still in the early stages?
Me? Well: you know about my nostrils and my bikini line already. My eyebrows, top lip
and suspicions of sideburns (or what one friend refers to as “lady burns”) are OK; it is
eight days since their last extensive threading, so they’re not optimal in terms of
hairlessness, but nor are they desperately in need of treatment. I tend to go a fortnight
between facial threadings. I’ve been tweezing the strays with my light pink slant-edge
Tweezerman razors since the day before yesterday. The light mornings make conditions in
my bathroom completely ideal for the locating and removing of fine-hair sproutage.
My armpits are troubling. I shave them every morning, but they have nooks and crannies I
can’t ever properly get at. I shave them while studying them in the mirror, stretching the
skin this way and that, often nicking them with the razor in the process.
My shins are dreadful, as you can see from these pictures. Under normal circs, I would
never have allowed them to get into this condition. I would razor the entire expanse of
them with a Gillette Mach3 every morning and again in the evening if I’m going out and
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