Moroccan Oil, Intense Curl Cream, $22, Amazon.com.
Now, aside from my mother, I believe the only other readers of Fashionigma are my beaus past and present. One of whom said he intended to keep up with Fashionigma, even after we went our separate ways, so as to improve his English… I regretted to inform my former darling that by reading Fashionigma, and consequently learning five different ways to say vagina, wouldn’t do him much good when conversing with anyone other than sick individuals like myself…
On my first marathon of a date with this same man, beginning with a couples massage at a spa in SoHo, lunch at Peels on Bowery, an afternoon of sangria and live jazz at the Frying Pan on the Hudson, which came to an elegant end with a belly full of Cabernet and hand-cut pasta in one of those ever-so-cozy date-spots in Williamsburg, he decreed in PERFECT English, “I love women. You have so much power. You control the world." While many with whom I have shared a meal or two with would scoff at such an utterance as a fine addition to any feminist manifesto, the statement begs for more thoughtful consideration. As a sex, do women have more power than we realize?
“If you’re asking me who ‘won’ I’d have to say they did. I mean, they got to sleep with me." If you think a vageen-bearing individual said the previous statement you’d be dead wrong. For it seems that power is in the eye of the beholder. "If he’s already been with you and continues to pursue you, he likes you. You’re in control ‘cause he wants dat ass again. Power of the Pussy." While I adore my male-friends and their ever-colorful use of the English language, they often provide me with a point-of-view that my female-friends would rarely, if ever consider.
However, one topic in particular, that has eluded my male-friends, both domestic and abroad, is that of MANSCAPING. “Do you mind if we go full-seventies? Maybe a trim? Or just bic it?” In my humble opinion, reinforced by data collected by me in a VERY unscientific survey of females of the Tri-State area, there is absolutely nothing more unsettling than finding the man you’re with to be completely hairless. A seal, fresh outta water, from top to toe? SKEEVES. One would think that because men shave their faces on a regular basis they would find a proper technique for maintaining their anatomy. In-grown hairs, razor burns – gentlemen, you’re better than this! Besides, survey says that women would rather a MAN, blessed with tangled wisps of curly chest-hair, than a two-days post-shave prickly individual.
Though, as a Jewess, raised to fear the summer fight against the frizz, I sympathize for my male-friends with truly unruly follicles. One that stands out has his Wifi network named, “MyBackHair,” password, “IsDisgusting.” Yet he embraces his god-given gift, and on a nightly basis douses his chest-hair with some truly delicious smelling YSL. “Hair retains scent better, and lemme tell ya, the ladies notice…” So, friends, penis-bearing, and with and without a Greencard, I embrace my newfound female empowerment and advise you to nick the bic! Either invest in a buzzer, or channel your inner Bradley Cooper a la American Hustle. When it’s Oscar-nominated, can you really knock the flow?