God, you’re so smooth

Today, I am a new man.

Slightly sore.

Slightly swollen.

Slightly pink.

But new.

And smooth.

This past Wednesday, I had my chest waxed.

There was no real rhyme or reason behind it, other than a) a girl said she thought it would look hot, and what better reason does a guy need than that; b) it would be a new experience; and c) it would at least make for a remotely interesting blog.


I made up my mind to do this on Tuesday, and I immediately started trying to schedule an appointment, the sooner the better lest I eventually come to my senses and chicken out. Fortunately (or un, depending on how this all plays out, I guess), Specialists in Hair Design not only had a professional waxer, she could fit me in on Wednesday.

The Q&A over the phone was brief and included one odd question from my would-be waxer: “Are you Italian?”

“Um, no.”

“They’re usually hairier than most men, so it costs a bit more for them.”

I immediately liked her, despite knowing she was about to inflict unspeakable pain on me.

Wednesday afternoon arrived sooner than I hoped, and after popping an Advil in advance for the expected pain, I headed off to Boston Square. I told the lady at the front desk my name and that I had a 4:30 appointment, and honestly, she looked surprised to see me. Turns out, they had a bet, with most employees thinking I wouldn’t show up. Even my waxer seemed a bit shocked that I arrived, but she quickly gathered herself and showed me to our private waxing area.

“I’m not going to lie to you: there will be some pain,” she told me.

“Well, I kind of expected that since you’re going to be ripping the hair out, roots and all.”

“It won’t be as bad as you think, though.”

“I should certainly hope not. My friends have warned me that I might lose consciousness. Actually, I hope I do. Would hurt less that way. Tell you what. If I pass out, just keep going and take off all the hair above the waist.”

She laughed. “Well, we’re not doing anything below the belt today, conscious or not.”

She explained how the whole process would work and that it would probably hurt more on my belly than my chest because “there’s more fat there.”

“OK, so it’s not enough that you’re going to make me cry by yanking my hair out? You gotta call me fat, too?”

She started to explain herself but quickly realized I was joking. Also, she realized that no matter what I said, she always had the advantage, since she had the wax and I had the hair and nerve endings.

She spooned a bit of the hot wax onto my upper chest, patted down her “ripping pad” and told me she was about to take off the first strip. I gave my blessing, bit down on the mouth guard I brought from home (I was not about to yell like Steve Carrel in The 40-Year-Old Virgin) and prepared for the worst.

I was not, however, prepared for the sound.

It sounded like Velcro, lots of it, being torn open at once. It sounded like my skin yelling at me, saying, “What have we done to deserve this?” It sounded like my hair cursing my very being, yelling as the roots left their cushy spot buried in my flesh.

“What’s your name again?” I asked my waxer.


“Right. I just wanted to make sure I was cursing the right name.”

Liz, bless her heart, said she hates hurting people, making me think she’s in the completely wrong business. I kept reassuring Liz that she wasn’t putting me in agony.


Actually, I didn’t hurt nearly as much as I thought it would. Oh, sure it stung, but eventually my skin went numb. Over and over and over again.

“How in the world do women do this when they get bikini or Brazilian waxes?” I asked Liz. “More importantly, why in the world do they do this? We’re so not worth it.” Granted, my chest is far hairier than the average vulva, but hell, I’m also guessing my chest is far less sensitive than the area surrounding the holiest of holies.

“At least women don’t have to have as much ripping,” I said.

“Actually, that’s not always the case,” Liz told me, my mind immediately wondering what kind of monstrously hairy bushes she’s seeing on a regular basis.

She quickly corrected that notion, explaining that you have to rip the hair off in the direction opposite of which it grows. “Have you ever looked at the hair around your junk?” she asked. “It grows in every direction (note, she was not referring to my specific junk hair but general genitalia). You have to do a lot of strips.”

I tried to block the thoughts of out my head, focusing instead on the shocking amount of hair that kept coming off my chest with each yank.

“That looks like a raccoon pelt,” I said of one particularly hairy batch. “Let’s save a few of those. I could make a Davy Crockett cap out of them.”

King of the wild frontier

It was now time for the one spot I had been dreading, the one location I had been warned would be overly sensitive. “Liz, nipple me.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, but one question: a friend said there’s a chance my nipple would rip clean off. Will that happen?”

“It hasn’t yet, but if yours does, can I keep it on my wall?”

“Liz, if anyone is going to have my nipple on their wall, I’d want it to be you.”

“Actually, it doesn’t hurt that bad, but it will hurt. It’s probably the most sensitive area on your chest. I can’t speak from experience, though, because I’ve never had my chest waxed.”

“I would hope not.”

She waxed, she yanked, she left my nipple attached to my body.

Tiny victories, I told myself.

The feeling was short lived.

It was at about this point my hair, particularly in the stomach region, got stubborn, refusing to come off in one nice motion. No, Liz had to yank. And again. And again. She wasn’t so much removing the hair as she was pulling it out further on the surface. I guess eventually it would come out, but damn, this hurt.

“Look, hair,” I said to my body. “I’m getting tired of your attitude. Get the hell out of there.”

That seemed to help for a bit, but Liz still encountered some trouble. To her credit, she tried making me feel better, as I laid there with three-quarters of a waxed chest.

“You look like Matthew McConaughey,” she told me.

Great. Liz is drunk.

“You’re just saying that because I have wild curly hair and a smooth chest,” I responded.

“You also have perfect teeth.”

Matthew McConaughey

Not Matthew McConaughey

Look, I know I don’t look like Matthew McConaughey, but if a waxed chest makes someone, anyone, think I remotely resemble a man once named People’s Sexiest Man Alive, I’ll not grow another hair on it as long as I live.

She moved to my belly button, coating the region with wax.

“Will this help eliminate some of the fuzz my belly button tends to store?” I asked.

“It could. But it also might cause more since there’s not hair to shield the fuzz from getting in there.”

Some of the wax dripped down into my belly button, causing Liz to tell me I’ll be trying to get that out of there for a week. I immediately apologized to any women that might have had similar experiences.

The waxing experience soon came to an end, a bit more abruptly than I would have imagined – Liz ran out of wax. I guess I was more Italian than she had anticipated at the beginning.

The good news is that she was almost finished with me, so there wasn’t much hair left.

The bad news is that the remaining hair was a one-inch strip just below my belly button. I looked like I was wearing a rabbit fur belt.

Liz told me to come back Friday (her next day of work) and she’d clean it up, but I said it would be just as easy to shave that part off. She apologized profusely, sure she had lost a potential customer, but I assured her that if anyone else is going to wax any part of my body, I’d want it to be her. After all, she left my nipples attached.

I’m still not sure if I’ll keep the smooth look. It’s different, and I like it (plus it’s getting rave reviews from the ladies who have seen it), but it’s still odd to look at. Once the tenderness goes away (and the skin irritation dies down and I resume a normal skin tone), I guess I can make a better decision.

Also, I need to wait until the feeling returns to my chest.


17 thoughts on “God, you’re so smooth

  1. if you’re taking a poll, i vote for the before shot. i know most women prefer it when a guy pays attention to his body hair, chest and other regions, but i’ll take unkempt hair over manscaping anyday.

    of course, i’m also a woman that is totally grossed out by matthew mcconaughey. he is an all new level of dirty. so i may not be your target demographic.

  2. I think I’m most concerned by the fact that your chest seems to be glowing in both the before and after shots.

    Are you E.T.?

  3. Now you HAVE to wear sunscreen.

    Vodka will take the sting out next time-you don’t drink it, just rub it in. Seriously…that’s what the tiny Asian lady on the other end of town suggested I do after my wax-and it wasn’t my chest….

    “ah yoo godda rudda da vokka aww over dher, it tayka sting oudda bum”-direct quote.

    And you’ll never get any work done now. 🙂

  4. Jojoba oil and almond oil work, too (both available at Good Foods). And, for the record, I think leg waxes are more painful than Brazilians. The shins are the WORST.

    Oh, and did she mention that the virgin wax is the most painful? The more waxes you get, the less pain you have, for some reason. I think it’s because some of the hair never grows back 🙂

    I vote for the after picture!

  5. I’m voting for the before shot. Men are SUPPOSED to be furry. Thirteen year old boys have hairless chests, not men.

    And as a survivor/victim of body waxing (and the author of an obligatory blog which you totally jacked the idea for), I salute you! It’s not fun for you, but well worth the blog for us!

  6. In the nicest way… what are you doing? I am willing to bet that you experience the misery that is ingrown hair on your chest now, as well as the occasional (or not so occasional) whitehead produced by all of the crap that was just yanked through the tiny holes in your skin. I will admit that your chest looks more defined waxed, but any person worth loving will love you with your chest hair.

    Plus, it will itch growing back in. Men get screwed by that.

    Brazilians are for the totally awesome sex, by the way. And waxing does hurt less the more you do it, should you decide to maintain the look and feel of prepubescence…

  7. So, I calmly check the blogs, see a new one from Kevin, and decide to read it.

    Now I feel like a girl after prom: Bewildered, upset, and a little frightened.

  8. Holy shit….it’s come to this.

    I got one word for you: Intervention.

    I can’t even talk. I HAVE to write Cory immediately about this.

    Someone needs to be with you right now. For your own health and safety.

  9. I’ve nailed down the feeling this gives me:

    It’s like I just walked in on my mom shooting heroin with a transexual…dirty, confused.

    Are you okay, really?

  10. After much thought and reflection, I am really loving the Mailbu Ken look you got going on.

    I have never had so much fodder for laughter and snarky emails before!

    (Kevin don’t read the next part of this message)
    Psst…hey, everyone…try to get the hottest girl you know to tell Kevin she’s really into anal piercing. It will end up, like, the best blog EVER.

  11. Pingback: Burning questions about the chest « So … there I was

  12. This post is very entertaining but I see that you aren’t using the
    full monetizing potential of your blog. You can earn pretty good promoting products related to health and beauty
    niche, don’t waste your traffic, just search in google:

    Polym’s earning ideas

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