Woo-Woo Wax

So, I'm sitting peacefully at Holy Foods last month, tucking into a plate of Global Cuisine from the deli bar - which is how ethnically sensitive people like myself refer to what is, essentially, chicken and rice - when an anxious diner walked by looking for a free chair. I'm a giver, so I motioned to her that I did not need all of the four chairs at my table and she was welcome to occupy one.

We introduced ourselves to one another and she asked me what I did for a living. When I'm absorbing the vibe that pervades Whole Foods, I'm always tempted to fabricate something totally vague and intriguing..."I'm a holistic calligrapher and specialize in illuminating manuscripts with my own line of soy based inks" or "I'm a small mammal hypnotherapist." It feels so corrupt and unenlightened to reply, "I work in a law office." It's like announcing to the world that your aura is permanently smog-brown and that you have no chance of locating your kundalini even with two hands and a map.

My companion, Star, however, had a more curious profession to share. She owned a laser hair removal salon and wanted me to know that she was running a holiday special for $50 off the first session of unwanted hair removal in the bikini area. Because there is no topic so engaging as the discussion of unwanted hair while dining, I took the opportunity to learn more about laser hair removal and how it could improve my life in only six to eight sessions.

I learned that the laser is attracted to the natural pigment of the hair. The pigment absorbs the light up the hair shaft into the follicle and, eventually, destroys it. Star confided that I may want to act pretty quickly, because once the hairs turn grey, the laser is unable to sense color and that door of hair removal will be closed to me forever.

Until that moment, I had not considered that one of the effects of aging was the narrowing options for hair removal. Some part of me wanted to sign up right then and there so that while everything else on my body may be getting all flabby and spotty, my bikini area can remain a sanctuary of youthful beauty.

Star gave me a few coupons and we launched into a discussion of the merits of a full Brazilian versus just a trim off the sides. She told me all about what guys like. I asked her if attractive landscaping encouraged more visitors. She couldn't say.

Being as Star was offering a Holiday Special, I would have had to start my laser sessions before December 25th. What with the wrapping and shopping and cooking and baking, attention to my bikini area was not at the top of my Christmas to-do list (not like it is, say, around Easter). And, I'm sort of shy about making any alterations to my body that may be age-appropriate at 22 or 49, but will look just plain weird when I'm 85 (God willing). Maybe I'll be a grandmother someday, and I won't want a dragonfly tattooed across my shoulder blades any more or a permanent Brazilian. I don't want to end my life with regrets.

That is not to say, however, that I and many of my friends haven't explored the world of unwanted hair removal in all of its many aspects. While my generation didn't invent the craze for ripping out delicate hairs from tender roots, we seem eager to perpetuate it. Civilization, past and present, has held a dim view of female fuzziness and waxing, tweezing, shaving, tying, sugaring, buffing, and chemically dissolving hair has been around since the Dawn of Cosmetology. Laser technology is just another weapon in our arsenal.

I'm not sure who we're kidding or why we're bothering. We're mammals. One of the items on the list of " How to Tell if You're a Mammal" is the presence of hair and fur. I suppose there is some sort of rare follicle condition that prevents humans from producing any hair, and certain auto-immune, hormonal and anxiety disorders that interfere with growth and regeneration, but on balance, we sprout. But since we can't redistribute our hairy inheritance and say "a little more over here, please, and a lot less over there", we do what we can to trim our errant nose hairs and prevent foliage from peeking out of the leg openings of our swimsuits.

Hair removal can be a brutal process, however. Last summer, I accompanied a friend the day before her wedding to what was supposed to be just some maintenance edging around the border. The procedure, which should have been mildly uncomfortable, ended up being a white-knuckled scream-fest. My time in Lamaze training was well spent. We had three Asian aestheticians circling us, and a full view mirror at the end of the table. I was gripping her hand, telling her to breath and that she was doing just great and that it was almost over. I may have promised her that I would run and get her some ice chips.

Contemplating this whole topic sent me back to my email archive where I had an exchange with my friend, Emily, and her friend, Wendy, after a particularly violent waxing.

Emily (edited for colorful language): You know you're in for a rough one when you go in for your first Brazilian wax and the first thing they do is hand you a tube of "No Scream Cream" and tell you to put it on beforehand. Beauty IS pain. It's been about six hours and my eyebrows haven't come down yet. Lord a'mercy. There were moments when I swore I was going to involuntarily either kick the poor woman doing this to me right in the teeth OR jump straight up through the ceiling tiles.

The really, really frightening thing is - this was WITH the "No Scream Cream". Just exactly who were these "pioneering" women who just decided on a lark one day, "Oh, I'm bored. There's nothing on TV. Nothing to do...Wait! I know! Let's slap our [bikini area] with a spatula full of hot wax and then RIP all the hair out by the roots. Won't that be fun? We can even make s'mores after!"

Wendy: If you take two Advil 30 minutes beforehand, make sure the lady doing the ripping has cool towels, and you're prepared to sit on a bag of frozen peas for a few hours afterwards, it's not that bad.

Actually, now that I read what I wrote, I realize that I am completely insane.

Ingrid: Ah, yes. Well I remember my first (and only) Woo-Woo Wax. It was in the sort of place that pipes Enya throughout the salon, and there is an aromatherapy candle burning every 6'.

The aesthetician is in white and so very, very soothing. She lulls you with sweet talk of emollients and Persian waxes until you are in a dreamy stupor.

Then in a moment of unprecedented savagery, she tears at the delicate follicles surrounding your frilly bits like a Great White.

Suddenly, you are aware that it's not Enya you have been hearing all along the hushed corridors - it's muffled sobbing.

Apparently, I'm about to age-out of laser removal and I will just add it to my list of other things for which I no longer have any use...like belts, and low-rise jeans and cropped tops. I figure that there's a swimsuit with an attached skirt just waiting for me and it won't demand a woo-woo wax.

I'm ready to let myself go.

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Ingrid lives on San Juan Island.

While Ingrid is spiritually promiscuous, she credits her guru, Jimmy Buffet, for her mantra..."If we couldn't laugh, we would all go insane." Besides a passion for Tiki Studies, Ingrid is borderline biblio-obsessive. She is an old-school Libran - i.e., she won't be leading the Revolution, but she'll work to make it an attractive affair and hire the musicians and caterers."

Her column appears every other Thursday in San Juan Islander. To contact Ingrid, send emails to ingrid@sanjuanislander.com

editor@sanjuanislander.com

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