My First Time Getting A Brazilian Wax

I've often wondered how many precious minutes of my life have been lost while I was locked in the privacy of my bathroom, warming a small strip of Sally Hanson wax with my 1800 watt hairdryer, preparing to coif my seemingly uncoiffable bikini region. I usually wonder this as I'm chugging a vodka tonic, doing deep breathing exercises, and enjoying those last few peaceful seconds before I pull the strip off.

You probably know the rest of the story because it might have happened to you once or twice. The strip comes off with four measly hairs, the wax gets caught on some hair that you weren't intending to remove and you're left with a Sally Hanson wax-strip icicle dangling between your legs. After enduring the pain of yanking that off, you realize you've now got a couple of bald spots in places you don't want to be bald. Read: What Do Men Think About Bikini Waxing?

Not long after one of these unpleasant experiences, I came across a story with a quote from San Francisco skincare and waxing goddess Marilyn Jaeger in reference to Brazilian bikini waxing: "If you want to sell the house, you've got to mow the lawn."

Marilyn's wisdom caused me to reflect on my own home and lawn, which was currently on the market but lacking any interested buyers. I decided that I needed to be ready to sell when a buyer came looking so I made an appointment at Marilyn Jaeger Skincare to take it all off, Brazilian style. Almost as soon as I made the appointment I wondered what the hell have I done? Read: To Wax Or Not To Wax?

For years, I've heard horror stories of the Brazilian bikini wax. Getting down on all fours, raising a leg like a dog peeing on a tree, spreading my butt cheeks to allow a complete stranger to apply hot wax in the most private crevices of my body—these didn't seem like things I needed to rush out and experience (at least not in public). Friends of mine—amazing women with high pain tolerances who'd squeezed ten pound babies out of a ten centimeter hole—told me they'd cried from the pain of a Brazilian. What was I doing?