Back, Sack or Crack?
A gorgeous, recently divorced, friend of mine told me, “I’ve been off the market for ten years. Back when I was dating, it seemed that most men, and many women, went natural down there. Now, I’m amazed … it seems like everyone just prefers nothing at all.” I took a sip of my Pimm’s Cup and said, “Everybody’s watching way too much porn.” She grinned, revealing perfect Spanish teeth, and continued, “I went to get waxed, and the women left a little tiny strip … but, when I looked down, it reminded me of Hitler … so I had her take it all off.”
Clearly, Nazi Germany is not the reaction most of us seek when tidying up our naughty bits.
A friend/collector of mine owns Lonni’s Punani, a renowned waxing salon in San Francisco (no, I’m NOT making this up. Her menu is above). Lonni boasts a large clientele of both men and women. When she opened her studio, she asked to borrow a few pieces to hang in the space, including this one:
NOW, Every Bit Of It, acrylic on canvas, 40″x30″, Stuart Sheldon
Notice the detail:
NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW
To return the favor, she offered me any service I wanted, any time. I didn’t act on her offer for years, then one day, for kicks, I decided to check it out. She told me, for men, the most popular services were “back, sack & crack.” I have no hair on my back … and no thanks on the sack. That left crack. On the menu, it reads aptly, “Just the Bum.”
“Spread em,” Lonni requested, as she prepared dollops of hot wax with some kind of spatula. I obeyed (masking humiliation) and, moments later, for the very first time since Carter was president, my bottom was smooth as river stones.
The sensation resembled that almost minty tingle a man gets on his cheeks after applying aftershave. Only, this was not really the cheeks, if you know what I mean. I kind of dug it.
Since leaving the Bay Area, my waxing days have waned. However, I do mow the front lawn from time to time.
My wife likes to regularly point out my grooming needs. For example, I consider bushy out-of-control eyebrows to be a sign of erudition and character. But, where I see wisdom and wit, she sees only a filthy Andy Rooney.
So … off come the errant brows from time to time.
Picture this, ladies. You’re at a bar enjoying a much-deserved cold beverage after a long day, when a handsome gent sits down next to you and orders a Jack and Coke. You are not there to meet anyone, just to indulge a moment of solitude … but you’re open to meeting a handsome stranger, if only for the conversation. The gent looks over at you and gives a friendly smile, not leering, not intruding … just acknowledging that you are neighbors for the moment. You smile back … and brush a loose strand of hair from your face.
Then, as you glance down demurely, you notice his fingernails. Dirty, long, ragged, a bit pointy, clearly, disregarded. What does that do to the vibe?
Just like an untamed bush, it’s amazing how much a few bits of keratin reveal about a person. At best, long nails on a guy scream sketchy, lazy, dirty, clueless. At worst … grifter, cocaine, kidnap. Basically, unless you’re Jimmy Page or some other badass stringed instrument virtuoso, the long fingernail rule for men is simple – DON’T.
Nails, brows, ear hair … all you men out there … clearly, it makes sense to tidy up the parts of our bodies we share with the world AND the parts we share with our romantic VIPs.
They don’t call us the GROOM for nothing.
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