16 September - Waxing lyrical

I paid a visit to Berlin's Museum for Photography (Museum für Fotografie), earlier this week. Though the top floor contained a reasonably interesting collection of works by photojournalist Abisag Tüllmann, the majority of punters were heading straight to the Helmut Newton display, located on the ground and first floors. If you're currently thinking 'I know that name, but, I'm not sure I know his work...', let me jog your memory. Think naked chicks. Now think of really big boobs. Now think of bondage. Now think of naked chick with big boobs tied to the bed. You likely won't remember her face, because, chances are it's hidden or been cut off. Please don't worry, this post isn't going to be a rehashing of my paper from Gender Studies 101 on 'why it's bad to objectify women for commodification and call it high art'. The fact is, I love Helmut Newton's photographs, but, unlike other forms of art I've experienced, his images left me a little cold. There's something about seeing perfection en masse that made me rather bored. So much so, that the most intellectual thought imprinted on my memory was; 'geeze, I really should get onto that bikini wax this week'.

And, so we come to the point. The German bikini wax experience. As mentioned, after viewing hundreds of images of naked women this week, the 'upkeep' of my own body has been on my mind. So, when I stumbled across 'Queen of Waxing', I thought it was time to take the plunge. The plunge was quite literal as I had to walk down a set of stairs to a basement counter. All the while I'm trying to desperately think of the German word for bikini and wondering if one should address the waxer with the formal 'Sie' or informal 'du'. Then I arrived at the counter - to be greeted by a man. Oh shit. Now, I know that the Germans are much more laid back about nudity than most other nationalities, but, there was no chance I was having my pubic hair removed by a man. In my panic I was stuttering a combination of English and German; 'wax', 'Frau only!', 'kein Brazilian'. Luckily, soon after this hysterical performance, a woman came out from the back room. She oddly shook my hand, and introduced herself as Angelika.

So, most women (and quite a few men) would know there are various types of bikini shapes available. Thankfully, I was saved from having to resort to pantomime when Angelika presented me with a helpful chart showing various styles to choose from. I resisted the heart shape and indicated something resembling my regular order. Up on the bench I got. It's a strange relationship a girl has with her bikini waxer. For example, back in Melbourne, I know that Vanessa (her actual name), lives in Thomastown, is married and has a two year old son. Small talk is what maintains the waxer/client relationship. Since I'd just come from week two of German classes, I was proficient in small talk. But somehow, telling my German waxer that 'mein Bruder ist 41 Jahre alt' (my brother is 41 years old), just seemed inappropriate. Instead, I was left wishing I'd learnt German for 'that wax is like molten lava, please be careful where you're putting it'.

Turns out I didn't need to learn any such phrases because Angelika was very gentle and professional. She even gave me a fruit mentos sweet afterwards - she'd obviously been impressed by my Australian stoicism.

Oh, and Newton's photographs really only influenced me in the bikini wax department. I'm not planning a boob job any time soon. Though, I did learn how to say boobs in German today...