How I survived a Boyzilian wax
Getting a Boyzilian wax wasn’t exactly my idea. It was a Saturday noon when I was briefed I would remove my briefs for Young STAR’s shame issue, an assignment which I could’ve begged off, really, but for some reason I found it within myself to agree (and cry man tears inside). At least I had accepted my Boyzilian fate over some really good century egg and Xiao Long Bao.
A few noons after, there I was, naked on the bed, blushing in embarrassment. I was reclined on the waxing bed and resigned to my fate. Minutes away from my first Boyzilian wax that rainy noon, I had just realized that there was no way I could back out from this metrosexual concentration camp, having signed a two-page waiver of sorts — that plus the fact that I was already quite snug on the bed. It was a calm before the strip, but like most calms, I knew I was going to have to go through the unavoidable: having all my hair removed down under.
#Noooo.
And so Boyzilian it was. For all the anxiety a total wax virgin like me had to undergo, I asked nurse Christy to see if there was still a stuffed animal for me — a sort of consolation I was to expect, as stated in their FAQ. Apparently, I did not deserve an animal, as I was only given a stuffed carrot.
Chest pains: If Steve Carrell can get a wax, then so can I. #Noooo.
So there I was, sanitized, in a sandwich of towels on my head, with a toy vegetable fully squeezed in my hand. As I leaned back, my senses were greeted with what seemed to be a hot, thick substance. “Hot chocolate po ‘yan, sir,” said the nurse. Hot what? “Strip Wild Berry Hot Chocolate, po.” I felt like I was in a Willy Wonka-inspired C-movie that had to end but wouldn’t.
And so there the nurse was, doing her thing on my thing (gross). She spread the chocolate all over, then patted it dry before stripping downwards. But every time she did, she was nice enough to tell me to inhale deeply and repeatedly. But in my mind I was like, “No way, man. I ain’t gonna do this and inha — OUCHHH… bro.” Mother of god. Stars, dude. She stripped, and I saw stars. I saw mini stars in blue, red, white and teal. Sakit the pain, bro. And before I could get over the first strip, there she was yet again, repeating the pain on what felt like a more sensitive part. The shame had transformed into self-blame: “Why did I do this?”
It was wax, stars, wax, stars, wax, tears, wax until — until she promised me ice cream. Ice. Cream. At this point, I just didn’t want to feel like chocolate fondue anymore. And ice cream sounded like a good way to make it up to me. This made me feel better only to find out that this ice cream was to be spread down there for soothing purposes. What am I, dessert? Who am I, that chick in a whipped cream bikini from Varsity Blues?
“Ahhh.” It actually wasn’t so bad.
But as more waxing ensued, I became strangely acclimated to the pain. It became bearable. It became less of a deal. Before I knew it, the nurse had left and I had dressed up for work. I had just reached the finish line. After 25 years of hair and 25 minutes of scare, I was free. I felt like I had evolved into a cleaner homo sapien.
X marks the strip: The Boyzilian wax means a stripping of both the front and back parts. A day after, I quietly revealed my ordeal to my brothers, much to my youngest brother’s hysteria: “Bakit, Ralph, bakit?!” he violently asked. “Couldn’t you just lie and say that you did it?! Ano ba ‘yan? Kadiri.” I was taken aback mostly because, yo, bro, I was the one who went through the pain, not you. But there his eyebrows were, creased in a mix of fury and brotherly care. So, okay lang, bro. I understand where you’re coming from.
Now, if you’re on the fence about the Boyzilian, all I can say is waxing’s just like getting your head shaved by your next-door barber — but with your precious balls on the line. There’s always that catch, I won’t lie, but the pain was there only because I was a wax newbie. Tears may have flowed from strip to strip but as nurse Christy did say, “Tawanan mo na lang ‘yung sakit, Sir.” I was given the chance to exfoliate not only myself, but the shame from my ego.
But all of that on a regular basis? Probably just the ice cream.
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You can get a Boyzilian wax, too. The shop’s called Strip and it’s got branches in Greenbelt 5 and Serendra. Ask for their special post-wax creams as well. Good chamomile-infused stuff.
