I’m not one to buy every product that I see on TV. Mostly because I don’t have enough money to even buy my necessities (daily wine, sunflower seeds, every new magazine that I see at 7/11, at least 4 Walmart bin movies a week.)
This being said, I would probably sell my DVD collection my kidney, if I knew it would get me a sure fire way to remove my unwanted facial hair. I seriously wouldn’t be surprised if I found out my real father is Eugene Levy, it’s that bad. And that’s just the upper part of my face. If I were to avoid my daily maintenance, I could beat out Daniel Day Lewis in a mustache growing competition.
I won’t even go into the details of the lowest region of my face. Lets just say there are days when I could walk into a circus sideshow, and get offered money to stay there forever.
It’s really not as bad as it sounds. When you’ve been plucking your eyebrows and been a Nair burn victim since the age of ten, the act of dealing with your hair becomes almost as routine as a daily shower. Some of my most vivid childhood memories include my mom holding me down and plucking my eyebrows, the mixture of her morning breath and the pain causing me to shout out expletives. I know now that she was just trying to save me from becoming the leper of my school. You learn to keep a pair of tweezers in your purse as well as one in your glove box. You make weekly trips to CVS for women facial shavers, for emergency use only. When ever asked about said razors, you don’t even have to think about lying before you automatically tell people that they are specifically made for your feet. Then you realize having toe hair is no better than having a misstache. Your body has grown an innate radar, that drives you straight to the closest nail salon for a quick wax when your wallet says its ok. And like clockwork, the first thing you do when you get in your car to go out in public, is pull down your mirror and turn your face to every angle in the sunlight to ensure there are no sun hairs.
As you can imagine, I have spent money on countless products, marketed at women just like me. They all spout their empty promises that I’ll never again be called Sasquatch or asked if I have a hormonal problem.
I recently made yet another purchase that caused extreme buyer’s remorse. And as a hairy woman, I feel that it is my duty to warn all the hairy ladies (and gay men) of the world of yet another product that fed me lies. I’m sure by now you’ve seen the commercials for Smooth Away.
I really should known the first time I saw a smooth away infomercial that those women were stirring up a huge crock of shit. First off ,I know by now that anything that has ever been remotely affective is NEVER painless and easy. Plus $20 is way too little to pay for something that needs to be as affective as a weed whacker. Nevertheless, I did not hesitate to put down the twenty dollar face wash I was holding in the CVS aisle, in lieu of my very own set of TWO Smooth Away hair removal pads.
On my way home I was giddy imagining my new hairless face. I grew excited thinking that in the very near future I could look in the mirror without recalling Bert and Ernie. I might go visit my Asian nail friends down the street just so that, for once; I wouldn’t have them above me cry out “ohhhh you’re hewwwey” before giggling and going back into her native language to tell her friend that they need to put a “no pets aloud” sign on the door.
As I poised in front of my mirror,I thought “This is gonna be like the difference between the George Clooney in “Oh Brother Where Art Thou,” and the George Clooney in “One Fine Day.”
After prying the plastic open with my teeth I started reading the directions. It all sounded easy enough. I got a little nervous that it said for “best results the hair should be no more than 1/4 inch long.” Oh well, so it won’t work on my legs. My face is my main concern anyway. After two attempts I was finally able to stick the applicator pad on the applicator without wrinkles. This had to be perfect. But I couldn’t help thinking that the pad looked awfully similar to the sand paper I use for my decoupage “art.”
Well now let’s skip ahead after thirty minutes of rubbing circles on my face. I quickly found that whomever had created the product, filmed the commercials, and written the instructions, had either never actually used the product, or are all currently running around with fire in their britches, and I don’t mean herpes. Though I do wish a bad case of mouth herpes on anyone employed by smooth away. Heed my warning, If it looks like sandpaper, it most likely works like sandpaper. The exfoliating hair removal pad had left me with a baby-powder-like layer of skin on my face. And I still looked more closely related to a gorilla than a lady. Also, it wasn’t easy or painless. I had to put quite an effort into removing all my skin.
I hope you take my advice and, at least for the time-being, stick with your facial razors and tweezers. I’ll keep you updated on how my next attempt at hair removal goes, when I order Finally Free.