I had been thinking about getting laser hair removal for a while, but I avoided seeking information because I was anxious. I also dread setting up appointments on the phone. (When I noticed there was a reputable laser place that had a chat function on their website, I was a bit more game. I know I’m not the only person to find sweet relief upon discovering a chat function.) Once I had the consultation scheduled, I felt like I was trending in the right direction, but the anxiety returned once I realized I would actually have to go to the place and do the thing(s). I’d have to interact with a person. I’d have to show said person the hair I had been trying to hide for years. I’d have to make a financial commitment that I would undoubtedly feel guilty about for at least a few weeks.

I was flustered but holding it together when I arrived at the “clinic.” (They call it a clinic.) I trusted the clinic manager immediately because she had curly hair, and for some reason I find curly-haired strangers inherently honest. (At least I recognize my prejudice, okay?) I’d follow a person with curly hair anywhere. If I ever get kidnapped and/or killed, and there is a line-up situation where someone has to identify the perpetrator, and one of the individuals among the selection has curly hair, it’s that person. When the curly-haired murderer said they heard a kitten crying in a dark alleyway and needed my help saving it, I thought to myself “How could this person do anything wrong? Their hair is too fun for crime!” I trusted this monster implicitly because of their bouncy tendrils. I would not have followed the straight-haired stranger as far as I followed the curls. Please remember this and take it into consideration when you look at the suspects.

The curly-haired clinic manager (who I now feel the need to clarify is not a murderer to the best of my knowledge) gave me a short tour of the facility, which was a total of four small rooms. In one of the rooms sat what I am assuming is a million dollar laser, based on the price of the treatments, as well as the reverence each employee exhibited when they said “our laser,” like it was some sort of ancient deity with supernatural powers. They sounded like the little aliens worshipping the claw in Toy Story. The (probably) million dollar laser room had a bed with a white robe and safety glasses sitting on top, ready for the next client.

The manager handed me a laminated sheet, which displayed an outline of the human body with every zone you could get lasered highlighted in a different color. The image featured some areas I didn’t even know I had on my body, let alone had proper names, let alone had hair on them. The most disturbing fact she shared is that their most popular treatment is “The Brazilian,” which means they laser your entire crotchal region (and also your ass cheeks). Like, all of it. The whooooole thing. I think I would mourn the permanent death of my pubes, but I guess that’s just me. I also think my partner would be freaked out by a 24/7 smooth-as-glass undercarriage, but I guess that’s just him. (Sometimes it’s just important to question why nether regions that look like those of literal babies is what we, as a society, expect/aspire to. I think that after some deep reflection, you too will eventually come to the conclusion that it’s fucked up.)

ANYWAY, the manager also told me that the laser doesn’t work on peach fuzz hair. It does its best work on hair that is coarse, because it can “identify the follicles” easily. I told her I don’t have a fine hair on my body, and she enthusiastically said that the laser will “looOoOooOooove” me. Do they say this to everyone??? It wasn’t like an “Oh my god you have to meet my friend Marjorie! She would love you.” It was like a “You are clearly very hairy so the laser is going to have a good time ZAPPING YOUR FACE.” I’m still trying to parse out whether the statement was a compliment or an insult (probably neither). Bottom line is I am a woolly mammoth masquerading as a young woman. (Yes, woolly mammoth does have two L’s… I just looked it up.) On the other hand, it’s exciting that the laser could potentially do its greatest work on me, essentially making me the laser’s Mona Lisa.

During the registration process I had to use a tablet and I was so panicked that I couldn’t remember how to effectively use the shift key. I kept hitting shift, letting go, and then typing the other key. I was too anxious to remember that you actually have to HOLD DOWN the shift key in order to get the symbol you desire. Curly-haired clinic manager graciously taught me how to use the shift key, I picked my “zones for removal,” and the consultation was over before I knew it. After I used the drive home to talk myself out of an anxiety spiral, I felt good about what I had achieved. I was doing something for myself, I was proud I could afford to do it, and I knew I would feel more confident after the hair was permanently gone.

I returned to the clinic a few weeks later for my first treatment. As soon as I walked through the door, the girl seated at the front desk said “Are you excited?!”

I replied with “Yeah! I am excited actually.” And this, reader, was a dumb fucking thing to say. I was completely unaware of what was to come.

Anyone who tells you that laser hair removal is “virtually pain-free” is a goddamn liar, or is a blonde girl named Katie who has ridiculously fine hair that never even needs to be shaved because it is invisible to the human eye. Katie’s like “Oh my god I haven’t shaved my legs in months,” but she is still wearing a denim skirt, and you look down to find her legs resemble the skin of a naked mole rat or sphynx kitten.

Laser hair removal is fucking painful (aka full-of-pain, aka not pain-free.) During my consultation, I watched a video of a woman getting her armpit hair removed and this asshole didn’t even flinch (a total Katie). My appointment, on the other hand, was full of flinching because 1) I have a very low pain tolerance and am sensitive in every way, and 2) my hair is coarse and thick (unlike Katie’s). It is no joke that you can smell the hair burning. And you can undoubtedly feel the laser being shot right into your fucking face.

The nurse who lasered me is an angel. (Is it actually “lasered me”? Lased me? Is this like a tasered versus tased situation? No clue.) She spends her time zapping people’s coochies like it’s no big deal. People throw the term “hero” around pretty loosely, but I think it applies here. I was squirming. I was deep breathing. I was told to re-adjust my positioning multiple times because I was subconsciously pulling away from the laser, anticipating the next torturous pulse. There were times when I started to laugh hysterically because I felt uncomfortable, and also because I started to realize how insane it is that I am paying for someone to torment me with an intense beam of light. When the treatment was finally done, the lovely person who had just repeatedly shot me with a laser said I might see some redness on my skin, but I shouldn’t worry because I wasn’t burned. I explained that I would be shocked if I WASN’T bright red, because based on the amount of pain I just experienced, I thought I would look like a third-degree burn victim.

Although it was the last thing I wanted to think about, we spoke of my next appointment. She mentioned that some people stop by before they go to work and I looked at her in utter disbelief with my mouth agape. I said “People DO THAT? People come here? BEFORE WORK? And then they, what? GO TO WORK?” as if I didn’t speak her language and couldn’t decipher the last sentence she had spoken. (I couldn’t. Still can’t.) She laughed and said “You’re funny” in a way that I internalized meant “You’re sad.”

When I left the million dollar laser room, I folded my robe neatly and put the sunglasses on top like nothing had ever happened. Like that would somehow disguise or make up for the fact that I had just caused a rambunctious scene in the treatment room. In worse news, I have to endure 7 to 10 more sessions for lasting results.

A quick shout out to the nurse who lasered me. (Side note- “The Nurse Who Lasered Me” totally sounds like the missing piece of the Austin Powers series.) I was too anxious during the appointment to focus when you told me your name, but you’re a saint. See you in 5 weeks for my (hopefully less painful) second appointment, unless you’ve pawned me off on one of your colleagues because of my chaotic performance. ❤️