Sex and the City really has a lot to answer for. Apart from the fact that nearly all my married friends think I live the high life – for the record, I’m mostly Miranda with the occasional habits of Samantha – this programme has made it de rigeur to be fashion conscious in all aspects of one’s appearance. Yep, fashion conscious from your Hollywood Blow-out to your Bollywood waxed bits. Ouch! As if women didn’t already have enough pressure to conform.
Now, when protocol demands, I can be suited and booted, and I’m not averse to eye liner and a good dollop of lippie! Like most women, I have partaken of the ‘I’m not going to sleep with him on the first date’ bikini, leg and underarm wax – but…only when the boy is suitable and a good kisser! In that order!
Still, I was mildly horrified this evening to see a programme describing something called ‘vejazzled’. No, not a Hollywood musical – I think the shrieks resulting from this procedure resemble caterwaul rather than cantata. Apparently this is all the rage. In fact, this modern travesty emanates from the porn industry, where wax off guarantees whack off. Ouch, Ouch, Ouch! Only in the mind of a fat, balding, middle-aged sociopath with a camera and and an inferiority complex, can it be a turn on to wax your foo-foo into oblivion and then stick rhinestones on it! OMG! Why?
Apart from the practical considerations – seriously guys, this must be like doing a velcro vagina or a broken bottle – how on earth do you cope with the regrowth. And what happens when the superglue dies and the shiny bits fall off? And why would you do this on a first date…it’s the sticker equivalent of a neon sign that says ‘enter here’. Tacky. In all senses of the word! No.Thank. You!
I’m certainly no prude, but I’ve decided a bird in hand is probably better than a bush that lights up when you remove it’s underwear.