Waxing

For those of you who may think this post may be about waxing as used in the phrase “waxing and waning” or that I am going to "wax poetic", I am sorry to disappoint you.  For this post is about the removal of unwanted body hair.

There are 3 things that I really loathe: shaving my legs, washing my hair, and making my bed with new sheets.  But I love being smooth-legged, I know that washing my hair is a social norm I must adhere to for hygienic purposes, and there is nothing better than climbing into a freshly-made bed.  So I carry on.

However, in India, it turns out that most ladies wax their arms and legs.   My trainer has been making fun of me for not since I got here.  I tried to explain to her that it’s something we don’t do in the U.S. (except, perhaps, for very, very special occasions) – probably for the pain factor as well as the fact that it costs an arm and a leg (no pun intended), but her nagging didn’t stop.  Why did she nag?  Because I’m lazy and I despise shaving my legs, so I always showed up to the gym with some stubble. 

Why didn't I wax?  Because, to be honest, going to a salon in a "third world" country is still somewhat sketchy to me.  I’m sorry, but it is; I'm just being honest.  I’ve also been hesitant because I know that waxing hurts.  In addition, contrary to popular belief, I also have some standards of hygiene and, to me, the thought of growing my leg hair to a length where it could be waxed was disgusting.  Not to mention hot, especially because it was becoming summer in Bangalore and if I had hairy legs I knew I would restrict myself to wearing pants.  But my hatred of shaving won out, I was recommended a parlour, and it was time to grow.  My apologies to my poor colleague, because about once a week I would lift my pant leg and ask, “Is it long enough yet?”

But in the month and a half that it took (ewwww), I realized something.  My showers were so much quicker without having to shave.  And I didn’t abhor washing my hair as much as usual, because I hadn’t spent the time and energy shaving (I know, my life is so rough).  I could only look forward to the happiness this would bring when I didn’t have hairy legs.

Finally, it was time.  Privacy at this beauty parlour is something that isn’t really considered; but, then again, in my experience privacy isn’t generally considered in India as a whole**, and I’ve become used to it.  They ask me to disrobe, hand me a gunnysack-type-garment to wrap around myself, and leave with the door open, going in and out as I do so.  Not that the garment did much, because they shift it about at will as they wax my legs and underarms (Yes, I do the underarms too.  It’s so freeing.).

My first visit, they chided me for shaving.  I tried to explain that it’s what we do in the U.S., but the tongue-clucking told me that that is not a good excuse.  And yes, it hurt.  Like the dickens.  Sometimes I found myself gripping the table for dear life.  I have two ladies working on me, which makes me feel kind of pampered.  It is also the basis for the lie I tell myself – and try to believe - that having the pain spread out decreases the suffering.  It’s still torturous; perhaps moreso, because I never know if the ripping is going to come from the right or left leg.  But when I went to pay the bill and found out that I was paying $6/leg and 50 cents per pit, I knew this was something I wasn’t going to stop.  No pain, no gain, right?  If/when I move back to the U.S., I am going to have to devote a large percentage of my salary to upkeep of this new habit. 

Plus, my trainer was proud, so it’s totally worth it.

I went back for the second time today.  I think my aesthetician wants to rid me of every hair on my body…She strokes my arms, begging me to let her wax them.  I say no, and she counters with “Just up to the elbow?”  I laugh, and refuse, telling her that I really like my arm hair.  She thinks I have an unhealthy attachment.

They congratulated me on how little of my leg hair had grown back after only one time waxing.  Clearly I don’t have much to do with this…but, of course, I accept their praise anyway :)  It’s good to know my hair is behaving…and I’m also clinging to their statement that “Maybe it will eventually stop growing.”  How glorious would that be?

** A reader has mentioned to me that this comment regarding privacy in India portrays that I have the perception that Indians possess an inability to value privacy.  Please note that this is not the intention; rather, when I wrote this comment I was considering the open door and people walking in and out of the room during this and other visits to the parlour, doctors appointments with doors ajar and random visitors while I was being examined, full-body massages that massage parts of me never before touched after which I have shared the shower with complete strangers while other complete strangers have washed me up and down, in and out.  Perhaps it would have been more apt to say that in India I have experienced a different standard of privacy as it relates to the human body, and I apologize if it has seems that I have made a generalization of the way that Indians as a whole value privacy, or that I have judged Indians as possessing an inability to value privacy.  The purpose of this post was not to complain, but to share my experience of waxing.