Girls, I did it.

It all started one day in December.  I was in the middle of explaining to three girlfriends how dealing with my beautician makes me pull my hair out, but like, literally.  How she was talking too much telling me she wasn’t feeling well, and that she didn’t like the Chanel show, which really, that’s enough in it of itself to compromise the foundation of our relationship.  You don’t diss the Chanel show.

And then I look up and right there in front of me, three astonished faces, six eyes wide-open and three gaping mouths.

“Wait wait wait Garance… Garance?  Wait but Garance but but but Garance Garance Garance…”


“You haven’t yet?” a slight iciness in her voice.

“Wait, what?”

“Gotten lasered! No no no no no.  You haven’t gotten lasered yet?”

“Bah no!  Why, did you yourself or something?”

“Bah ouais, bien sûr!”

I turn toward Marie, “Wait, you had it done Marie?”

“Bah ouais!  This way I’m always at my best.  And now there is no reason to say no to going back home with a guy.  Such a tragedy.  My life since : devil may care.  You want me to tell you about my devil-may-care lifestyle?”

Okay, maybe not on here.  But no worries, just in case, I’m not using your real name.  And Laeti, save me here.  Tell me you didn’t do it too?

“Oh yes I did!  Bien sûr.  What do you take me for?  Smooth as a baby’s bottom all day every day.”

Merde.  But this isn’t happening.  I got an appointment straight-away with my dear dermo and a few days later, I’m wearing some pink panties with bows on them, some protective sunglasses very Margielaesque, or almost at least, pink ones sitting right atop my nose.

“Those have to be Fifi Chachnil!!!” my beautician says to me pointing a laser at my crotch.

“H&M” I say back with a sly chuckle.

Three minutes after we started, we’re doing fine.  I decide to go all out, floor to ceiling.  Star Wars me, voilà.  This summer, I am going to be imputrescibly perfect.  And then I’ll show my beautician saying that this’ll teach you to mess with Chanel… between two wax bandages.  No wait.  Oh.

A little while later, partially hair-free (these things take time, you know) and very proud to be so, I grab a drink with three different girlfriends.

“Oh but seriously no no no, these girls, these girls are crazy with their plastic surgery.  It’s so dumb!  Collagen is like a game for these girls, just look at Isabelle Adjani.  And on top of that, no one knows the long term health effects!  I heard that Botox gets in and messes up your brain… paralyzes the neurons or something.”

Ah ouais, it’s so dumb!  These girls are CRAZY!” I say.

“No but it’s like this thing they’re calling esthetic medicine.  It’s some crazy shit.  A little scalpel here, some lasering there…  It surgery and that’s that.”

“Yeah.  Definitely.  I mean surgery? More like buffoonery,” I toss in, very funny.

“Hey but listen, laser hair removal, everyone says it’s fantastic, but I hear it’s incredibly dangerous.  It’s like drinking radioactive waste, it’s just begging for cancer.

“Ah ouaaaaaais.  It’s SO SO SO SO DUMB!”  as I turn into a puddle on the ground.

And there you have it.  I am partially hair-free. And I dunno why, but I decided to stop right there.  In the end, My beautician gets the last laugh.

Translation : Tim Padraic Sullivan