1. they ripped off an entire layer of skin
“I once had my eyebrows waxed and they ripped off an entire layer of skin, so I had two long cuts under both brows. Apparently the sun combined with a skin-care treatment I was using made my skin ultrasensitive to the point that it peeled off with the wax. I’ll stick to plucking.”
—Lindsay
2. I was in so much pain that I was hysterically laughing
“There was one lady who was obsessed with making sure she didn’t miss every freaking hair or suspicion of a hair. She waxed me twice with the hard wax, then two other times with the soft wax, and then attacked me with a tweezer. Detail-oriented was definitely a drawback there. She would show me the strips each time she took them off, exclaiming ‘Look! They’re like little soldiers!’ I had a date right after, and I was in so much pain that I was hysterically laughing. I also tried doing it myself a few times. I had gotten tired of paying so much to do it, and it looked super easy. I became overconfident. I may have had a glass of wine and locked myself in my room with a wax pot. I put down the first line of wax, then I proceeded to chicken out. I was too damn nervous to tear it off. I kept trying to give myself pep talks, but they were not effective. When I finally did start tearing it off, it was coming off in millimeters. I eventually got it off in between bouts of panic, remorse, and hope that if I just put my pants back on and went along with the rest of my day, it would all disappear. Lesson of the story: If you are going to put your genitals through burning pain, definitely pay someone else to do it!”
—Barbara
3. I’m blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!…OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!
“My night began as any other normal weekday night. Come home, fix dinner, played with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: Maybe I should pull the wax out of the medicine cabinet. So I headed to the site of my demise—the bathroom. It was one of those cold wax kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand and then they get warm and you peel them apart press it to your leg (or wherever else) and hair comes right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean I’m no girly girl but I am mechanically inclined enough that I can figure it out. *YA THINK!!!*
So I pull one of the thin strips out. It’s two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. Cold wax my rear end (Oh how this phrase haunts me!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. OK so it wasn’t the best feeling, but it wasn’t too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-ra, fighter of all wayward body hair and smooth skin extraordinaire.
With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure I apply the was strip across the right side of bikini line, covering the right half of my vagina and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (Yes, it was a long strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself. RRRRIIIPPP!!!!
I’m blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!…OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!
Vision returning, I notice that I’ve only managed to pull off half of the strip. S&%T!!! Another deep breath and RRIIPP. Everything is swirly and spotted. Do I hear crashing drums??? OK, back to normal. I want to see my trophy—a wax-covered strip with my hairy pelt, that has caused me so much pain, sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip! There’s no hair on it. Where is the hair?
WHERE IS THE WAX???
Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair…The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax. S&%T I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair. Then I make the next BIG mistake……………….remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet. I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down. DAMN!!!!!!!! I hear the slamming of the cell door. Vagina? Sealed shut. Butt?? Sealed shut.
I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself, ‘Please don’t let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off’ Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!! I’ll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off right??? *WRONG!!!!!!!*I get in the tub—the water is slightly hotter than then that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment—I sit. Now, the only thing worse that having your nether businesses glued together is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub. In scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn’t melt cold wax.
So now I’m stuck to the bottom of the tub!! God bless the man that convinced me I should have a phone in the bathroom!!!!! I call my friend thinking surely she’s waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It’s a very good conversation starter ‘So, my butt and who-ha are stuck to the bottom of the tub!’ There is a slight pause. She doesn’t have a secret trick but does try to hide the laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located on bottom. ‘Are we talking cheeks or hole or what?’
She’s laughing out loud by now…I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else’s night. While we go through various solutions, I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better than to have your girlie goodies, covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry shaving the sticky wax off!! By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I slip into glazed donut land. My friend is still talking with me and my hand reaches towards the saving grace….the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOD!!!!!!! The scream probably woke the kids, scared the dickens out of my friend, but I really don’t care. ‘IT WORKS!! It works!! I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair…………………………….
THE HAIR IS STILL THERE…………………..ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!.
So I shaved it off. Heck, I’m numb at this point. Next week I’m going to try hair color……”
—Name Withheld
4. my vagina looked as if it had been in a pub brawl
“I’ve been fighting a lifelong losing battle to control the hair on my legs, as well as my pubes. They grow like grass in summer.
I’d waxed for years, but it was so expensive and painful, frankly I got sick of shelling out a hundred bucks a month on having my body hair ripped out.
Hence, I started using an epilator on my legs and hair removal cream on my pubes, both worked equally effectively.
One evening, I was trying out a new brand of cream that had been on special at the supermarket and I’d just assumed that it would have the same processing time, so I didn’t read the instructions. I slathered the cream all over my vagina and along my bikini line to my bum….
I started to get an insane tingle between my legs and up my bum….I knew that I had to get the cream off immediately….I grabbed the plastic hair removal implement. On first swipe, I knew something was wrong, because it hurt too much to use it. Then it literally started to burn. I jumped into the shower and ended up just using my hands so I could get it off as quickly as possible.
While I got the desired all-over-hairless result, my vagina looked as if it had been in a pub brawl. It was all bright red, swollen, and sore. The skin was all raised up and pimply like a plucked chicken.”
—Name Withheld
5. I had bruises on my thighs, inner thighs, and bikini area
“I went to a salon I had used before that I liked because it was cheaper than most. I was living in New York at the time, and, as a grad student, any dollar saved was a dollar I could spend on food or my favorite vice: coffee. The girl there was a new face. I didn’t know it then, but it turns out she was newly hired and had never waxed someone else before. Too bad I didn’t know that until much later. She spread long strips of wax on my bikini and upper legs since I usually wax both together. Then the torture began. Apparently, this woman used the wrong type of wax, and it wouldn’t come off. She applied more wax and tried again…and again and again. It wouldn’t come off right, and while she pulled the strips of paper, she pulled my skin with it, too, totally missing the hairs, mind you. It got to a point where she had to call her boss into the room. The look on her face when she realized what her employee had done told me everything I needed to know about the situation. I was most definitely f*cked. After apologizing profusely and explaining how the wax that was currently covering and cooling on my skin wasn’t used for waxing legs, arms, and underarms, let alone bikinis, she left the room to get a new wax that she coated over the other one. When she pulled the strips of this wax, the other one came off, too. Needless to say, it hurt, and the damage was already done. I had bruises on my thighs, inner thighs, and bikini area. The woman then proceeded to finish the waxing and apologized again. At least she didn’t charge me one cent for the ‘service.’ I, however, can’t say I ever went back to that salon again.”
—Lupita
6. My eyes are watering now just thinking of it
“About a year ago, I decided I needed to do some much-needed grooming in advance of a weekend beach trip. Unfortunately, a full-price Brazilian at my usual hair removal place costs around $80.
So, I did what any budget-conscious New York woman would do: I Grouponed something random.
I had to leave work around 4 to get to my bikini wax appointment, at a vaguely named hair and beauty salon off Broadway in the Noho part of New York. After I took the dingy elevator up to the salon, I was ushered inside a tiny closet—yes, CLOSET—by the waxer, who I’ll called Bertha. The tiny waxing bed was propped up next to a jumble of brooms and mops, folded up tables and other storage items.
That should have been my first warning. But alas, I kept going, reminding myself that I had scored a total deal, getting the wax for $40. Bertha reached for her tub of soft wax, and I already tensed up: hard wax, the kind that doesn’t use an applicator, hurts much less than the old-fashioned stuff.
The real horror, though, came much soon after, as Bertha glommed the hot substance on my, uh, most sensitive areas and firmly pressed down the muslin strips. I braced myself for impact. (There’s nothing worse than those few seconds just before the waxer goes for the rip.)
But instead of yanking the strip off in one seamless, pain-minimizing flourish, Bertha took her time. Oh yes. We’re talking a SLOW RIP. My eyes are watering now just thinking of it.
‘Can you, um, go faster?’ I said, clutching my knees closer, sweating all over the table like a feverish elephant.
‘Oh sure, sweetie,’ Bertha said, spreading more purple wax over the next square inch she wanted to victimize. She positioned herself. This time, it was faster, but she ripped it halfway. Halfway! And then did the other half! I’m no wuss with pain, but this was honestly one of the more ouch-inducing situations I’ve ever been in.
In retrospect, I’m not sure why I didn’t just storm out of the room, leaving my bikini line half-finished, and demanding a refund. Maybe I was still seeing the dollar signs of the cheap Groupon deal flash before my eyes. Maybe it was the looming deadline of my beach trip. But I stuck it out and ended up a little bruised—physically AND spiritually—but hairless nonetheless.”
—Name Withheld
7. My vagina lips are bleeding and my butt is still completely waxed shut
“I should have known when I found the do-it-yourself waxing kit in the pet food aisle at the grocery store that I wasn’t in for a treat. Red flag no. 1—properly ignored. Yet the kit came with convenient pre-waxed strips, giving me confidence and the illusion of a no-mess situation. This was going to be way easy! What could possibly go wrong?
Once home, I lock the front door and get naked. Instructions? Blah, blah… who needs them? Pffft. I’ve got this! In painful retrospect that minor instruction about your pubic hair needing to be ¼ of an inch long—um yeah—that was important.
In my determination to be porn-star-pinky perfect, I decide to double up! Why the hell not? Wax the front and back at the same time! I start with the back door first. I lie on the ground, spread my butt cheeks, apply the strips, and then go in for the bald eagle. There are strips everywhere—I’m totally covered. I’ve got this! I smile to myself. This—and my vagina—are going to be awesome!
Mind you, these are not teeth whitening strips that you leave on for 30 minutes. No. No. No. When the instructions (read after the fact) say you need to immediately rip the strips off—that is what you should do. However, in my attempt to cover all my real estate and make sure I’m not missing anything, I fail this minor—yet REALLY important—detail.
A few minutes go by and I rip the first strip off. Hmm…that’s funny, I don’t see any hair there? And where is the wax? I twist my body to get a better look and find the wax. In my butt cheeks.
They are now waxed shut.
I do my best impression of a constipated penguin and walk to the shower, hoping a little soap and hot water will get this sticky mistake off my genitals. Uh. No. Bigger mistake. The hot water steams up everything and now the wax has made its way down my inner thighs. Wouldn’t this make for some interesting porn? I am afraid to pee, certainly can’t poop and everything I touch is sticking to me.
Maybe now is a good time to read the instructions.
The instructions read: if you don’t get all the wax removed, place another strip over it and pull it off. OK, well, it can’t get any worse. Oh yes… oh yes it can….
I attempt to do it right and pull the strips immediately off. One… Two… Three!
Is that blood? I’m bleeding. I’m bleeding a lot. Why? My skin is missing. What. The. Hell. The wax is now on my hands, stomach and back. My vagina lips are bleeding and my butt is still completely waxed shut. The only thing left to do is admit defeat. It’s time to call a professional—my sister.
After my sister finished laughing and pointing—oh what a jolly good time!—I learned that olive oil has many uses, especially getting you out of sticky situations. And after three long hours of the waxing lesson from hell, I was able to finally pee, poop, and sit on the couch without sticking to it. Never again.”
—Name Withheld
8. There were huge blisters in the whole area
“I went and had one session and that was fine—three weeks later the hair fell out. That was at the very lowest level of the laser.
It took less than five minutes. You put on the protective glasses and it’s like an elastic band snapping on your skin—so you’re told to expect a bit of pain. They just did the top of my bikini line area in the first session.
The second session I went in, and there was a note to go up to a higher level. Immediately, it was much more painful. But I was told to expect pain, so I just went through it. At one point, she did stop and put ice on it. Then she thought it was normal, I thought it was normal, so I kind of went with it.
Immediately it turned red, then it started to turn purple—all within 10 or 15 minutes of the procedure. The girl, I think, got a bit of a fright. This was their trainee, who wasn’t qualified. I assumed she was qualified, given that it was in the salon and they let her do it.
I fainted across the road in the bank. I’d gone over to open a joint account with my boyfriend—we’d just moved in together. I’d say it was 10 minutes after leaving the salon. I was at the counter at the bank and I fainted. The girl had to come out from behind the counter to give me some water. It was a Saturday morning and I didn’t want to tell them why I fainted. I just kind of said: ‘Oh, I didn’t have any breakfast. I didn’t want to tell them.’
I went home and I had to put on my pajamas because I couldn’t wear any jeans. I couldn’t sit down, I had to sit on the edge of the couch.
I didn’t want to tell them in work that I couldn’t work. I had to go get bandages. I was sitting at a desk for most of the day but I couldn’t sit on my chair so I’d have to go to the bathroom and just put ice on it.
There were huge blisters in the whole area. I put aloe vera and cream on them every day. When they healed, there were white squares left behind.
Each time I went back, I got so upset. They went back down to the lower, original laser level, but then I just didn’t feel right. I was crying every day; it just felt hideous. I didn’t want to go back so I decided to leave it and wait for it to get better.
I did get depressed. Getting into the shower, I’d cry every morning. I had to talk myself out of it so I wouldn’t get too depressed. Then, going to bed at night with my partner, it really did affect me in a million different ways.
I had to throw away everything I owned. I started wearing bikinis with shorts. I stopped going to the gym. I have to wear long tops and leggings.
I just had to deal with the fact that I have to meet somebody new and explain to them I have these scars. I’ll be shaking and crying and will have to find the words to explain it and show it to him. I’ll be pretty vulnerable.”
—Susan
9. I woke up with huge, itchy, red welts all over my legs
“When I was a tween, my mom wouldn’t let me use razors to shave my legs because—like any good Jewish mother—she worried I would somehow let it slip and hit an artery, bleed out, and die. So I used Nair for the first year or so, and then a new brand of Nair-like hair removal cream, which I will not name here, launched in the U.S. I jumped at the chance to try it. I smeared the goop all over my legs, and it burned a little, but I washed it off and went to bed. The next morning, I woke up with huge, itchy, red welts all over my legs, from ankle to upper thigh. I had some sort of terrible allergic reaction. I was forced to wear long pants (in the Florida heat) for about two and a half weeks after the incident until all the welts healed—and from then on, my mom let me shave.”
—Jenna
10. candy-cane stripes of red and white on my legs
“When I complained that the wax was too hot, she gruffly told me I was being a big baby—she also told me I was a big baby for not getting a full Brazilian while I was there. ‘Why are you not getting a Brazilian? What are you, a big baby? I have a Brazilian.’ Um, good for you? I left that day in agony and angry that I wasted not only a gift card but also cash money (because this service was expensive!) and spent my entire vacation with candy-cane stripes of red and white on my legs—because I was right, the wax was too hot. Another time, back when I was getting bikini waxes (though not Brazilians, ever, sorry/not sorry, super-rude leg waxer!), an aesthetician gave my lady area a little pat when her task was complete and said, ‘There, you’re like freshly plucked chicken.’ Exactly the look I was going for.”
—Kate
11. There were bright-red blisters all over my neck, chin, and lips
“My stomach was churning as the beauty therapist slowly lifted the mirror. My face was stinging badly and I could see she was upset. But nothing could have prepared me for what I was to see next. There were bright-red blisters all over my neck, chin, and lips. The searing pain I had felt as she ran the laser hair-removal tool over my skin and the revolting burning stench I could smell afterwards suddenly made sense….
It was a few months later, after my third treatment, that I found myself standing on a busy Auckland street, wincing from the pain caused by my weeping blisters. People were staring at me. I felt like a leper. I had started to feel a sharp pain as the therapist was running the laser tool over my face. It felt like a hot iron.”
—Gyll
12. I began to hit myself in the head with my fist in an effort to knock myself out
“On the eve of my wedding anniversary, I decided upon the perfect gift to wow my man. I called my local salon and booked an appointment for a Brazilian bikini wax. This was virgin territory for me, and I was a little concerned. I was counseled to take three Advil and drink a half glass of wine. I downed my pain relievers, swigged some wine and added a generous amount of Lidocaine (a topical numbing agent). I got this, I thought. Until I didn’t.
When I arrived for my afternoon tryst, I met Lani, who would soon know more about my vagina than my gynecologist. She was about 20 years old, petite and adorable. Fantastic. Could I not get the 60-year-old that makes me feel good about my Jewel Box? Where is Bertha or Prudence?…
She left the room and I disrobed and lay down on the table with my bits barely covered under the baby-size washcloth I was given. Could I get a hand towel at least? Or how about a beach blanket? WTF am I gonna do with such a freaking small scrap of fabric?
Lani came back in and began to check the wax; stirring and pulling it out of the jar to ensure it was the right elasticity and temperature. Happy with her materials, she started work on my lady love garden.
I am going to work in small sections and move as fast as possible to get this over quickly for you, OK?’…
How bad can this be? I thought. I’ve had some pretty painful moments in life and I survived. This is gonna be fine, she’s just exaggerating. I quickly learned she wasn’t.
Lani positioned my left leg to mimic a flamingo. I was splayed out, my hoo-ha front and center, with hot wax being spooned onto it. Then, the paper went on. She rubbed back and forth to make it adhere, then pulled the paper off.
‘Holy. F*cking. Shi*t!’ I may die. My eyes were tearing.
‘I am really sorry,’ Lani squeaked as she continued to pull the top 10 layers of my skin off.
‘Just get it over with! AAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!’
I began to hit myself in the head with my fist in an effort to knock myself out. This process went back and forth for many painful minutes: Her apologizing, and me trying to not hurt, scream at, or kick her.
I foolishly asked, ‘How much more is left?’ I really didn’t want to look while she was pulling off the strips. I preferred to not have a visual of my beaver with a Mohawk.
Apparently, this normally takes 15 minutes, but since it was my first time (and I’m Italian), I got to enjoy this sh*tastrophe for 30 minutes. Holy Crap! I considered stopping and leaving. It’s the thought that counts, right? He would never get waxed for me, so why am I even doing this? Maybe I should have drank more before I got here. Maybe I should have taken painkillers? Xanax? Beer? Anything!…
Finally, after 45 minutes of excruciating pain during which I prayed for my death, the work is complete. The technician took a hot, wet towel and proceeded to attempt to remove any leftover wax from my now-barren plain. I kindly thanked her for the effort, but preferred to give it the college try myself. She acquiesced and left me and my vagina alone to reconnect. After all, it had been decades since I saw it in this state. However, when I glanced down, I couldn’t help but notice my labia major and minor were bright crimson red. Holy Sh*t! I now had a red delicious apple in my pruned orchard—and I hate red delicious apples. I dressed and left the salon with my head held high and a grimace with each step.
I went home, opened up a beer and proceeded to drink the pain away. Instead of the romantic evening interlude I planned, I had a solo night of drinking, wincing and icing my apple pie. When my husband finally did get a gander at my gift, I learned he prefers well-manicured Bermuda grass instead of a barren wasteland. Good to know. I should have asked before the Great Clearing of Weeds happened.
Next year, I’m just getting him a card.”
—Alyson
13. I GOT AN S.T.I. FROM A BRAZILIAN WAX
“About a month after I got a particularly bloody, painful Brazilian wax from an upscale salon in Manhattan, I noticed little bumps on my bikini line/vulva area. Two of them were in a little cluster, and a few others were more sparse. They basically looked like [GROSSNESS ALERT] shiny bumps with a dimple in the middles and a waxy white core. As many single-and-dating women would upon discovering something like this, I freaked out and had an anxiety attack at work. Right then and there, I made an emergency appointment with my gyno and tore out of work to get there. En route, stuck in traffic, I cried in the cab and made all of the normal promises you make when you are afraid that something really bad is happening. I’ll never have unprotected sex again if this turns out not to be herpes. I’ll never have sex again. I’ll become whatever the Jewish version of a nun is. I’ll sacrifice my firstborn to the great god Cthulhu if this is just an ingrown hair.
After holding back tears in the waiting room for what felt like ages, I finally got into the exam room and changed. I sat there teary-eyed with smeared makeup, in my flimsy gown and sad, mismatched socks, until finally a nurse practitioner came in. She looked younger than me. It took her two seconds to diagnose the bumps.
‘Yeah, I doubt this is herpes. It doesn’t look like herpes, and you’d be in a lot of pain. Do you work with children?’
‘Uh, no?’
‘Mostly kids get this. Looking at it, I’m pretty sure it’s molluscum contagiosum. Just leave it alone and it’ll run its course.’ I was still pretty upset, and asked her what the normal reaction was after diagnosis. She told me that most people are just relieved that it’s not herpes….
However it plays out, once this nightmare is over, the guys I date had better get used to a full bush, since I’m never getting a wax ever, ever again.”
—Maddie
14. RIIIIPPPPPP
“I was lying pantless on a table at the time, and I’d just told the burly, green-haired esthetician—let’s call her Ripper—that I wanted a Bikini wax.
‘A Brazilian?’ she asked.
‘No, a Bikini.’
‘A Brazilian?’ she repeated. ‘Like, do you want me to take off all the hair on your perineum?’
Then, while I was trying to remember A) What my perineum was B) Where my perineum was and C) If Norwegians even grow hair on their perineums, Ripper dipped a tongue depressor in a vat of hot wax, held it over my face and whispered, ‘Remove the towel from your vagina and butterfly your legs for me, Wendi.’
Ripper then took a deep breath and went to town on my bikini area, rhythmically pasting scalding hot wax on my skin and roughly tearing it off, while also being casually conversational like she’d been instructed to be by management. ‘So, how’s your summer going so far?’ RIIIIPPPPP. ‘Seen any good movies?’ RIIIIPPPPPP ‘I can’t believe how hot it is today.’ RIIIIPPPP.
By the time she finished the right leg and stood back to admire her handiwork, I was floating on the ceiling, gazing down at my waxed nether regions and deciding if I should just go into the light already. In my version of Heaven, there are no swimsuits or bikini wax Groupons….Nobody feels sorry for you when you hurt yourself getting a bikini wax.”
—Wendi
15. the little red bumps that had popped up after the wax had swollen and were now pus-filled
“I got my first Brazilian wax the other day (I’ve only had bikinis before) and it went all right, painful of course but that’s to be expected. So when I left my skin was very red and swollen and looked almost rashy but the woman who did the waxing told me that it was completely normal and all of that would be gone within a few hours. Well that area was very red and tender throughout the rest of the day and horribly, the next morning when I was getting dressed I saw that the little red bumps that had popped up after the wax had swollen and were now pus-filled and absolutely covering the front of my crotch. It’s awful! They pop very easily but they are hideous and that whole area is still bright red.”
—Luna