Let’s be honest: Female grooming is an undesirable yet necessary action that any girl is willing to go through so she doesn’t look like she jumped off the pages of “The Joy of Sex.” I had only been in Bangkok one month, was just getting my grasp of the BTS, and had finally come to terms that an American size small is a Thai Large, when I realized that I had completely neglected my lady parts.
As a single 23-year-old from Southern California, I have been getting Brazilian waxes since the ripe age of sixteen and knew the drill better then my state capitals. Having gone to quite a few “waxing specialists” and having been put in every which position, including the “Get on your hands and knees doggy style”, I had finally made a great relationship with Simone in West Hollywood. I would take off my skinny jeans as she chit-chatted about what she was reading and in under-ten minutes, I was centerfold ready. Yet, when transitioning to any new city, I was most skeptical when going to get my va-jayjay in tip-top shape.
Thankfully and ironically my new Thai Gay BFF told me about The Waxing Bar. After approving of the chic and sophisticated website that lets the client choose which scent of wax they desire (chocolate, berry, vanilla, and coconut) – and being relieved that they practice a strict policy of “no double dipping” – I was ready to book. I decided to go in my lunch hour, so off I whizzed away on a motosai.
Located on Sukhumvit 39 in the Ozone Center, this immaculate hair removal spa looked like the inside of a MacBook. I arrived, was given both tea and water, and even had my feet washed. My technician’s English was as proficient as my Thai (I know how to say “washing hair” and “monkey”) and she led me into my private room. Through hand signals and gestures, she motioned me to slip on the white, silk robe. Standing there for a good five minutes and very confused on her whereabouts, I peaked my head out and was pointed to the bathroom, where a shower at perfect temperature was waiting for me to “wash up.” This was a new concept, as it is an unspoken rule in the States to come already clean aka not just from spin class to get waxed.
When I finished, she led me back into the room where soft Bossa Nova music was playing. Still wearing my robe, I was then directed to slip under two layers of towels where my arms were strapped in. Once her latex gloves and surgical mask came on, I knew I was in for perfection.
Forty-five minutes later, my skepticism completely dissolved, as I was quite proud of Edward Scissorhands-ing my hedge. Sitting down to fill out my customer satisfaction survey (which I gave all 4/4 marks), I was then handed chocolate and knew I had found my new Simone.
