Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a stroppy Gordon Ramsey-esque critic who makes beauty therapists quake in their soft-soled shoes. And I’m not a diva who simply mustn’t have her skin cleansed with anything but room temperature Evian thrice-blessed by Nepalese monks. Or anything overly-finicky like that.
But there are some simple things I expect at any beauty parlour, which is why I’m still peeved about the wax I had on the weekend…
All I wanted was a quick brow tidy. Nothing too sculptural or fiddly – just maintenance. So I slipped into the new salon nearby.
And it was fine at first. The welcoming therapist had groomed, glossy brows of her own (I check them like a brow technician’s CV), but a faint alarm trilled the second I stepped into the treatment room. It was dim, in that meditative-for-a-massage type of way. But surely she’ll spotlight the super fine strands of my eyebrows before messing with my arches, I assured myself. Surely she wouldn’t wax without light?
But she did.
As she then gently plucked in the half-light, I half-panicked. They’re not even illuminating tweezers! Can she see anything? Isn’t she going to tweeze the rogue hairs above my brow too? Every beauty buff knows the ‘rule’ not to tweeze topside is a myth!
Still silent as she swept a thick soothing cream above my eyes, without removing wax residue or excess oil first, I could all but feel the post-wax pimples brewing. Then I left.
By the time I was tweezing the spots she missed at home, I was cranky. And I still am – at myself. I know what to expect and what my spot-prone skin needs, and I should have politely made sure I got it.
Or piped up and opted out when worried: Is that the light you’re waxing in? Thanks, but I think I left my straightening iron on…