Awkward stories of when waxing goes bad
The pain is not necessarily the worst part of a brazilian wax, as tales shared with Harriet Pudney demonstrate.
With its combination of nudity, pain, and interacting with a stranger, your typical brazilian wax appointment is rich with opportunities for what can only be described as mortifying (at the time) and hilarious (later) moments.
However, it’s summer. If there’s a time to get things taken care of, it’s now.
These stories are usually shared over wines, when one after work drink turns into five, but we’ve collected them here for your amusement and edification.
Do I know you?
It’s great to have a bit of rapport with your waxer, but possibly not like this. Aucklander Sinead’s therapist said she looked just like her best friend. ‘‘Towards the end of the wax she told me her best friend is Asian,’’ Sinead said. ‘‘I’m not, so I guess she just meant one specific area.’’
That’s one way to do it
Kiwi accountant Anna was getting a wax in the United Kingdom when her therapist asked if the temperature was OK. In fact, it was a little warm, and she said so, expecting they would need to wait a moment for it to cool down. Not the case.
‘‘She continued to apply the wax and then started blowing on it after it was applied,’’ Anna said. ‘‘I think she thought that she was being kind by cooling it down for me – but it was a surprise and an odd sensation.’’
Can I call you back?
Executive assistant Jo had an appointment with someone who was clearly having a very busy day. ‘‘The woman was on a phonecall the entire time she waxed me. It was really off-putting, the chance of her not concentrating and screwing it up was constantly going through my mind,’’ she said.
‘‘[Then] as I was paying at the front counter, another woman then came out with a huge garbage bag!’’
And yes – the bag split, littering the floor with used wax and hair. Charming.
Not from around here
Travel affords many opportunities for new experiences, but they’re not always positive. Stuff reporter Britt Mann was in Rwanda when she got a wax.
‘‘It took place in a minuscule room, ominously lit by UV light and a giant lamp thing similar to that of a dentist or gynecologist, which the waxer focused on each area in turn,’’ she recalls. ‘‘My waxer would rip off a strip, stare intently at the spot, and exclaim ‘Ahh, nice!’ ‘‘
In Beijing, a Wellington lawyer who preferred to remain nameless also got to know her therapist quite well.
‘‘I got the feeling they didn’t do it often, backed up by the fact that they didn’t have a private room for waxing,’’ she recalled.
‘‘I was taken up five flights of stairs in the service stairwell to a very large concrete stock room. There was no bed, so the lady pulled up a small chair and I had to lean back and attempt to open my legs to give her full access – crazy ab workout.
‘‘It took an hour, during which I learned all about the woman’s family and her aspirations in life.’’
See you at the beach, ladies.