In Her Words

Why I Lie to My Bikini Waxer

What a girl will do for a good wax, even when there's little south-of-the-border action

-Nicole Christie

I was never much into waxing until I moved to New York. Back in Seattle - land of polar fleece and Birkenstocks - nether-region body hair was only an issue if it was hanging out of your bathing suit. In New York, it's an issue if it exists at all.

And so I got hooked on the Brazilian (or semi-Brazilian - think Chiclet) - courtesy of a petite Russian woman named Natasha. She is quick, impeccable, and at just $30, her waxes are a somewhat well-kept New York secret. I faithfully visit her every four weeks and twist myself into various labor-and-delivery-like positions as she works her defuzzing action - all the while guiding me with Lamaze breathing.

"Deep in...and PUSH!" she barks as I inhale sharply, then exhale with force as she rips the muslin from my skin. This technique effectively distracts me from the pain - as does Natasha's Vulvic Small Talk. At first, this was limited to the weather, my plans for the weekend, and whether I had any vacations lined up.

But on the third visit, she ventured into the seriously personal. read more...