What is it that made full grown women, not to mention some men, decide to remove from their bodies, and especially (for the purposes of this Blog), from the intimate pleasure zones, each and every hair that nature had put there by design? Let's dive into the how and why of it all.
It all started with those bronzed Brazilian goddesses strutting Rio’s beaches in the ’70s and ’80s, rocking thong bikinis so tiny they made dental floss look bulky. Back then, a thong was less a garment and more a suggestion—a narrow strip of fabric bravely bridging the wild jungle below, with untamed bush spilling out like a bad ’80s perm. Not exactly a look that screamed “sexy.” So, these beach babes decided deforestation was the way to go, trading the Amazonian vibe for a sleek, teasing landing strip. And thus, the Brazilian wax was born—a global trend sparked by the need to tame the beast for a bikini that barely qualified as clothing.
Fast forward to 1994, when seven Brazilian sisters—the J Sisters—landed in New York, armed with nail polish and a dream. They set up shop near Times Square, painting talons by day and plotting a hairy revolution by night. Soon, they saw the light (and the pubes) and pivoted to waxing, yanking the short-and-curlies off Big Apple babes with capitalist gusto. The world followed suit, and the waxing industry hasn’t looked up since—just down, at the nether regions of millions. A legacy was born, one rip at a time.
But let’s rewind further, because humans have been obsessed with hairlessness since forever. Back in 1940, Nair hit the scene, letting folks secretly zap leg fuzz—and, let’s be real, creep higher when no one was looking. Go back even more, to 500 BC, and you’ve got men and women scraping hair off with bones, flint, and eventually steel, though the genital zone was mostly spared (thank the gods). Vanity’s always been the driver—smooth skin equals beauty, apparently. Allurebodybar.com tells us waxing dates back to 3000 BCE Mesopotamia, with Egyptians perfecting it by 60 BC using “sugaring”—a sticky mix of oil, honey, and sugar. Sounds delicious, until you realize it’s for ripping hair out, not spreading on toast.
Today, in 2025, waxing pumps a cool $140 million into Australia’s economy yearly. Not bad for a pastime that involves hot goo and screaming.
Now, I didn’t even know women grew hair “down there” until I was 15, living in Singapore. Picture me on a bus, gawking as gorgeous locals reached for the overhead straps, revealing little tufts of powdered black armpit hair. My teenage brain short-circuited—another fantasy for the hormone-fueled highlight reel. Turns out, it’s all about confidence, feeling sexy, and a dash of self-esteem. No, ladies aren’t waxing to look like prepubescent girls (usually), and no, guys who dig a bald “Tasmanian region” aren’t chasing youth—it’s more a personal intimate gift from her to him (or vice versa). She might have been waxed but everything about her otherwise is of an adult sexually mature partner.
And let’s talk perks: no more awkward fumbling or mood-killing moments when a rogue pube lodges in your new veneers during, ahem, intimate explorations. For the sex industry, it’s a menu option—waxed or au naturel, just ask at the counter. Not every gal wants to shell out cash and endure the occasional blood-curdling yelp for a look that fades faster than a cheap spray tan.
Here’s a wild thought: what happens to all that wax-trapped hair? Could it be recycled? I’m picturing a Fijian village post-storm, rethatching huts with bales of discarded pubes. If it’s from older ladies, you might even get 50 shades of grey for the chief’s deluxe bungalow. Sustainable? Maybe. Gross? Definitely.
Truth is, not everybody—or “every body”—is cut out for the full wax. Take me, for instance. My grief counsellor’s still helping me recover from Borat’s lime-green mankini moment—you know, the Kazakhstan Ambassador with the sister who’s the nation’s fourth-best prostitute? Handsome guy, sure, but that arse-floss look was a war crime against retinas everywhere. Thongs and waxing? Not for all of us, and that’s okay.
So here we are, in a world where grown-ups pay to have their privates stripped bare, all because some Brazilian beach babes couldn’t handle a little overflow. It’s vain, it’s painful, it’s pricey—and honestly, it’s pretty damn funny. Hair today, gone tomorrow, right?
Author: Magnum
For: Langtrees.com
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