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Let’s take a minute to talk about the Brazilian wax.
You know the one ladies. The half hour of total pain as some foreign woman rips hair off the most intimate part of your body with some hot wax and a cloth. Much glamorous.
I’m not a huge fan of the Brazilian. Mostly because it hurts. But also, I really cannot think of much worse than lying on a table having someone wax my arsehole (yup, that happens too) and chat to me about their weekend. BUT, for some strange reason, once every six weeks I take myself down to the salon to endure the removal of hair.
WHY? Who the fuck decided that the vagina of a woman entering her second decade needs to look exactly the same as it did when she was 11—completely hairless?
Admittedly, I do it for my boyfriend. I would hate for him to have to try and deal with the forest that can ensue if I get too lazy to wax. But some weird, oversexualised part of me does it, well, for me. I want to have a perfect pussy. So I grit my teeth, spread my legs, and wait for the pain.
Guys, you can get Brazilians too. Lord knows how it works, and I’m sure it’s pretty painful, but hey, if that’s what you’re into, you do. (I’m pretty sure Olympic swimmers get that shit waxed in order to streamline. Maybe it makes sex better?)
There’s nothing wrong with not waxing, some people just aren’t into that. But, if like me, you’d rather be bald as a badger on your nether regions, then welcome to what I am officially calling the Pretty Kitty Committee.