Can’t a Guy Get His Eyebrows Waxed?

OK, not my normal biblical content, but a fun paper from my gender studies class. Here’s goes:

This week, I decided to get my eyebrows waxed. My wife often attempts to pull a few strays on me. As a man, I don’t see the point, ultimately. Other people have far crazier eyebrows than I do. But, when it comes to appearances, the eyes are one of the defining characteristics of the female features, especially the brows, so says the world we live in. The violation itself took place in three phases beginning with Facebook for a referral, moving to Happy Nails and Spa and returning to Facebook for a critique of their work.

My first visit to Facebook was to look for a referral. Never having had my eyebrows waxed before, I did not know where to go. I did have a pretty good idea of what to expect, though. To date, I have a modest 243 friends on Facebook, all of which are actual acquaintances at least. I can usually count on a good number of them to join in on an interesting enough discussion. So I posted, “I need to get my eyebrows waxed. Can anyone recommend a place?”

I received several very real recommendations and almost no sarcasm or other negative remarks. I was starting to think that I picked a poor gender role to break. Maybe waxing has become so common-place for men that none of my friends were taken aback by it. Maybe I was more “metro” than I thought? At any rate, I received one snide remark suggesting I ‘tweeze.’ In spite of the pitfall, I was persistent. It was a gender norm, I was going to break it and people were going to care.

I was wrong. I entered the Happy Nails and Spa on Monday. They were offering a sale of eight dollars for Monday through Wednesday. I couldn’t imagine spending more than that on something I really was not interested in doing in the first place. As I entered the building, I immediately made note of everyone in the room. There was an apparently American middle class woman with brown hair leaving just as I entered. She seemed to not even make note of my appearance on the scene. A gentleman was doing some cleaning. He obviously worked at the spa. There was another apparently American middle class woman, this time blonde, preparing for a pedicure—God only knows why I know that. There was a woman in a uniform, the clinician, who worked there. She was talking to the woman preparing for the pedicure. As soon as she noticed me, she turned and asked me, “Can I help you?”

At this point, I realized that I had already missed the opportunity to make an impression on the brunette woman, so I better make the best of this opportunity. In a loud manly voice, I proclaimed, “I need to get my eyebrows done” (I couldn’t bring myself to say waxed). When I glanced behind me at the gentleman doing the cleaning, he was gone. I had missed my chance. The blonde woman, definitely made note of me, but probably only because I was distracting her from her comrade in whom she appeared to have engaged in conversation.

The clinician commanded that I enter the back room. She took me to a small room, reminiscent of a doctor’s office and a nice hotel room. She told me to lay down on the bed which had paper on it just like a doctor’s office. To this point, the woman could care less that I was a man. She also did not make note in any way, physical or not, that it was odd that I would want my eyebrows done. She proceeded to make small talk about work and families while she quickly and skillfully waxed my eyebrows. I should note that she did not ask how I wanted them done. Maybe she assumed that as a man, I would not know. If so, she was right. I entered fully prepared to tell her to do whatever she thought was best. However, she was taken aback by the fact that I don’t currently work and am a full-time (and a half) student. She immediately assumed that my wife was working my way through school. Upon correcting her—my wife prefers to be a stay at home Mom—she ceased all conversation, awkwardly for the remainder of the procedure, which took a total of six minutes, max.

For the final stage, I returned to Facebook to post a photo of my results. I was unhappy that I received little to no judgment on my character for breaking this gender norm. This time friends and family piped in to tell me how great my eyebrows looked. I did receive one comment which made my happy. A very macho friend of mine posted the following, “‎……………….,” and another friend commented in response to that, “I think that is the EXACT response that I will get from Steven [her husband].” At last I could be at peace in knowing that my niche in society was not completely at ease with just anyone getting their eyebrows done. No, this task was truly emasculating, at last.

At the end of the day, I could care less what anyone thinks about me. I do what I know is right; and where right and wrong don’t apply, I do what I want. If I decide to keep getting my eyebrows waxed I will—I sort of like it. To be honest the person who bothered me the most was the brunette woman who walked right by me without noticing me. I don’t need to be the center of attention, but I think that my being out of place may have placed me outside of her radar. I entered the building to take a stand on gender neutralization and my plans were botched at best, either by ignorance or social tolerance. Where the effects of the undertaking did not come out as I expected, it certainly evidenced the internalization of gender norms in that society has definitely accepted not only male presence, but male participation in the day spa experience.