In The Name of Beauty

Human beings—and, let’s face it, especially women—do some strange things in the name of beauty. For example, yesterday I paid a woman to rip all the hair off my arms. Why? Well, because it looks nice that way. Waxing is very popular here and my housemate Joanna got her arms waxed about a month ago. I was captivated by the result so when she announced she was heading into the Bazaar for beauty treatment, I plucked up my courage and tagged along.

There’s a really cute beauty place in the Buz called My Salon, that is decorated in the most shocking shade of Barbie Dream House pink. I dare you to walk in and keep your eyes from widening to twice their normal size as your brain struggles to process the assault to your senses. It was fun. They offer a full range of beauty treatments including such strange things as “body polishing.” I have no idea what might be involved but I’m not sure I want to find out. In my mind, I see a giant floor buffer being applied to one’s exposed derriere.

The waxing process itself was actually not as painful as I had expected. Not great, mind you. The hot wax (mine was standard but I’m told that for a slightly higher fee you can get “tutti fruiti” wax that smells nice) is applied in wide slathers and then the cheerful Indian woman firmly presses a cloth over the wax and RIPPPPPPPP. Eeeeeeeek! No, actually, I did not eeek. I was very stoic. Joanna got her armpits and legs done in addition to her arms for she is braver than I. I might try it in the future, though, because shaving is a pain.

So now I have no hair from shoulder to finger tip (not that I really think my fingers were particularly furry, thank you very much!). It’s a strange sensation. I keep petting my arms because I’m entranced by how smooth they are. And I imagine that I’m colder because I’ve lost a valuable insulating layer, but that sensation is probably mainly in my head.