Unless you're some sort of masochist I very much doubt anyone in the history of the earth has looked forward to having their legs waxed. However, from past experience, I'm in the fortunate position of being able to say that it's never been a wholly unpleasant experience: until I went to Guy Fawkes.
Everything started off well; the beautician who greeted me was able to see me an hour earlier than my booked appointment which was handy, but maybe it was at this point that alarms bells should have rung. On their website, they describe the gruesome act using relaxing, holistic terms like "aromatherapy oils" and "pink cream wax" which I took to mean that at least there'd be a concerted effort to make you feel comfortable. This wasn't the case - the beautician who saw me had a job to do, and no idle chit chat or relaxing malarkey was going to get in her way.
After lying down in the brightly lit room the girl started ripping off the wax like her life depended on it. Don't get me wrong she seemed perfectly nice, and I'm sure if I met outside what I now call the torture chamber we'd probably get along. But as she relentlessly waxed and plucked at my tender skin I couldn't help but think we'd never be friends. read more