Going To Brazil
Forget Gaga’s bushy full frontal—modern women aren’t embracing the au naturel look just yet.
I was once a “model” for a Brazilian wax, in which one has the torturous job done for free by an aesthetician in training. Having been through this procedure many times, I empathized with my visibly nervous waxer. I smiled reassuringly, contriving to mask the grimace on my face when, with one strip of wax, she pulled, and pulled, and pulled again. “Oof,” she grunted, using her sleeve to wipe the perspiration from her brow. She plunged the tongue depressor (yes, this is the utensil of choice) back into the wax pot. Oof, indeed.
As she applied the next strip with an unsteady hand, a beautiful Singaporean woman entered the room, trailed by a notepad-holding observer. (How strange, I thought, to have three women scrutinizing my vagina like a science experiment.) She watched my trainee rip, and rip, and rip again before jumping in. “Stop! Stop! The area has to be taut,” she chided, gently stretching the skin around my exhausted unmentionables. “Now do it.” The tentative trainee collected herself and ripped again, this time in one dramatic pull. “Better,” the Singaporean said, winking at me.