Waxing Woes

Hello Readers!

This might seen a bit out there, but I am so irritated and frustrated that my helpful husband said “you should blog about this!” So, this is me blogging about this.

On Saturday, I went to get my eyebrows done. In their natural state, my eyebrows would run the entire width and length of my forehead and refuse to separate at my nose, so it’s necessary to groom them once in a while. Anyone who knows me will tell you I am a low-maintenance gal, not much into makeup and such, but I draw the line at two eyebrows. It’s a must. The Bert from Sesame Street look is not a good one on me.

I should go every other week, but I put the trip off over and over again. Not because I can’t spare the $12, but because I don’t like being bullied. That’s right–bullied. I have been to salons all over the country, in a variety of pricing brackets, and almost every time, I leave nearly in tears.
Why, you ask? How could it be so awful? I offer two words: lip wax.

I have not, nor will I ever, wax my upper lip. It hurts like hell, I’ve been told, and also, the hair above my upper lip is the light, almost-invisible kind that’s on the rest of my face. It’s not noticeable, in other words. And I don’t want to wax something just for the fun of it. So the answer is no.

Yet every time I walk into a salon and say “eyebrow wax, please”, someone asks, “do you want lip, too?”

I know they’re just trying to upsell me. I know my lip could be absolutely hairless and they’d still ask. But it really, really bothers me. Why? I don’t really know. I think it’s the implication that with my grossly hairy lip, I am somehow not-feminine, that there’s something manly and freakish about me. I generally pshaw at beauty standards, but I don’t want to be told that I look like a man.

So, I decided not to meekly take it anymore. I was going to be up-front and assertive and avoid the shame. I marched right in on Saturday and said “eyebrow wax only please. Don’t ask about lip wax. I don’t want one and it hurts my feelings.” Small, simple step, I know, but I was proud I had the courage to say it.

The lady took one look at me and said, “No lip? You sure?”

I gritted my teeth and said, “Yes. No lip.” She proceeded to pour hot wax on my forehead, which I stoically endured in the name of beauty.

Halfway through, she said, “You should really try lip. You need it.” I barked out a slightly-strangled NO and we didn’t say anything else. I paid her, then left. And yes, I tipped her. Not a lot, but a little bit, because I know she doesn’t make a lot of money. But why did I tip her for the abuse? Why am I conditioned to be so darn nice?

Readers, I have had enough. I refuse to let anyone make me feel bad about my appearance. I will not be shamed. I know this many sound beyond trivial–but it’s a microcosm of what women go through every day. From looks on the subway to catcalls on the street, women are being judged for how they look. Too fancy? Must be a bitch. Extremely well-dressed/coiffed? Probably stupid. Doesn’t she care about things besides her appearance? Not well-dressed? Slob. Butch. Fatty. Loser. There is no way to win. Ever.
So I’m over it. I will dress in a way that allows me to move through the world and accomplish the things I need to do. No more towering heels that make it hard to walk. No more tight clothing that makes me self-conscious so I’m thinking about if my skirt is long enough and not what I’m supposed to be doing. No. More. I refuse to waste any more time on appearance-related shame. Because life is just too darn short.

Who’s with me, readers?