Esclava de la cera caliente
Vean como resume sus 23 años de afición depilatoria. Habla de su primera vez (usó un producto llamado Immac) y de lo que vino después:
I can remember this interlude so vividly because, of course, it was a rite of passage, and early forays into the rituals of adulthood are always memorable; but also because it was the single act which launched me on to a long-term and increasingly exhaustive depilatory regime. Over the course of the intervening 23 years, I have: Immac'd some more (and following a change in branding, Veet'd some more), bleached, sugared, waxed, threaded, Epilady'd, tweazered, shaved, lasered, and had currents of sound shot into individual follicles on the promise that they would cauterise the root. I've had UV light treatments. I've had full-body rub-downs with special hair-removing mitts. I've had a Brazilian bikini wax. In fact, I've had many Brazilian bikini waxes.
Escribe el artículo a raíz de un experimento que llevó a cabo las semanas pasadas, dejarse crecer el vello de las piernas. Diríase un experimento en la autoexclusión social:
In the interest of understanding my personal urge to depilate, I let the hair on my legs grow for the first time in 23 years - for the first time since Immac and Swanage. It takes a week to reach the unseemly stage. Two weeks to get properly unpleasant. Three weeks to physically repulse anyone I show it to. It itches. I begin avoiding: communal changing rooms, swimming pools, skirts. I develop fetlocks, which mean I have to be increasingly careful about the kinds of shoes I wear, and where, exactly, my trouser hem hits my ankle. I start wearing pyjama bottoms to bed, even though it's still too warm at night, because my partner can't stand the look or feel of my leg hair.
Ya les digo, muy divertido e informativo de uno de los hábitos más extendidos en la mitad femenina de la humanidad occidental, que genera un enorme negocio--y unas enormes cantidades de sufrimiento (aparentemente) voluntario.