I remember the first time I waxed my mo.
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I was 19, in an airport bathroom, on my way home from Europe. There was sticky wax everywhere that I bought at the airport chemist, a mirror I also had to purchase, and nervousness in my hairy, hairy heart.
So why did I do it in a dirty airport bathroom?
Because I was SO sick of people “complementing” me on my impressive hairy lip. I had just spent two months in Europe and people over there are blunt, they be like, oh, you have a blond little moustache, how sweet – why don’t you wax it?
I thought I was being slick, you see, because I’ve been bleaching my mo for many months by that stage.
But what I thought was a completely safe and effective way of managing this little problem, in fact established me as the Aussie chick with the blonde mo.
And by the time I was returning back to Australia, I was frankly embarrassed to show my face – literally – to the new boyfriend I was coming home to (you may now call him ‘the Husband’).
And so began a lifetime of meeting beauty standards…
That’s not strictly true – I had been getting rid of other hair on my body for years by this stage, albeit at a later age than most other girls.
My mother, the legend, didn’t let me shave my legs – or armpits – until I could braid them. She used the ol’ Pringle line on me – once you pop, you can’t stop.
So here I was, 12, in middle school, defending my hairy legs and hiding my armpits.
But when I was finally unleashed, I was ridding myself of the excess hair on my legs, bleaching the hair on my head and piercing holes in my body like you wouldn’t believe (I got some streaks and a second hole in my ears – crazy, I know!)
Only the beginning
And that was me only dipping my toes into the world of beautification, because my life now consists of polished nails, hair treatments, waxing and laser hair removal, face masks, teeth whitening products, lash serums, brow serums, bath salts and cucumbers.
And let us not get into the expenses that go into vitamins, face creams, hairdressers, eye brow specialists, and the likes. Honest to God, the last time I had my eye brows done, I had them trimmed. TRIMMED!
And I’m low maintenance. Like, this is the bare minimum most women put into the way they look.
But – I like it. I like it all.
It’s fact that the pressure on women to look a certain way is severe.
Where that pressure is coming from is questionable at best.
There is definitely a portion of me that believes that women do it to themselves. What’s particularly disturbing is the latest trend of women young and old pumping themselves full of lip fillers and boob implants and butt suctions for cheek enhancements – all to look… ageless?
…women’s self esteem is drowning in products and treatments designed to “improve” us.
To me, all that sort of stuff is just not necessary. And I’m not sure men are diggin’ it – or demanding it – either.
But alas, you do you – it bothers me not. It just makes me sad that women’s self esteem is drowning in products and treatments designed to “improve” us.
Because when you start chasing after your self-esteem through a needle or scalpel – well, that’s a long, windy road that ends no where good.
Is beauty so bad?
Personally, I do enjoy all that I do in the name of beauty. I’m brave and confident enough in my human-hood to understand that I don’t need to do any of that stuff to be presentable or to leave the house. Does it make me feel good? Absolutely. Do I go all Alicia Keys and go out make up free. Totally!
But – I could also go out and be a total babe!
Beautification is fun for me! I love adding colour to my look through make up, I enjoy having moist skin instead of dry and flaky, I love having soft curly hair instead of sad stringy hair.
The message here is no one puts pressure on you to look a certain way more than you yourself do and in order to avoid feeling societal pressures, just, like – don’t.
Enjoy the process, don’t do it to appease anyone else but YOU!
And if you have any beauty trends or hacks that don’t involve jabbing and stabbing, please, please hit me up in the comments!
And remember – don’t be a dick!