I like my waxer. She does a really good job. Her name is Mimi. When I walk in we make less than a minute’s worth of chit-chat about the weather. Then she waxes me, I give her a twenty percent tip, and that’s all. Just as Karl Lagerfeld only likes to have sex with prostitutes, I don’t like to get too chummy with people who rip all the hair out of my bikini area. Because exclaiming “hey, how are your kids!?” halfway through the process just seems awkward. In fact, saying much of anything seems awkward.
According to the New York Post, this is super weird because for many woman your brazilian bikini waxer is like “your mother without the baggage.” Or “your second mother.” Seriously? I have a mother. She does not extract hair from my nether regions. That’s gross.
Others say that their aesthetician has “the skills of a surgeon and the compassion of a therapist.” And then they talk about how they need aestheticians that they can share their feelings with. Really? Because most people have friends for that.
I mean, it’s great to like your waxer. And being rude to anyone hovering over you with hot wax just seems stupid. But these are also people you’ve hired to do a very specific job, and that job has nothing to do with expecting them to fill in and give you some discount therapy. And honestly, it seems kind of bizarrely self indulgent to expect them to. Because even though maybe it feels intimate, this is still a business transaction, and your waxer really hasn’t signed on to be dispensing advice about whether or not you should break up with your boyfriend.
That said, I do like my waxer, because she does a great job, so the next time you’re in New York: Soho Nails. Ask for Mimi. Remember to tip well. Because, ultimately, I think she’ll prefer the new business to knowing about my feelings.