Waxing Traumatic

Okay, here’s some honesty - I have facial hair. Yes, lots of women deal with this but that doesn’t make it any more palatable to me. I have exhausted ways of getting rid of it. Most of my face has blonde peach fuzz but my upper lip and chin have...more. I’ve been shaving those spots since my teens and never wanted anyone to touch my face, lest they feel stubble. “Your skin is very dry and rough”, a mall makeup artist told me once. Yeah, that must be what it is - dry skin.

So first it was shaving. I felt humiliated every morning in the shower reaching for the razor. At least it was a pink one. Knicks, razor burn, stubble. Fun stuff.

On to electrolysis. Painful, hot pinpricks week after week until I reached $3000 in charges and realized nothing was changing. She kept telling me hair grows at different rates and I need to stick with it...so maybe when I’ve spent $10k and she’s remodelled her office there would be a difference?? Done with that. 

Depilatories burned my too sensitive skin if left on long enough to do anything. Finally laser hair removal was developed, improved upon and getting good reviews. Made an appointment at a posh salon; didn’t shave for a few days so they could see what they were dealing with. I was mortified but forced myself to go. However, the doctor took one look at me and said I wasn’t a candidate - too much gray hair, which doesn’t react to the laser. Missed the boat on that one; a continuing theme.

My last ditch effort, before going back to shaving, was booking a whole face wax at a salon. I’ve had my eyebrows waxed before and thought I knew what to expect. Didn’t shave for a week so that the hair was long enough for the wax to grab. (Who thought pandemic masks would be such a blessing for anything other than Covid protection?) Walked into the room, dreading unmasking. I warned my young hygienist to prepare herself for a god-awful vision. She looked extremely apprehensive, as though pondering the existence of werewolves. Laying down on her table, I have to admit feeling a little self-righteous, like good for me for braving the awful reveal and being proactive in handling this embarrassing grooming issue straight on! (That was to change momentarily).

She started with the eyebrows which went along as expected. Not pleasant, but certainly worth the discomfort to have groomed, if only barely-there brows. (The irony of not having hair where I want vs. hair that I don’t does not escape me.)

Then the mustache. Yes, the preferred name “upper lip” is more feminine (is it really?) but to be perfectly frank, I have a Van Dyke with a little soul patch. It is what it is. That was quite a bit more unpleasant, but with some wincing and lying that everything was fine, we got through it. On to the chin. The first ripping away of wax made me think something was going terribly wrong. It was awful - excruciating. I’m not a baby. It was bad. The further she went out from my chin through peach fuzz, it became increasingly agonizing, until tears were flowing, along with concern of disfigurement. Was I being flayed??? She kept looking at me, worriedly, asking if I was okay. Dear god in heaven - I was not okay!!! The only thing I can think of is that not only do I have a lot of facial hair, but my looser, older skin somehow did not allow the waxing strips to be yanked quickly. Like pulling off Gorilla duct tape, really, really slowly. With hot wax. No idea how I was able to actually stop and pay at the front desk while concentrating on the quickest ER route. 

Finally home, wanting to curl up in a fetal ball, I felt traumatized. My skin was red hot with raised spots all over. For two days afterward I couldn’t touch my face without it feeling sore and inflamed. I’m familiar with the expression “beauty is pain” but they couldn’t possibly mean this much. What in the world would it be like to have a bikini wax - or god forbid - a Brazilian? Waterboarding torturers should rethink tactics.

Needless to say, I will not be going back to waxing. The hygienist actually had the nerve (she must be forced to say this even when her clients clearly have had a catastrophic experience) that I could get a discount for paying for a year of unlimited visits. Masochists maybe. 

So back to old Venus.

My daughter has taken a sworn oath that should I ever become incapacitated, like in a coma, she can let everything else go - but she must shave my face. And if I’m ever fortunate enough to date again, he will have to accept the fact that we have more in common than perhaps first thought. 

Please share if you have dealt with this issue - a shared burden is lighter! (Misery loves company?)