In The Future, If I Ever Have to Shed My Winter Coat, I Think I'll Try My Hand at Shaving.
The Waxed Diaries: We asked some friends of BOND OFFICIAL to share their experiences with one of the most uncommon beauty treatments for men — waxing. On today’s post, Rob Gregg reels us in with a comical recollection of what it was like to wax his arm for the first time.
First off, it’s not as bad as it sounds…. It’s worse.
Let me provide some context. My arms are commonly mistaken for a gorilla’s, and I had a collaboration coming up with a wrist watch brand who felt their product would best be displayed on a clean wrist versus a nestled pelt of man hair. So in prep, they sent me waxing. I just needed my wrists cleaned up, but walking around with hair sleeves and no gloves would look awkward, so I said f*ck it and went all in.
Like all good horror films, it started out as a typical Saturday morning. I woke up early, hit the gym, met a woman with a big smile and a deep rooted desire to inflict unimaginable pain upon men so of course, when she told me to follow her into a dark room filled with boiling liquids and sharp metal objects I walked right in (clearly I don’t learn from movies).
We sat down to begin the session at 9:00am with light banter, “how’s your day, have you ever gotten waxed before, is your skin prone to reddening from scalding temperatures and violent ripping motions.”
The first glob of wax hits my forearm and the specialist goes, “ahhh sh*t, I probably should have checked the temperature...”
The ice on my left arm is working wonders as my right arm gets the next round of cooled off wax poured on it. This time, it’s not so bad! The hair wasn’t coming off so she applied wax to the same area a second time, third time, fourth time… upon which a layer of skin lifted off with the fourth rip. Maybe a good time to call it quits, but how could it get any worse?
We’re still working on the right arm. The specialist kept at it with different types of waxes, tweezers, you name it. “Why not just shave?” You ask… “touché” I say. (Side note: If the thickness of my arm hair isn’t proof we evolved from monkeys, I don’t know what is).
Round II, FIGHT! We’re already going over on time but the battle is only half won, so she speeds up, ripping more skin in the process.
I’d shared a story about how I’m color-blind and can’t see the color red, which prompted an immediate sign of relief on her face… Why? Because by the time my session wrapped around 11:30am, my arms looked like Freddy Kruger with red patches of torn skin, and yet somehow my arms were STILL not completely hairless.
Once emerged back into daylight, she asked if I worked out prior to the session, which apparently it’s common knowledge not to, and said it was the reason my skin was more sensitive and hair was harder to remove. She gave me a complimentary bottle of lotion to help with the burns/skin removal, and thankfully I had a week in between before the brand collaboration to recover, but WOW what an experience.
In the future, if I ever have to shed my winter coat, I think I'll try my hand at shaving.