By: Terry Barga

If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like for a man to get waxed, look no further than Waxing The City in Brentwood, Tennessee. I decided to take the plunge and document the experience for the benefit (and amusement) of all mankind. Spoiler alert: it was a hair-raising adventure.

The journey began with a simple, seemingly harmless suggestion from my wife. “Why don’t you get waxed?” she said calmly as if suggesting I try a new flavor of ice cream. “It’s smooth and clean; you’ll love it!” she insisted. I was dubious. The idea of voluntarily subjecting myself to what I imagined was akin to medieval torture didn’t sit well. But I agreed in the name of journalism and a good laugh. After all, how bad could it be?

Walking into Waxing The City, I was greeted by the friendly staff, who all had an air of calm that I found reassuring and slightly suspicious. The waiting room was serene, filled with magazines, soft music, and the scent of lavender. My heart rate, however, was not so peaceful. It was pounding out a rhythm akin to a techno dance track.

After a brief consultation, I bravely (or foolishly) decided to go for the nose hair wax. I was led to a cozy room adorned with soft lighting and soothing décor. My waxing specialist, Kay, was the epitome of professionalism. She explained the process, told me to take deep breaths, and assured me it would be over before I knew it. Easy for her to say.

As I lay on the table, feeling defenseless & vulnerable, Kay applied the warm wax to my nostril. “This isn’t so bad,” I thought, feeling a wave of relaxation. Then came the first strip. RIP! My relaxation flew out the window as I stifled a yelp. Kay, ever the professional, gave me a sympathetic smile and told me I was doing great. I began to suspect she moonlighted as a dominatrix.

When the second strip was pulled and the ordeal was over, I felt a surprising sense of accomplishment. Sure, my nostrils were on fire, and I was pretty sure I had left fingernail marks on Kay’s table, but I had survived. And my nose was forever grateful. I strutted out of Waxing The City with a new appreciation for the phrase “beauty is pain.”

Would I do it again? Let’s say I’ll keep going if that’s what the wife wants! If you’re in Brentwood and feeling adventurous or just want to see what all the fuss is about, give Waxing The City a try. Remember to bring a sense of humor—and maybe a stress ball.

Getting waxed as a man is a humbling, hilarious, and somewhat harrowing experience. At least now I know why my wife always emerges from her waxing appointments with such a satisfied smile.