Why I’d rather get punched in the testicles than use an epilator

Posted on 21-03-2011

A majority of gay men love to groom. And by grooming I of course also mean shaving. And by shaving I don’t just mean your face.

I do have a penchant for shaving things other than my face (you’re welcome for the imagery), and at one point when I was 15 I decided to give my legs a go. Now my first attempt was rather shoddy, with me slathering Nair onto my legs like I was icing a fucking cake. After standing with my feet apart for about half an hour in the bathroom, I washed away the revolting stuff to reveal smooth (and slightly singed) legs. Of course I donned pajama bottoms at home to avoid my mum asking me why my bottom half suddenly looked like a Miss World contestant, but the feeling of silky-smooth legs was fabulous. After a few weeks when I could feel my legs again, I decided to try good old fashioned shaving instead of slapping on the Dream Whip again. So, armed with a razor and squatting in a tub of soapy water, I glided the razor effortlessly over my skin until my silky-smooth legs emerged once again. Though I must admit it wasn’t too great to sit there marinating in soap bubbles and discarded hair.

Here of course, is where the story gets really hilarious. With my passion for silky legs now firmly engraved in my head, I came across a wonderful device known as the epilator. I picked up a box from a store and looked it over, carefully reading what the device did and how it worked, while at the same time looking at the photo of the woman on box who was sporting a confident smile and caressing her alarmingly long legs. Her smile screamed at me “BUY THIS PRODUCT YOU HAIRY FUCK! IT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE!” So with that advice in mind, I forked out the whopping AED 160 for the thing, and headed home to try out my new toy.

For the uninitiated, an epilator works by ‘squeezing’ the area near the base of a hair follicle, while two mini discs reach down and pluck out the hair. While this may sound efficient, the sensation can be likened to dragging a garden rake across your body and then bathing in salt water. The first few hairs that were plucked out gave me a little tingling sensation, but as I kept on going the sensation built up to an all-out scream of agony. It was like having a million ants nibbling away at your skin, equipped with flamethrowers.  After doing just one area of my leg, the entire area had turned red and was throbbing in pain. I re-read the instructions to check if I was doing something wrong, only to be advised that ‘some minor redness may occur’. MINOR REDNESS MY ARSE.

My fetish for hair-free legs has long since passed, but I’m amused when I look at adverts for epilators. Some have a special ‘ice pack’ addon that reduces redness, some can pluck a hair smaller than a grain of sand, but I’ve happily moved past all of that. If I need hair removed from anywhere, it’s either shave, wax, or burn the fucking thing off with a laser.


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