This is not commonly considered to be the time of year for a wax. I know this unequivocally. Women (and men) plunged into deepest, darkest winter generally loosen their hold on tweezers/epilators/razors; nothing’s on display and it all seems a little pointless to halt the inevitable when so few appreciate the labour, cost and pain involved.
However, as I am a true devotee to luxury (and one who defines luxury as the inessential but conducive to comfort/life-enhancing), I decided to do the unusual and take myself along to the brand spanking new Ministry of Waxing in Islington to be made hair-free once more. Spanking is actually probably a rather apt word to use in describing the new branch – this place is decked out in a sort of chamber of horrors interior.
Once on the table (but happily not shackled), my wax took all of 10 minutes. Slather, swish, pat and done. Really quick. Relatively painless. Few tweezer-jobs. I bounced out smugly – my hairless parts may have been hidden in tights and wool, but I knew they were there. It made me feel sexier, and more slinky. Like I could disrobe fearlessly. And surely feeling like that is the ultimate luxury?