Our Agony Uncle Jamie deals with your most intimate issues. This week, as the title suggests, we’re taking a trip down town.
Dear Uncle Jamie,
I have been floundering around this particular problem for some time. Embarrassing as it is, Uncle Jamie, I seek your sage wisdom with regards to pubic social norms – how should I style my nether regions?
I’ve googled and googled and yet am still perplexed by the myriad of different styles, their innumerable variations.
I’m bamboozled by the Brazilian, hopelessly hung-up about the Hollywood – trying to decipher what us gals should be doing is like trying to find a needle in a haystack and, given that I am trying to attract something more substantial than a needle, I need your help.
I await your response to this hairy issue.
Don’t fret. You are not alone in this pubic palaver. In my (at the risk of immodesty) considerable experience, both guys and gals alike are struck with the dilemma.
Get it right and you’ll feel sexy and empowered and drive your partner crazy with lust; get it wrong and you could end up with a crotch that resembles Zach Galifianakis’s beard on a bad day.
But picking a ‘style’ or deciding what (if at all) to trim isn’t purely an aesthetic decision – you must also consider the hygiene, the cost and crucially the level of maintenance work needed to keep it in A1 condition.
That said, if you stick to few age old rules, you can’t go too far wrong.
Firstly, when possible, you should always go for a professional job: no matter how skilled you may be in topiary, no matter how many bonsai trees you’ve nurtured in your time, a DIY job on your beaver’s barnet is never advisable.
Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, less is more. When was the last time you saw Rosie Huntington-Whitely snapped on a beach with stray spiders legs creeping out of her bikini? When was the last time you saw a Rihanna music video with misplaced muff?
And so to those bitter rivals – The Hollywood (all gone ) and The Brazilian (all gone bar a ‘landing strip’). Now, I really can’t stress enough how much of a personal preference this has to be; but for my money it has to be The Hollywood.
Why I hear you ask? Well imagine its 4 o’clock in the morning, you’ve had a crackin’ night down Coppers and even managed to bag a man/woman (delete as appropriate).
Once home your thoughts turn to the matter of sex and how it might reasonably be accomplished given a) your level of intoxication and b) your level of attraction to a person who was ‘shiftable’ on the darkly lit dance floor but who in the cold light of your flat is a middling 2 or 3.
Frankly both you and your man have got enough on your plates without the added complexity of a bushy beaver, without the bumbling embarrassment of trying to find what’s what. With the Hollywood, however, everything is plain sailing.
It’s the difference, you could say, between shopping in TK Max where finding what you want takes forever (if indeed you do ever find it) and shopping in the easy to navigate shelves of, say, Top Shop where you can get what you need in a matter of minutes.
Lastly I would urge girls to stay away from the much touted Vajazzle – as Jack Whitehall says “no guy has ever gone down there and thought ‘oh this could do with redecorating”.