Girl Talk: Why I’ve Never Been Waxed

I am the only woman in NYC who has never gotten waxed. This is a fact. If someone collected statistics, the numbers would definitely confirm it.

You could say I’m a bit of a wild woman. My hair is unpredictable, my nail polish is usually mostly chipped off, I can’t do a pantsuit to save my life and I have all sorts of body hair.

I know, I should be ashamed. I once wondered if anyone would ever love me. You’d think not, but actually, I’ve been married for a year! It doesn’t count, though, because he’s the hairiest man in the world. He’s basically half wildebeest. So he doesn’t notice these things. That’s the only possible explanation. My friends know how to take care of themselves. Many of them wouldn’t dream of having an unkempt vagina or a smattering of leg hair. Some of them have gotten electrolysis. “You should do it! Imagine NEVER having to worry about being a disgusting, hairy animal ever again!” they boast. But most of my friends just go under the wax. That is not an expression. I just feel like it should be.

Why have I never been waxed? I hope this isn’t too disappointing, but I don’t really have a good reason. It’s kind of embarrassing. I should be making some sort of point. Taking some sort of stance. It should probably be political. It isn’t.

I have never been waxed because I don’t like pain. When I get a paper cut, I think, “Oh my god, NOOO, now this will hurt for like the next three DAYS. It will affect EVERYTHING.” When it doesn’t affect everything, I am genuinely surprised.

But even more than my aversion to pain and occasional misunderstanding of it, I have never been waxed because I just don’t care enough. I don’t mind the way I look. The guys I’ve slept with haven’t minded the way I look. Once a dude raised his eyebrows and said, “The last girl I dated was Asian. I guess Jews are a lot hairier than Asians.” But I think that was more plain old being-a-jackass than being necessarily opposed to my jungly areas. And he’s the only less-than-thrilled case I have to report (notice how I used the word “thrilled,” implying that everyone else was thrilled? Yeah. That gives you an idea of my sexual prowess. And it’s the right one).

So if I don’t mind, and the people who see me naked don’t mind, then who cares who minds?

The porn industry would really, really mind, but they never talk to me anyway, so whatever.

And when I think about getting waxed, I always remember a particular moment. This is how it went: It was at a pool party, when I was maybe 15. I was wearing a cute bikini. A woman, maybe in her mid-30s, got into the pool. She swam around for a while, and then she jumped out, over the side, rather than going over to the steps. As she was flinging one leg up onto the pool deck, I got a very clear look at the hair erupting from either side of her swimsuit’s crotch. It was reddish brown. I still remember the color exactly.

For a split second, I was horrified. Eww. Gross. Why did I have to see that? What was her problem?

And then I was kind of impressed. I liked that she didn’t care enough to shave it off before she got in the pool. I liked that she was confident enough to jump out of the pool without worrying who saw it. I even liked the color. It’s just some hair, after all. It’s really not that big of a deal. I’m actually not sure how we all learned to be grossed out by it in the first place.

So in her honor, and because I hate pain, and am a wimp, and just don’t really care that much, I think I’m gonna keep not getting waxed.

Until the porn industry calls. Then I’ll have to give it some serious thought.

That’s totally a joke. I would only do realistic, hairy porn. As a political statement.

Kate Fridkis is a Brooklyn-based columnist, freelance writer, and bagel enthusiast who writes the blog Eat the Damn Cake. You can follow her on Twitter at @eatthedamncake.