Summer’s here, and you know what that means: Hair-removal season is officially upon us. While many women opt for a razor in the quest for a super-smooth bikini area, some put the fate of their fine china into the hands of a professional. Waxing can be so worth it when you truly get what you’re paying for. But if someone screws up? Well, just read these stories to see all the different ways a wax can go wrong.
“First of all, it took an hour instead of the 15 minutes it usually takes. She was doing, like, three hairs at a time. She said she was going so slowly because it was less painful, but on top of her being so incredibly slow, it was also the most painful one I've ever had. It was a nine on the pain scale when they’re usually a six. She also kept trying to set me up with her son by saying unsubtle stuff like, ‘I have a son your age. He’s single. Are you single? He's very cute.’ I just responded like, ‘Mhmm, that’s nice.’ Finally, she cut me with scissors while she was trimming. It was my first and last time with her. I called my mom and cried and raged afterwards.” —Alana C.
“Last time I got a Brazilian, she handily forgot my butt. The next time my husband and I were in bed, he noticed—and pulled the strands. I'll never live it down.” —Rachel Z.
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“I went to a really respected salon that has locations all over the country. I hadn't had a wax in maybe a year, and before that had only had one or two, so I definitely wasn’t an expert. Because of this, my waxer starts telling me she's going to ‘do something special’ and I'm going to ‘love it.’ I don't really like watching while they do it, so I just let her be. Bad choice. She finishes, and as I'm looking down, she says she gave me what they call a ‘Clit Hit,’ which means they leave a patch of hair on top of the clitoris as if it were Hitler's mustache. I tried to be nice, but I was like, ‘Oh, no, please take that off,’ to which she replied that she couldn't because my skin would get really irritated! Now that I wax regularly, I know this was total crap. So I had to leave the place with a random ball of hair—mind you, she didn't even trim it!—and wait until my skin ‘wouldn't get irritated’ to get it off. It was really awful-looking.” —Mercedes T.
“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 N.
“I stopped going to my old waxer because she would take 45 minutes to an hour instead of the 10 to 15 minutes it should take. But the reason she would take that long was because she spent the entire time talking about her problems and existential crises. Lots of times, she would just go off on tangents and say weird things like, ‘I’m an iron butterfly, baby.’ She also had issues with her weight and would talk a lot about how her sister bullied her about it. Then she would get emotional, and I’d be thinking, ‘Please don’t cry on my vagina.’ Also, she worked from home and would complain about her boyfriend and son, who were in the house. And she charged me double what I pay now!” —Nora E.
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“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 T.
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“I was bartending right out of college, and one of the servers was training to be an aesthetician. She was like, ‘I need to do a guy, so it would be free of charge!’ So I agreed. Since she was training, the salon owner was in the room, as well, and did the first half of my wax, taking her time to point out the ‘intricacies’ of doing a male Brazilian. Then my friend finished doing the second side. Of course it hurt, but the worst part was that it took basically three hours since they were talking about each step, and my friend was asking for advice. Not only was I crotch-up for that whole time, but that's a long time to be going through the pain. They were closing soon, and she hadn't done my ass yet. She offered that I could come back for that portion. I politely agreed, then never went back.” —Tony M.
