My Italian genes didn’t bestow on me lovely luscious dark locks or stunning olive skin, but I did get one of the trademarks of my heritage. I’m a true hair beast. Hairy Scary. On the few occasions that I’ve been in a jam and shaved my legs in the morning, you can bet your ass that by the time 5pm rolls around, I’m stubbled. Like 5 o’clock shadow ALL OVER. Lucky duck I am.
My mum never let me shave as a kid, probably because she knew I’d have a Kramer-shaving-his-chest-on-Seinfeld situation going on, so from an early age, I got my wax on. Many, many years after that first wax that left me swearing that I’d happily remain a hair beast forever (until I got used to the wonders of hairless legs), waxing still hurts. It fucking hurts like hell.
Maybe that’s why I find this video of women waxing their male partners so oddly satisfying, because unless you’re a dude who rocks a hairless chest/legs/balls, you just DON’T UNDERSTAND the pain of ripping a hair out from the root.
This is magic…
Are you a waxer or a shaver?