Jezebel
-
the wrong kind of bleeding
An Open Apology to Our Labia
Every so often, there comes along a tale of the rites of female passage gone so terribly wrong that one is left trembling. I'm not talking about any of the fictitious tripe some unpaid Cosmo intern spit out for the "Confessions" column—I'm talking about the true-life horrors of that wildly popular version of genital mutilation known as The Brazilian. Not that I'm above dutifully visiting my doting waxer (what up, Maya!) every few weeks, spreading my legs and asscheeks with glee as she efficiently rips out my lady-hair until I'm shiny and bald like a fetus. I don't know when having public hair became the more exotic option, but ever since the first de-furring, I've been fully in favor of seeing my labia looking happy and oh-so-smooth. And yet, there is danger! An inexperienced waxer can cause mental anguish or, worse, serious physical trauma. None of us are immune, and no one is safe. (Even my own over-aggressive usage of Folisan too soon after an otherwise perfect wax can cause first-degree burns. Have you ever peeled dead flesh off of your ladyflower? Highly recommend it.) Anyhow: Isn't it about time we all apologize to our sensitive bits? Take, for example, the following from a reader, a journalist who ended up leaving her labia behind in the emergency room: More »
- 1
1 of 1 for "true stories from hell"
