Meet our friend Tom. He’s a married guy with tons of relationship experience, and a skilled advice giver who’s here to answer all your pressing sex, dating and relationship questions. Have a query for Tom? Email it to firstname.lastname@example.org and we’ll make sure he gets it! All questions will be posted anonymously, unless otherwise requested. First up…
I just started a new relationship, and my boyfriend is bugging me to get a ‘Brazilian.’ Should I?
And let’s call it what it is: a bald vagina. Keep reading »
Although my waxer tells me BS stories about women who read magazines and talk on the phone while getting their vaginas waxed (who are you!?), I believe most of us find the process appropriately painful. I use numbing spray and Advil and still, I sweat and occasionally tear up. You’ll see no such pansy assery from Rihanna. According to a gossipy employee at Fuzz Wax Bar in Toronto, Rihanna enjoyed her Brazilian waaaayyy too much.The “insider” reports:
“One of our estheticians brought Rihanna the numbing cream but she just laughed. Most women find a Brazilian wax very painful but she just said: ‘No way, I love the pain. It feels good to me.’ … RiRi was escorted to a treatment room with very thin walls and not a scream or squeal was heard. In fact, it sounded like she was enjoying herself. She was singing and humming songs all through the treatment. None of us could stop laughing.”
New urban waxing legend: women who love the pain so much that they sing while getting they’re pubic hair ripped out. Thanks, RiRi! [Dlisted]
I’ve been going to the same vagina waxer for almost six years now. When you tell people that you wax down there, often their first question is: Isn’t that awkward to have someone all up in your vagina like that? The answer is no. Good waxers make you feel like your vagina is disinteresting. Or mundane. And I mean that in the best possible way. Good waxers look at your vagina the way a grocery store cashier looks at a carton of milk; only enough to make sure they’ve scanned it properly at check out. Vaginas are just kind of a non-issue to them. I know there is some debate as to whether or not it’s appropriate to talk to one’s waxer while she is working on the vagina. I say yes. After six years of waxing my muff once a month, I pretty much consider my waxer, almost, kind of, a friend. We’re not friends, but she knows what’s going on in my life and I know what’s going on in hers. I’ve been with her through two pregnancies and she’s been with me through four times as many breakups. All that being said, there have been a few really uncomfortable moments we’ve shared over the years. Keep reading »
I’m taking a cue from Jodie Foster’s Golden Globes speech and outing myself: I’m a bikini waxer. I’ve been waxing regularly since 2001. But that doesn’t mean I’ve gotten used to it. I’m not going to pretend like it’s no biggie. After more than a decade, I still think it hurts like a motherfucker. I take Advil before I go and use numbing spray, but it’s still incredibly painful. And for the record, I will never stop praying for full bush to come back in style. The ’70s were the best! But there is some really, really good news about crotch waxing that makes all the pain worth it.
According to some new research, all of our effort (men and women both!) to remain hairless down there has put crabs on the endangered species list. That’s right! Pubic lice is on the verge of extinction. Keep reading »
You might have felt excluded by Movember (or not). Well, that’s over now. Goodbye Movember, hello Decembeaver, a month when women can stop shaving their muffs for cancer. Some comedians got together and started their own campaign to go all “Bob Ross” down there. And while it appears to be a Movember spoof (“If you have a beaver, you have a voice. Let your beaver say loud and clear, no more cancer!”), Decembeaver’s website has a American Cancer Society donation link, so I’m taking this very seriously and canceling my waxing appointment. Who’s with me?
But, to answer your most pressing question about Decembeaver: Yes, that is Irene McGee from “The Real World: Seattle.” She seems to have recovered nicely from that case of lyme disease. [Decembeaver]
The open joke in The Frisky offices is that while everyone else gets Brazilian waxes, I’m the proud queen of an au naturelle bush. I love my pubic hair — it makes me feel grownup and womanly and not like one of those gross hairless cats. I always trim a little bit, but that’s the extent of my below-panties grooming. The one and only time I got a wax, I wimped out at the pain and begged the waxer to give me a landing strip instead … and then couldn’t wait for my bush to grow back in. Join me, my sisters, and let your fur flag fly!
However, even if I downright refuse to go to Brazil, I have always shaved my legs and armpits meticulously. When your mother teased you throughout childhood with the nursery rhyme “Fuzzy Wuzzy Was A Bear,” you kinda have no choice on the matter.
At least, I thought so. Then I dumped my boyfriend two months ago and decided, Fuck it. Keep reading »
This ad from PETA is all kinds of disturbing and not just because it further promotes the idea that pubic hair is “unattractive” and a woman has to spend $$$ to trim and wax. No, PETA, this ad really looks like Joanna Krupa has the Lorax down there in her skivvies. Just ridiculous. [via Amanda Palmer]
When my life overwhelms me – which, as an introverted entrepreneur and mother, is often – I try to escape to the one place that I know no one will speak to me, The Korean Day Spa. I spend the entire day there, soaking, steaming, sweating, and watching the glorious variety of women move through this sacred space as the holy bodies that they are. Everyone is naked, as mandated by the spa itself. They come in all shapes, sizes, colors, styles, and when surrounded by them I truly feel as if I am part of something, some magic thing that needs no words or creed. The mere fact of our nipples and wrinkles and bulges, and the fact that we all look ridiculously bad in the little shower caps the spa makes us wear, is enough to refill my soul. If I were the platitude sort, some part of me would probably start singing, “I am woman, hear me roar,” but the rest of me would be all like “shut up, bitch,” and I would return to the silence that I so crave. Keep reading »