Today whilst at the beautician’s having hot wax poured onto sensitive parts of my anatomy and then having the body hair on said parts ripped out by the roots, the beautician made a statement that I have heard before and always found curious:
“You don’t do this for other people, you do it for yourself.”
Ummm…no, I don’t. I do it so that I don’t have the other mums gossiping about me behind their hands about “that strange woman who doesn’t shave her legs”. I do it because I’m insecure. I do it because my culture expects me to. I had my eyebrows tinted today because the beautician suggested it, and I wanted to make her happy (now I realise that the global happiness quotient would have been better increased by using the twenty dollars I spent having a few centimetres of hair on my face coloured and plucked to look “right”…oh, in just about any way other than that).
I most certainly do not do it “for myself”. If I woke up tomorrow to discover that I was the only person left on the planet, you can be well assured that the first thing to go would my waxing regime, followed by my make-up, my hair dye and my Big Girl’s Panties.
My high heels would stay. But I wouldn’t wear the things; I’d comb Melbourne’s deserted shoe shops in search of all the beautiful shoes and build a massive monument to Heels As An Art Form.
But I digress…
The idea that women spend money on bikini waxes and botox, plastic surgery and push-up bras, cosmetics and crazy diets “for themselves” must have been dreamed up by some evil (male) marketing genius. But oh boy, don’t we women love to perpetuate the myth.