Waxing Through the Weird Phases of Life

When I was younger, having electrolysis to keep things tidy and from peeping out of your bikini bottoms was considered cutting edge. Over time, the Brazilian wax evolved and somehow became… normal? I’d honestly love to know what went on in that first brainstorming meeting:

“We need something that brings in steady income. Something bold. Something that plays into a woman’s vanity and might even pique a man’s interest…”

“Ooh, how about we offer Brazilian waxes? They’ll need regular maintenance and word will spread.”

Well, hats off to them, because that idea took off. Now it seems waxing is just expected among younger generations.

But what about us?
The mid-to-late, not-quite-senior-citizen crowd?

A couple of years ago, my gynecologist suggested I get a Brazilian wax to help with some skin issues I’d started experiencing after my hysterectomy.

I was immediately curious… and mildly horrified.

Curious, because I had never considered that waxing might be connected to medical care. Horrified, because I couldn’t imagine how tearing hair out by the roots could possibly help anything. Was my gynecologist confused? Was this some weird, veiled suggestion that she had a personal kink I didn’t want to know about?

Then the real question hit me: Was I the only one not waxing?!

Maybe I was the odd one. Maybe all the other women my age had been waxing for years, and I was just over here like a woolly mammoth in a world of sleek, hairless dolphins.

I decided I needed answers—but how do you casually ask someone, “Hey, do you wax your private parts?”

Spoiler: you don’t.

Still, I tried to be discreet. I asked a few close friends and my sisters, all with varying degrees of awkward phrasing. Eventually, one sister and one brave friend confessed. Both said the first wax was excruciating… but worth it.

As luck would have it, I had a regular appointment with my PCP around the same time. So, I asked her too.

She was all in. She thought Brazilian waxing was a great idea. (At this point, I was starting to think all three of these women might be nuts.)

Still, a few more weeks passed. I finally got brave enough to schedule the appointment — a few weeks out, just far enough that I could spend more time researching. Under the covers, in the dead of night, I Googled every article I could find. The reviews were… mixed, but everyone seemed to survive.

I also decided to give my husband a heads-up, so he wouldn’t be shocked by the transformation.

---

The day of the appointment arrived. I slowly walked into the waxing center like a kid dragging their heels on the way to the Principal’s office, gave my name, and was shown to a room. The esthetician gave me a quick rundown and was ready to start.

I was not.
I had questions.

Most importantly:
“Am I the oldest person you’ve ever waxed?”
Closely followed by:
“What are the odds my skin will tear and I’ll end up with some horrific infection?”

She assured me I was nowhere near the oldest and that the odds of tearing were practically nonexistent.

So, I took a deep breath… and let the waxing begin.

It wasn’t quite as painful as childbirth, but it was definitely no spa day. And let’s just say, the results were… startling. Think: plucked chicken.

That was years ago, and I’m not saying whether I’ve waxed since. But just knowing I went through with it once? Somehow makes me feel a little braver. And, weirdly, a little cooler.

---

Let’s Talk About It…

So, have you ever dared to go full Brazilian? Or are you firmly in the “nope, not for me” camp? Either way, I’d love to hear your thoughts! Scroll down and leave a comment — don’t leave me hanging with my plucked chicken story all alone. 🐔😄

Follow My Midlife Mayhem

If you enjoyed this post, you’ll love what’s coming. I’m just getting started sharing all the weird, wild, and wonderful phases of life. Until my email list is up and running, the best way to stay connected is to:

• Bookmark feathersandphases.com so you don’t miss new posts
• Follow me on Instagram (coming soon!)
• Or just drop a comment and say hi!

Thanks for reading — and remember, age doesn’t mean boring… sometimes, it means braver. 💜