Gen X Journey

I’ve always been a bit queasy with the whole brazilian wax thing. It sort of wreaks something not quite right. Something to do with the end product being similar to pre-pubescent girls so really the whole thing was a bit off for me.

But does that stop me getting a Brazilian. No siree it does not. So every month I line up (or should that be lay down) to have my pubic hair ripped out by its tenacious roots, all the while making small talk with my waxer who certainly knows I am not a natural blonde.

My waxer and I have been together for some time so to alleviate the whole awkward situation of me attired in a tiny paper g-string and her slapping hot pink wax onto my pink parts we have developed a repartee to pass the time. The conversation (with the occasional variation) goes a bit like this…

Me:Have you seen the new George Clooney movie?

Her: Not yet, could you move your leg a little further to the left, what’s it like?

Me:Ripppp (goes the wax). Whimper (goes me). Greeeeaat. You’ll have to go see it.

Her: Open your legs a bit wider. I just need to get this bit. I’ve been looking for a good movie, so I think I’ll go this week.

We have a whole gamut of conversation topics…books, tv shows, travel. We just don’t look each other in the eye.

But I digress. In my mission to find out the socially acceptable reason that Brazilians have become so popular, I have struck upon a theory. It’s Barbie’s fault. Have you ever seen so much as a whiff of pubic hair about our Barbie. No you have not, because that little baby is as smooth as well a baby’s bottom (or should that be Barbie’s bottom).

Men are socially conditioned to want women who look like Barbie. Even I want to look like Barbie. Look at how Barbie made fake boobs de rigueur. Frankly I look quite pitiful at the beach with my au naturel puppies flopping to the side, giving me a cleavage like a split watermelon. I actually think that boobs that sit upright and proud when laying down are normal. Gimme some too please.

So is it any wonder that the easier option of the Brazilian still gives that whole Barbie experience. No fake boobs (or skinny hips, or flat tummy, or flowing blonde hair) for me but I’m happy to wander down that Barbie path with my Brazilian. And I’m not alone with that experience. A survey of my Gen X friends says that they all follow the Barbie lead and line up for their monthly Brazilian (except for one who shaves–OMG and another one who doesn’t care–more power to her).

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