Where is the vaginal makeup section at Walgreens, anyway?
I hate to break it to you, but your vagina is the wrong color. Unless, of course, it's a pale, pink little hairless flower. Concerned it's too dark or too brown? There’s a solution for that.
Vaginal bleaching is the new anal bleaching! What’s preposterous to me is not that women might want to alter the color of their vaginas, but that, as suggested by advertising for such products, men actually really care what color yours is. And that you should care that they care and also you should be ashamed of your dirty, dirty vag.
In my experience, if you both have the parts and those parts are in working order, it’s business time. I don’t care about the size, color or hairiness of a man’s junk, so I assume that most men don’t care much about the size, color or hairiness of mine.
Plus, I’ve had a baby, and I feel that once you poop on the delivery table in front of your mom, your husband, and some strangers, not only does your modesty go to live in the far away land of No One Cares, but your body and its functions can no longer be a source of embarrassment.
My body is a thing to be celebrated, because it can do amazing things, like create and sustain life. The color of my nether regions is the very least of my concerns. But because I have no shame (see: pooping on the table, above), I’ll tell you about the color of my privates -- a lovely transition from pink to a light purple-y brown. My vag is ombre, you guys!
And like many other women with olive skin, the brownish color extends down almost to my inner thighs, much like the helpful illustration in that Clean and Dry Intimate Wash ad. And apparently this is so undesirable that I should want to get rid of it. Which I don’t.
But let’s say one DOES want to get rid of her “unsightly” color. There’s the aformentioned wash, of course, but other options might include bleaching (in a salon? is that where they do that?), or DIYing it at home, or maybe even pursuing a costly surgical procedure to correct her “problem.”
I say there is a cheaper, less intrusive way to liven up the Virginia -- with makeup. The Hollywood way!
Imagine the possibilities. Zombie vag. Sparkly vampire vag. Hunchback vag? (Vagimodo?) Wolfman?! Are you feeling this?
Before I turn this brilliant idea into a lucrative and classy vaginal prosthesis business, let’s just start with the basics: drugstore foundation.
I headed over to my local drugstore to check out my options. I considered an anti-aging foundation, but ultimately decided my vagina is just not that old yet.
Anti-aging and firming, for more mature labia.
The wide variety of 24-hour foundation formulas was also initially appealing, and might be a good choice if a long-lasting vaj-camo job is what one needs. But I found that most of the foundations did not provide enough coverage. I would need something close to spackle to cover all the dark skin in my uh, bathing suit area, so I settled on a creamy concealer stick in the lightest shade I could find.
The winner! $6.49 for simple, old fashioned cooch concealer.
I got home and started applying the concealer to my upper inner thigh, and then in the crease where my leg meets the business side of things, and worked my way in from there. That’s when I realized I have been really lazy about shaving lately and that applying concealer to my unshaved areas might be about as sexy as clown makeup on a five o’clock shadow -- and then I started imagining my vagina with a cigar, a beard and a raspy man voice. So I pretty much just stuck with the thigh/crease area.
Pretend this is not my arm but that this is the concealer applied to my darker areas down below.
When I explained to Jeff what I was doing, he thought I meant I was going to put lipstick and blush on my ladyparts, too, and he was pretty disappointed to find out that I really was only going to be camouflaging, not enhancing with color (but let’s not forget my movie monster vagina idea, right?!)
But of course, he was not going to pass up the opportunity to see me naked, no matter how weird the circumstances.
“But...why would you do that?” he asked.
“Because my vagina is too brown, right? Isn’t this way hotter?” I showed him my handiwork.
“I mean. No. Not really. Why does it matter what color it is?”
Exactly, Jeff. Exactly. It does not, in fact, matter. I would like to say that he was so turned on by the experience of evaluating the color of my skin from the waist down that we shagged right there on the dining room rug, but really what happened is Jeff and I were both sort of wigged out by the whole thing.
I took a shower to wash the makeup off the old girl, and we vowed never to speak of the extreme vagina make-over again (unless it involves lipstick or eye shadow next time -- then he might totally be into it).
For next time.