Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Further Proof that it is 1954 again, but with a twist

In my morning leafing through the paper, as it were, which really is a finger gliding exercise through my favorite blogs for news, I found futher evidence that, as my dear friend Gwendolyn said, we have have all been taken in the way back machine to the fifties. Twisty, everyone's favorite raging feminist, had her newest entry on shoes. Sunday's Chronicle actually saw fit to research and print an article on pubic shaving and the extras one can opt for such as dying and applying rhinestones to one's vulva, just in time for valentine's day. A long time waxer actually said that all of this bizarre preening was another example of "women excelling and doing as they please".

Oh really? Stripping hair and looking like overgrown prepubescent girls is something we long for without any prompting from the state of the union? I think not. A much beloved client of mine told the story of her waxer telling she was going to take extra care to remove every little hair since, well the doctor was going to be "down there" and it should be "extra neat". Excuse me? Did my client ask for the extra service, no. Did she pay for it, yes. Many articles state that it is women getting other women to try it saying that men don't care.

It also has been said that the increased popularity of the thong has driven requests for hair removal since obivously no one wants hair sticking out around that strip of gauze masquerading as underwear. Eww. Right? The popularity of the thong is a whole separate but related issue. It seems to me that in interesting turn of events that items and habit of strippers are now the providence of the average Jane. G-string, the predecessor of the thong, was the required uniform of strippers, being sold only in darkly lit sex shops back in the day, with the occasional outing being the candified version sold for wedding shower gifts. Somewhere in there it was decided, decreed even that at the very least trimming of the hairs made for a better aesthetic. I'm thinking since it was the men viewing and paying for the visual they had something to do with the wielding of scissors to tender parts.

In our quest of ever more, the urge to push the edge further, came the thong leaving the g-string in it's wake. Oh sure there are discussions about how much better and less visible the panty line is, but if one wasn't wearing pants that essentially had been sprayed on, who would notice the panty line. If there is a visible panty line it says that there is another layer separating the man from his conquest. Yes I realize that I am sounding like a raging lesbian separatist, which I am most staunchly not, but I am merely putting down what goes on in some minds. We have a culture that is focused on possession, on the concept of the trophy wife, that is youth obsessed. The thong is so frail, a gossamer of fabric that the item doesn't even need to be removed for intercourse to take place. If the woman is wearing high heels, well how fast can she move? (I bet you think I forget what stated this rant, ha!) The extra inches make the positioning so much easier as well. It's two for one bonus!

What was my point? Hell if I know. The idea of a cardio stripping class is as amusing as it is scary. A class that teaches women how to suffer more gracefully is painful on so many levels. I love makeup and own several pairs of f*ck me pumps which I wear with great relish on few but memorable occasions. Yes, I own quite a few pairs of thong underwear because well frankly I found it more comfortable to have a narrow strip of fabric planted in my rear, then the crinkly mass that regular underwear provided. I have not succumbed to the seductive whispering of the masses to get a brazilian wax. Would I ever do it? Maybe, just to see what it's like, maybe if The Girl Friend asked very nicely after presenting me with a lovely robin's egg blue box. I suspect whether I did it for curiousity, mine or The Girl Friend's, the nakedness would fascinate me in the softness of my skin, and horrify me that one part of me would look like I was twelve surrounded by the cellulite and sag of an over forty body.

No comments: