I’m as happy to pretend I need beauty treatments as the next West London girl, but anything involving pain—forget it. Yes, despite my dazzlingly white teeth, shiny gel nails, ombré hair and unfeasible tan, I am such a wimp that until very recently I’d never had a Brazilian. What changed my mind? I’m letting you into a secret, and her name is Julia.
First things first: Julia is mobile. She arrives at your home, armed with all manner of waxing paraphernalia and a beaming smile, lays out a towel (yours) followed by paper towels (hers) on your bed or sofa, and gets to work. She waxes anything from eyebrows to the full ‘showgirl’—that’s every bit of hair from the neck down ripped out, for the very brave/insane amongst you. She uses hot wax for sensitive areas, or strip wax for larger ones, like legs (though she’s happy to use the hot wax there too, if that’s what you prefer).
I’d only wanted my eyebrows done, my lower legs waxed and my bikini line tidied up prior to my summer holiday. But the radio was playing my choice of music, I had a couple of glasses of wine—one of the myriad benefits of Mohammed coming to the mountain—and by the time she left, I was hair-free from toe to bum, and neither scream nor sharp intake of breath had passed my lips. How does she do it?
I’d say it’s a combination of very skilled technique, genuinely funny chat that takes your mind off what’s being done (she tells you loads about her own life, which is fascinating) and persuasive charm. I’d been quite adamant that I only wanted my lower legs done, kidding myself that the hairs above my knees weren’t noticeable enough to warrant the previously perceived pain. But when she said ‘I’ll just get rid of a few long ones here’, the idea of long hairs hanging down the backs of my thighs, underneath the white denim miniskirt that is my summer uniform, had me pleading with her to get rid of the bloody lot.
It was a similar story with my nethers: ‘How about we go just a little further? …That wasn’t too bad, was it?’
Truly, it wasn’t. In fact, it’s so much better that I’m never looking back. And having seen and—ahem—felt the results, apologies to past paramours, too.
The details
