Beauty Dodo Disaster: When Brazilian Waxes go very very wrong...

The following was submitted by a traumatised reader who wishes to only remain known as the Beauty Dodo. So those who know her PLEASE don't howl out her name in the comments section, k?

Brazillian waxes are funny things. I once found myself at a party full of lawyers, with a lovable and boisterous woman next to me regaling the rest with stories of how she led men to the torture chamber. We compared salon experiences in Bangsar – my RM 45 experience and her RM 88 one at the Strip (which she loved).

These men, corporate bad boys and human rights defenders, were traumatised.

Some of my friends are odd creatures: one cheerfully waxed his crack and sac for his wife. “It wasn’t too bad,” he said cheerfully. He looked very satisfied.

Note to self: love of life must be willing to undergo pain.

After food hunting in Bangsar, a friend suggested popping into Impressions. Located next to Chawan on Jalan Telawi 3, she insisted they were great for eyebrows and good enough for Brazillians.

I was nursing a broken heart so I decided to give a wax a go. Pain can comfort. This was nothing, I have been known to sign up for white water rafting out of boredom the day before.

In we went. We were greeted by a woman with impeccable eyebrows.

“Eyebrows? Eyebrows? You – Brazillian? WHAT? YOU BRAZILLIAN?”

Everyone knew who were getting their bits done and who were not. Meaning: us, the clients waiting for a haircut next door and the few browsing the clothes in front of us (the beauty salon was located within a tailoring shop).

A woman squealed from inside the salon. “I am never doing this again! What was I thinking?”

Pussy, I thought.

“Don’t worry honey, you’ll forget all about it tonight,” soothed a John Goodman lookalike. A couple of women cracked dirty jokes.

A friend who got her Brazillian done in Thailand lay on newspaper during the procedure. Yet, it was effective, neat and quick. Mine was not. I had really good experiences with this place with the eyebrow threaders – they were polite. In contrast, my waxer whacked the top of the bed grumpily and glared at the side of my body to climb up. I did.

“Take off your clothes!”

I obeyed meekly.

Then, she started whacking, not patting, talcum powder onto my bits. WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK. Her fingers went places. Oh God, I thought, molestation. I had waxes when beauticians were extremely careful to limit contact. She was less cautious.

After I got intimate with powder, she dipped her spatula into the wax. IT WAS TOO HOT. For those of you who have never done a wax, too-hot wax scalds and takes a while to harden. It dripped all over my thighs.

A moment after she pressed the spatula to my skin I noticed to my horror there was pubic hair on the stick. SOMEONE ELSE’S HAIR.

I expected her to wait a while before tearing the hair off. No. In she went. The wax seared my bits. Another no-no – beauticians should apply neatly. She slopped the stuff all over like she was trying to seal every orifice because her life depended on it. A mess of white powder, wax and hair, I peered down and saw a furry animal that threw up all over itself.

She went over the same place a few times because the wax was too molten to grip and pull hair effectively.

I do not recall whether she applied powder or lotion at the end. I was too focused on how her fingers were indiscriminately whacking crevices and surfaces. WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK all over my bits.

I paid her RM45 and flew.

The area smelt funny for about 24 hours despite extensive washing. I found wax clinging stubbornly to my skin for the next few days during showers. And, it was not the neatest job.

Since then, I have returned to thread my eyebrows. Never a wax.

- Beauty Dodo

*Impressions is no longer located next to Chawan.